Post by Temanin on Apr 19, 2004 23:12:52 GMT -5
Alright, this is the ressurection of my character, because as of the last RP reset, I have none and I want this one.
Name: Tarac Glesgar
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: 6’ 3”
Eyes: Green
Hair: Black topknot
Weight: 197 lbs.
Description: An imposing impression, a penetrating stare. He is muscular, coming from his many years in the service of his country. He is also left-handed.
Strengths: Good leadership skills, sword and bow expert
Weaknesses: Bad right shoulder which sometimes locks up in cold weather, or otherwise just irritates him. He trusts almost no one but himself. He will not give respect based on rank. He requires you to earn his respect. This has gotten him into trouble with superiors a few times.
Background:
Tarac Glesgar was born the son of General Refen Glesgar of the Shienaran army and Elissya Glesgar of Kandori descent. His childhood was spent as many children of the Borderlands: rolling hoops, chasing and hiding, pretending to be heroic champions, and learning to handle weapons. As the son of a general respected throughout the Borderlands, Tarac was expected to follow in his footsteps, one day becoming a general himself. Tarac wouldn’t have it any other way.
By the age of ten, Tarac excelled at swordsmanship, surpassing most children his age. At age thirteen he was becoming skilled with the short and long bow, both of which he was required to learn. His father’s position came with perks, and he was able to have some of the best trainers and teachers around. He became very good friends with a young boy named Alka, and together at the age of fourteen enrolled in a military academy.
Even considered by Borderlanders to be too serious at times, Tarac was nevertheless a good student and graduated at the top of his class, followed close behind by Alka. On a blazing summer day, at the age of sixteen, Tarac was presented with the distinctive brigandine armor and ceremonial sword of the Shienaran army. With head shaved, save for the traditional topknot, brigandine armor donned, and sword held high, Tarac said an oath and was inducted into the Shienaran army. On that very same time, at almost the exact same time, General Refen Glesgar was cut down by a trolloc blade to the upper back. Almost his entire unit was cut down, and only a handful of men returned to tell the tale.
If it was possible, Tarac became even more serious after the death of his father. He served under the man that took his father’s place, General Hones, for four years. His first act of duty was hunting down the trolloc fist which had destroyed his father’s unit. This was completed successfully, and Tarac began to feel some peace. This peace, however, was shattered when a Trolloc raid led by a Myrddraal tore through his hometown, leaving it in ashes, his mother among the dead. Tarac resigned to the fact that peace would never find itself in the Blightborder, but that he would do all in his power to see as many Trollocs dead as possible.
After his first four years, Tarac’s skills with sword and bow had increased greatly, as they must for him to survive. Skill was valued more greatly than age, and so at the age of twenty, he was put in charge of a small company of men who had very simple orders: search and destroy. Originally stationed at one of the watch towers near Tarwin’s Gap, they would travel into the Blight, hunting small raiding groups of trollocs. Though sometimes used as simple scouts, they were mainly hunters.
At the age of twenty one, after only one year of command, his company was known to most within Shienar as the bravest yet foolhardy group of men to ever be assembled on the Blight. They would dive weeks at a time into the Blight, searching for trollocs, and sometimes even Myrddraal if the men were up to it. Tarac was well respected by his men, for he treated them fairly, for the most part, yet was stern when time called for it. One of the few things that the men saw in him that they could consider a flaw was his disregard at times to the authority over him. He had been known to raise his voice at the general, telling him how an attack should be carried out, how the defenses should be positioned, or some other such thing. Each had ended in disciplinary action, gut the general knew than he couldn’t spare Tarac on the lines. With the increased activity in the Blight, Tarac and his men were needed more badly than ever.
On the freezing first day of the new year, a group of trollocs, numbers unknown, swept into Shienar, striking at a caravan transporting weapons to the neighboring nation of Arafel. The attack was launched at dawn, during a light rain, and the caravan guards were caught completely by surprise. Out of the fifty men and women in the caravan, only six survived. They returned to the nearest outpost and reported what had happened. The news of the massacre was circulated quickly, and the morale of the local villages began to lower. Because of this, Tarac was called in by General Hones to lead his men in search of this group of trollocs.
Three days after the dawn attack, Tarac and his men moved out into the Blight. It was obvious to most of the men that the trollocs did not expect to be followed, for they left obvious tracks, easy to see and trail. The men were in prime condition, given little to no chance of horseplay, and Tarac kept them at a forced march. After two more days of tracking, definite camp areas began to emerge, only strengthening the idea that they were gaining. The trollocs were not moving at much more than a walk. From how they left their camps, they feared very little. This bothered Tarac. Even trollocs were smart enough to move away from a country full of soldiers waiting to kill them. If they did not fear pursuit, then there must be a reason.
Two days later, Tarac’s scouts returned with news that he had not expected. A group of men, some twenty-five strong, were traveling in relatively the same direction as themselves. They moved very quickly, with most of the men on horseback. The scouts assured Tarac that they had not been seen. He accepted this news as he always did and sent the scouts back out to monitor these men.
That night as they made camp, Tarac called his friend and first sergeant Alka to his tent. Tarac told him of the men. After some consideration, they came to the conclusion that there were only two reasons for the men’s presence: they were either hunting as well, or they were darkfriends. This second possibility started both of the greatly. Darkfriends rarely traveled in the open, but they seemed to have passed through the Blight unscathed. That did not happen very often. Tarac’s company had already encountered two trolloc hunting parties in their pursuit, and had lost three men. Only the expressed permission of the Dark One could secure absolute protection in the Blight.
The following morning, Tarac spoke to his men, telling them of the others that had been seen yesterday. He told them that if they were in fact darkfriends, they would attack. And if they were to attack, they would show no mercy. The men accepted this as common procedure, and returned to their duties of packing up camp. They rode on, not encountering a soul the entire day. As dusk approached, they came upon another trolloc camp. It was determined that this was the same group that the company pursued. And, as if in reward to the company’s speed, they found blood on the ground, only around two days old.
The scouts returned the same night, and informed Tarac that a small trolloc hunting party had cut across in front if them and was seemingly going to cross paths with the men spotted a few days ago. This was the news that Tarac had been waiting for. If their group was as well trained as Tarac’s, their leader would know of the small hunting party north of them. The trollocs only numbered seven, so a group of four men could take them down if they ambushed their camp and had the skills of a Borderlander. If they opted to do this, it would prove to Tarac that they were not darkfriends. If they went over to the camp and did not attack, Tarac was ready to move his forces against them.
Tarac and Alka found two other men and moved out into the darkness, waiting to see if the other group would act. They rode hard for about half an hour before dismounting and moving in the rest of the way on foot. They found the seven trollocs camped out in a small pine outcropping. So, just in case the others did not arrive, the four men positioned themselves at the mouth of the outcropping, ready to attack. They watched the trollocs as they moved about their business. They cooked some horrid-smelling concoction, ate in, and some settled in to sleep. Three stayed awake, sitting in a circle, and seemed to talk to each other in the tongue that seemed to almost bring pain to Tarac’s ears.
They watched for over an hour, Tarac the personification of patience and fortitude, waiting for the group of men to attack, if they were going to. As Tarac’s patience finally began to draw then, he gave his men their orders and told them to prepare to move in. Just as Alka was preparing to take the first shot, a small twang sounded from a bush on the other side of the copse, and one of the trollocs slumped over, a crossbow bolt sticking from its throat. The remaining trollocs howled, jumped up and grabbed their weapon, looking for something to attack. The sleeping trollocs, too, came alive and a few charged the bush that had ushered forth the bolt. And then a flurry of bolts flew from the surrounding woods, seemingly from all directions, pounding into the bodies of the trollocs. In a matter of moments all the trollocs lay dead.
(This board doesn't allow you to post more than 10,000 characters, so it will be continued in the next post...)
Name: Tarac Glesgar
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: 6’ 3”
Eyes: Green
Hair: Black topknot
Weight: 197 lbs.
Description: An imposing impression, a penetrating stare. He is muscular, coming from his many years in the service of his country. He is also left-handed.
Strengths: Good leadership skills, sword and bow expert
Weaknesses: Bad right shoulder which sometimes locks up in cold weather, or otherwise just irritates him. He trusts almost no one but himself. He will not give respect based on rank. He requires you to earn his respect. This has gotten him into trouble with superiors a few times.
Background:
Tarac Glesgar was born the son of General Refen Glesgar of the Shienaran army and Elissya Glesgar of Kandori descent. His childhood was spent as many children of the Borderlands: rolling hoops, chasing and hiding, pretending to be heroic champions, and learning to handle weapons. As the son of a general respected throughout the Borderlands, Tarac was expected to follow in his footsteps, one day becoming a general himself. Tarac wouldn’t have it any other way.
By the age of ten, Tarac excelled at swordsmanship, surpassing most children his age. At age thirteen he was becoming skilled with the short and long bow, both of which he was required to learn. His father’s position came with perks, and he was able to have some of the best trainers and teachers around. He became very good friends with a young boy named Alka, and together at the age of fourteen enrolled in a military academy.
Even considered by Borderlanders to be too serious at times, Tarac was nevertheless a good student and graduated at the top of his class, followed close behind by Alka. On a blazing summer day, at the age of sixteen, Tarac was presented with the distinctive brigandine armor and ceremonial sword of the Shienaran army. With head shaved, save for the traditional topknot, brigandine armor donned, and sword held high, Tarac said an oath and was inducted into the Shienaran army. On that very same time, at almost the exact same time, General Refen Glesgar was cut down by a trolloc blade to the upper back. Almost his entire unit was cut down, and only a handful of men returned to tell the tale.
If it was possible, Tarac became even more serious after the death of his father. He served under the man that took his father’s place, General Hones, for four years. His first act of duty was hunting down the trolloc fist which had destroyed his father’s unit. This was completed successfully, and Tarac began to feel some peace. This peace, however, was shattered when a Trolloc raid led by a Myrddraal tore through his hometown, leaving it in ashes, his mother among the dead. Tarac resigned to the fact that peace would never find itself in the Blightborder, but that he would do all in his power to see as many Trollocs dead as possible.
After his first four years, Tarac’s skills with sword and bow had increased greatly, as they must for him to survive. Skill was valued more greatly than age, and so at the age of twenty, he was put in charge of a small company of men who had very simple orders: search and destroy. Originally stationed at one of the watch towers near Tarwin’s Gap, they would travel into the Blight, hunting small raiding groups of trollocs. Though sometimes used as simple scouts, they were mainly hunters.
At the age of twenty one, after only one year of command, his company was known to most within Shienar as the bravest yet foolhardy group of men to ever be assembled on the Blight. They would dive weeks at a time into the Blight, searching for trollocs, and sometimes even Myrddraal if the men were up to it. Tarac was well respected by his men, for he treated them fairly, for the most part, yet was stern when time called for it. One of the few things that the men saw in him that they could consider a flaw was his disregard at times to the authority over him. He had been known to raise his voice at the general, telling him how an attack should be carried out, how the defenses should be positioned, or some other such thing. Each had ended in disciplinary action, gut the general knew than he couldn’t spare Tarac on the lines. With the increased activity in the Blight, Tarac and his men were needed more badly than ever.
On the freezing first day of the new year, a group of trollocs, numbers unknown, swept into Shienar, striking at a caravan transporting weapons to the neighboring nation of Arafel. The attack was launched at dawn, during a light rain, and the caravan guards were caught completely by surprise. Out of the fifty men and women in the caravan, only six survived. They returned to the nearest outpost and reported what had happened. The news of the massacre was circulated quickly, and the morale of the local villages began to lower. Because of this, Tarac was called in by General Hones to lead his men in search of this group of trollocs.
Three days after the dawn attack, Tarac and his men moved out into the Blight. It was obvious to most of the men that the trollocs did not expect to be followed, for they left obvious tracks, easy to see and trail. The men were in prime condition, given little to no chance of horseplay, and Tarac kept them at a forced march. After two more days of tracking, definite camp areas began to emerge, only strengthening the idea that they were gaining. The trollocs were not moving at much more than a walk. From how they left their camps, they feared very little. This bothered Tarac. Even trollocs were smart enough to move away from a country full of soldiers waiting to kill them. If they did not fear pursuit, then there must be a reason.
Two days later, Tarac’s scouts returned with news that he had not expected. A group of men, some twenty-five strong, were traveling in relatively the same direction as themselves. They moved very quickly, with most of the men on horseback. The scouts assured Tarac that they had not been seen. He accepted this news as he always did and sent the scouts back out to monitor these men.
That night as they made camp, Tarac called his friend and first sergeant Alka to his tent. Tarac told him of the men. After some consideration, they came to the conclusion that there were only two reasons for the men’s presence: they were either hunting as well, or they were darkfriends. This second possibility started both of the greatly. Darkfriends rarely traveled in the open, but they seemed to have passed through the Blight unscathed. That did not happen very often. Tarac’s company had already encountered two trolloc hunting parties in their pursuit, and had lost three men. Only the expressed permission of the Dark One could secure absolute protection in the Blight.
The following morning, Tarac spoke to his men, telling them of the others that had been seen yesterday. He told them that if they were in fact darkfriends, they would attack. And if they were to attack, they would show no mercy. The men accepted this as common procedure, and returned to their duties of packing up camp. They rode on, not encountering a soul the entire day. As dusk approached, they came upon another trolloc camp. It was determined that this was the same group that the company pursued. And, as if in reward to the company’s speed, they found blood on the ground, only around two days old.
The scouts returned the same night, and informed Tarac that a small trolloc hunting party had cut across in front if them and was seemingly going to cross paths with the men spotted a few days ago. This was the news that Tarac had been waiting for. If their group was as well trained as Tarac’s, their leader would know of the small hunting party north of them. The trollocs only numbered seven, so a group of four men could take them down if they ambushed their camp and had the skills of a Borderlander. If they opted to do this, it would prove to Tarac that they were not darkfriends. If they went over to the camp and did not attack, Tarac was ready to move his forces against them.
Tarac and Alka found two other men and moved out into the darkness, waiting to see if the other group would act. They rode hard for about half an hour before dismounting and moving in the rest of the way on foot. They found the seven trollocs camped out in a small pine outcropping. So, just in case the others did not arrive, the four men positioned themselves at the mouth of the outcropping, ready to attack. They watched the trollocs as they moved about their business. They cooked some horrid-smelling concoction, ate in, and some settled in to sleep. Three stayed awake, sitting in a circle, and seemed to talk to each other in the tongue that seemed to almost bring pain to Tarac’s ears.
They watched for over an hour, Tarac the personification of patience and fortitude, waiting for the group of men to attack, if they were going to. As Tarac’s patience finally began to draw then, he gave his men their orders and told them to prepare to move in. Just as Alka was preparing to take the first shot, a small twang sounded from a bush on the other side of the copse, and one of the trollocs slumped over, a crossbow bolt sticking from its throat. The remaining trollocs howled, jumped up and grabbed their weapon, looking for something to attack. The sleeping trollocs, too, came alive and a few charged the bush that had ushered forth the bolt. And then a flurry of bolts flew from the surrounding woods, seemingly from all directions, pounding into the bodies of the trollocs. In a matter of moments all the trollocs lay dead.
(This board doesn't allow you to post more than 10,000 characters, so it will be continued in the next post...)
