Real Name: Greilan Freygerd
Stage Name: Tosuli Thana.
Appearance: This is the form of my power.
Age: 28
Armaments: I wield the one handed spear held by right fist, and my armored left fist holds the shield that protects me, I trust it more than any armor. However, I am efficient in most melee weapons. I do not use magic, and care not for it save for the healing arts. Because of what I do, I have a very high pain tolerance.
Personality: Before enslavement, she was a normal child: Happy, with an almost endless-appearing amount of energy, finding interest in almost anything she found. Since her capture, forced enslavement, and continued fighting however, she understandably changed a great deal.
Life had lost most meaning to her, since she sees it begin and die all around her. She yearns for freedom, but has no voice or power to obtain it. Being sent across the seas to fight for other kingdoms is an added insult, as if reminding her of her status and weakness. She holds little joy in the company of others, who could she relate to? The likely hood was slim that anyone could truly understand her. It's not that Greilan is emotionless, the emotions are still there, but they've been buried with her past. However, she intends to unbury them when she finds freedom. When her voice is earned, she will release a cry, and when her cry is heard by all, they will know she earned her freedom.
Besides her yearning for freedom, Greilan is as brutal in behavior as she is on the field: She will openly point out flaws in people's ideology, plans, anything she can get a good idea for. She is honest to the point of insult, and doesn't hold verbal punches on what her opinions of people are. When she is allowed to speak, she rarely has anything positive to say, and scorns her fellow gladiators for their weakness. She scorns foreigners for far worse things, and is often seen with rope or cloth covering her mouth to prevent the verbal venom from frothing up.
History: Born Greilan Freygerd, she only remembers that name through chanting it quietly before she steps into the ring, with spear and shield in her hands, and a restricted amount of armor covering the frame she calls her own. The fight was harsh and brutal, a spear maiden against a heavily armed and armored man wielding a great axe. The maiden danced around him, surviving simply by mobility, but knowing she would only tire herself out. A side step, a back step, then a strike forward. The spear pierced a weak point in the mans armor, going deep into the armpit. As she withdrew, the chantings of the name "Tosuli Thana" continued, as if the crowd was certain the spear maiden would win. I am not Tosuli Thana... I am Greilan Freygerd. "Tosuli" thought with anger, knowing it wouldn't change anything.
She was six winters old, a disaster the like she had never seen before or since ravaged her home town on a frozen coast, killing most of the populace and leaving the town itself as rubble. Among the other children she gathered, and like them Greilan too lost her family. As the village of children attempted to survive, the sound of a bell was heard and attracted them towards the shore. Upon reaching the shore, a ship full of tall and strong men was seen. From the shore the kids called for help, and the boatmen answered... by stealing them from home and taking them away to an unknown land.
The trip at sea had given Greilan a disgusting hatred for boats and anything involving the sea that stands to this day. Upon arrival in this new land, this new country she knew not the name of, the kids were divided among each other. First by age, then by gender, and sold off to these other people as though they were objects. Greilan was sold to some man, she never heard his name and didn't care to learn it. She just knew her new name was "Slave", a word she learned to despise quickly. The man who bought her ran some sort of fighting ring where people fought each other to the death, and she would eventually become one of these fighters. They were not the professional fighters though, who were treated fairly and like people. No, the slaves were treated worse than cattle.
The training started by being attacked and beaten with blunt, wooden sticks or weapons, to deaden the nerves and toughen the skin. The slaves were poorly fed and poorly maintained. Greilan was surprised she survived that torment, though it came at some cost. The poor diet they were put on made survivors turn to alternative means of sustenance, and Greilan turned to the bodies of the dead, sneaking out at night to consume on the bodies of those who died that day or the day prior. The training would continue, and eventually pit the slaves with weapons against dummies, ascending eventually to versing other slaves in spars.
Captured at the age of six and brought into this brutal world, a world far harsher than her home, Greilan made her first kill at the age of ten. She performed her first true fight, with sharpened wood weapons against another girl about the same age. The fight was long and brutal, neither wanting to give up for obvious reasons. Thankfully for Greilan though, the other girls arm tired first, allowing for a fatal blow to be delivered. She feasted on the meat and flesh of her victory that night as well, as by that point the consumption of flesh was as common as the paltry meals she was given. As Greilan continued to age and survive the slave fights, she became distinguished in having no defeats as far as she'd been there. In the slave pits, there were no mercy calls, it was kill or be killed. But she heard that in the Fighter's pits above, these "Gladiators" they called themselves, a defeat did not mean death all the time. Greilan had begun to move around her foes attacks in odd and unusual ways to some, making many of her wins seem more like they were given by Luck's fortune. As she made more victories, she was allowed to experiment with different weapons and arms, beginning the rise of the signature shield and spear combination she used.
At the age of nineteen, Greilan was improved in standing. Her 'master' had decided she could make more income for him as a "Gladiator" than as a slave fighter, so she was given. The quality of armaments and armor she received improved, but the training was even more brutal, often times requiring two or more healers by the days end. At least the meals improved, but by that time she favored the taste of human, orc, or elf to the common animal meats, though she would eat to maintain some amount of normalcy.
And that is how Greilan got to this point, as she stood over another body whos blood stained the sandy pit. This was her home, her kingdom. Though she had won many fights, she had lost some along the way, but the skill she and her opposer had made all give a mercy rule. She turns to the crowd and raises her arms, showing her victory to all. The name of "Tosuli Thana" echoes from the crowd, cheering on the spear maiden as she was brought back towards the gate that released her into the pit. I am not Tosuli Thana... I am Greilan Freygerd. She thought with venom.
Upon returning to her cell, her 'home' in this arena, she was approached by a tall man in ornately detailed and heavy armor, a man who wielded a scimitar that hummed with magic as though it were enchanted. "Tosuli Thana. You're being sent across the ocean to fight for someone elses war. There is no refusal, for you are a slave and thus an object for us to use as we please. I will be the Task Master sent with you, to make sure you do what is required."
Yes... another part of the "Gladiator" life no one spoke of. Even though this land knows relative peace, it is the slave fighters who are sent across the water to fight for other people, as if it was a further reminding of all they could do. With little choice in the matter, the spear maiden stood up and headed to the docks.
"Other" things to know, but not know: I am a cannibal. Elf is sweet like honey, Human tends to be plain, and Orc is tender. Dwarf is disgusting, taste like rock.
Real Name: Urul Verthurg
Stage Name when he was a gladiator: Mors Keres
Other Names: Task Master Vernkim.
Appearance: Urul Verthurg Mors Keres in Armor Task Master Vernkim
Age: I have survived 76 winters. Not even at my half life yet!
Personality: Depending on Company, the Task Master will behave one of three ways:
Stoic and distant, Task Master Vernkim has an ego he feels appropriate considering his life. He often refers to himself as a God of War, or just a God in general. Much like his armor though, this is a facade and mask. The person within the suit often claims Vernkim doesn't exist as a person, just as an ideal image of how a "Loyal" soldier should perform his duties. It is this formal yet slightly brutish behavior he puts into place when near a Gladiator he is watching abroad or in the presence of people with political power, and it is in this state he exercises his control over situations. His word usage makes him sound like a judge at times, creating punishments and causes on the spot to those who wrong him.
"For your transgressions against your own people, I, Task Master Vernkim, have decided your fate. Prepare for execution."
"We do what we must. To do otherwise is unfitting of our nature. We do not have to enjoy our task or deeds, but we must remember them."
Mors Keres is his persona in the heat of battle, with an ego that could lift the world with one arm. Believing himself to be unstoppable, it isn't uncommon to see him do insane or borderline suicidal feats of valor and power. While he may walk away beaten and injured, he has yet to be fatally wounded, so sees little issue with it. He seeks for a death in battle, which inspires his reckless behavior. Mors Keres is also particularly flashy and dramatic, having been trained to please crowds in arena means he tends to treat actual battles of war as a new stage. Should he die, Mors Keres wishes for someone to "Draw the stories of his deeds", so that Mors Keres' name may be forever remembered.
"Give me the chance and I'd cleave the moons!"
"You can see God's face when my helmet falls off."
When alone, with peasantry, or anyone not in the military, he returns to a native state of being Urul Verthurg. Being torn from his siblings in the eastern mountains has put many pressures and scars on Urul, he has a weakness for seeing families torn apart or ruined, and wants to try and keep groups together because of this. He is quick to call people family and easily trusts, as well as forgive and forget easily. Urul just wants to return to the mountains of his youth, and perhaps lead the charge and end the Elven-Orcish wars. He is deeply spiritual and talks as though he were a shaman if inspired by an event.
"Your parents fight a lot. What's wrong child? Need a friend?"
"... Sorry for your loss. May the Elements guide them to the homes above. Let Earth keep them safe, the Wind carry their memory. Their Fire will stay within you, and the Water will let them help others, even in death."
All three of these personae honor the dead and respect them and their remains. Necromancers, Vampires, and other undead make them sick and result in a perfused Search and Destroy mode, sometimes being so overwhelming that this attitude leaks into those nearby. They also have a strict code of honor, born from different places and reasons.
"Defiler, you desecrate nothing more. Judgement has come, and your head shall roll. I pray that you are granted no mercy in the halls above."
"Never forsake your honor and name. You have lost yourself then, and no one should trust you. But remember... Fighting without a cause is nothing more than a slow suicide."
"You bastards can't even let your dead rest? What a joke! COME! Mors Keres has killed demons and angels, what has he to fear from walking bones!?"
"No man deserves to wither away in bed, let his death come in battle where he deserves. I seek the man who could end mine, and I've yet to! The God of War marches on again."
"You have corrupted the Earth with your stench! May the Fire return them to a peaceful and eternal rest."
"No one should die in chains or a cage. Let them be free before they go."
Despite the bulk and weight, Urul will never let his armor be unworn in public, as the behavior he is required to portray around the slave fighter he escorts can be downright detestable, border on barbaric. It is easier to hate a suit of armor than the person within, especially if the person cannot be seen through the full body mask of iron and steel.
Armaments: I wield a Scimitar enchanted with Ice magics, and keep a traditional broadsword on me at all times. I am incapable of magic on my own, and my armor is as much a weapon as it is protection. A gladiator who fights for his freedom retains knowledge of all weapons, and the lack of pain makes us even better.
History: Urul was a young hunter in the orcish mountains he called home. A war with strange elves from the south had plagued the mountain orcs for many moons and years. While trying to find game for his people, the orc found himself in chains. Humans from the west had been reported to be stealing young orcs, but Urul had felt they were just rumors. Dragged from the Eastern mountains of the Mavkla Range to the plains of the west, he was trained to be a slave fighter. He was given a new name, Mors Keres, and forced to fight all species. Because of the war back home, he was used to not eating well, letting the orc seem to stride ahead of the rest of the slaves in his time.
Over thirty years he fought in sanded pits, taking numerous lives each day. At last, when he had begun to consider killing himself after a victory in the ring, a nobleman walked out instead, offering him a wooden sword... The sign that he was now free. Upon leaving the arena, armed guards put a chest before him: The contents being the armor of a Task Master, masses of coin, and two weapons... An enchanted scimitar forged like one from the mountainlands, and a heavy broadsword made specifically for him.
For another thirty years Urul has worn the Task Master's garb. Mors Keres became a legend of sorts, by now few remembered him being a fighter. Upon becoming a Task Master, Urul received yet another name... "Vernkim". He had overseen many gladiators training, many fights, and has also watched the fighters abroad, holding a sympathy of sorts for these people, as he knows all too well it was not a fate chosen for them.
But he has a job to do, and defying it would mean death. Urul would much prefer death in battle than be put down like a dog, often finding some flaw in the slaves he watches that make him despise them. As of recent, he has been tasked with being a trainer and personal watcher over one "Tosuli Thana", and has noticed that the bodies of her competition appear to have been eaten or chewed on...
It was right after a battle she was in, who the competitor was the Orc didn't know. Standing at 6'5" naturally, the armor he wore gave him several more inches. Coupled with his broad shoulders and overall size, it made the armored man even more intimidating. "Note the bodies until I return." He told several grave diggers, the echo from the helm removing any identification to his race. He had called the gladiator away from the ring, keeping her away from fights for a few days. Wherever they went, bodies of the recently deceased appeared to be chewed on, and questioning made him come to learn it wasn't until they arrived.
With suspicions confirmed, he has found disgust in this girl who desecrates the dead. A message delivered to him forced his tongue to be held as he approached her cell, scimitar and broadsword in sheaths at his waist. "Tosuli Thana. You're being sent across the ocean to fight for someone elses war. There is no refusal, for you are a slave and thus an object for us to use as we please. I am Task Master Vernkim, and I am to be sent with you to make sure you do what is required." He spoke, leading the reluctant and at times defiant slave fighter towards the docks.
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The Armies.
Reworking of my original list. RPCs not commonly used were removed, and new ones have been added in!
<Any and all pictures found are taken from a variety of DeviantArtists>
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