Zotikos
Settling in Altera
Name: Gabriel Phorvuld Zotikos
Nickname/Alias: Zotikos, Phor
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 18 stones
Hair: Pale blonde, sometimes long with a braid. Always wears a beard.
Eyes: Grey blue
Skin: Pale undertone, but weathered from excess labor and exposure
Identifying Marks: Dark circles under his weary eyes
Appearance: A man appearing older than his years with light eyes that look surprisingly dark. He has a dark demeanor which he covers with polite courtesies and actions of good deeds. He either dresses in mails, furs, and leathers or his white and gold uniform that he gained during his crusades.
Strengths: An extremely calm demeanor when facing hard decisions. He is not prone to rash decisions but will not tolerate insults either. A stark man born to rule during combat and from a keep, he honors the old ways, and the old gods. And he is stubborn in his traditions.
His strengths are his trained abilities, and his cool head. His strong arm wields an axe fiercely in battle and his mind and voice keeps his men and himself alive.
Weaknesses and Fears: He has no powers, no magics, and no abnormal super human abilities. He is a Norse man. A very tough one, but mortal and fallible nonetheless.
He is also a stubborn man. Stubborn, sometimes, beyond wisdom. Many times he has invited misfortune at the price of honor and duty, two things he would never betray.
Religion: He pays homage to the old (Norse) gods as well as reveres the gods of the realm
Profession: He is a Jarl first and foremost, a leader of men. The land he now rules is his second and smaller, though he is glad to have it. The first being an entire realm, which was stripped from him, only to disappear into darkness and chaos.
The Childhood of Phorvuld
Born of a from a Jarl, named Auvuld, of small stock in a small land. His father’s lands were not coveted and no jealousies or rivalries existed as his father’s lands were not prosperous enough for anyone else to want. However, his father ruled the land well and people survived and thrived were they should not. The men hunted game and the women gathered berries and roots. The ground of the fief was hard and frozen, yet crops were rotated yearly anyways and a small harvest came each year. Soon the town had a small surplus to sell and lived with a few luxuries.
Phorvuld was the first son of five children, one other boy and three sisters, and meant to inherit his father’s position. At age of four he began training in court, by shadowing his father, and practicing in the training fields with wooden swords. He began duties at age of eight, writing letters, assisting the warriors with their armor, and continuing his trainings. By fourteen he was considered a lordling, expected to hold all the responsibilities of his father when he was absent.
His mother died one winter after his coming of age of a hard chill. Phorvuld prayed hard during this time and sought solace in the Gods, hoping they could consul what men’s words could not. His father was not distant but did not make his emotions apparent and Phorvuld thought it his duty to do the same. It was during this hard time that the only enemies Auvuld had attacked. The Ender goaded giants into raiding the land. Golem’s of snow and stone pressed attacks at Phorvuld’s father’s lands, and Auvuld moved out to intercept. Auvuld’s Master of Arms urged Auvuld to hold at the keep but the stubborn lord insisted on marching out to protect his furthest lands. It was in this battle that Phorvuld lost his last parent, and most of what was now his army.
For two years Phorvuld commanded the hold against the siege. For two years his people starved, fought, and died under his command. A bard’s song recalls the two year siege and its tragic last moments.
Boy of young, turned to man
Came to age, when battle began.
He raised his banner on the keep
For two or more years, he did not sleep.
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, the staller of woe!
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, you fought back the cul’!
You fought for their lives without care for your own,
But forever you’ll sit alone on your throne.
His men all dead, laid in the ground
Exhausted and broken,he was found.
Tragedy forever, it follows his heart,
Left alone, from his home he did part.
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, the staller of woe!
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, you fought back the cul’!
You fought for their lives without care for your own,
But forever you’ll sit alone on your throne.
He’ll wander this earth, to slaughter the End
Attacking their home, with none left to defend.
Seeking vengeance, for those he did love
In Vallhallah they wait for him up above.
The bard sang of the loss of his home… By the time of his seventeenth name day he had seen over two years of war, and the murder of his entire village. He took two arrows to the left thigh and a thrown spear to the right shoulder before passing out. When he awoke he found that his men had smuggled him out of the keep only to be ambushed in the forest. His soldiers were slaughtered around him, all killed in the process of slaying their assailants. By the time he had the strength to make it back to the keep he found it razed and burning. That night he allowed himself to weep for his family and the people he lead. That was the only night….
To be continued...
Nickname/Alias: Zotikos, Phor
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 18 stones
Hair: Pale blonde, sometimes long with a braid. Always wears a beard.
Eyes: Grey blue
Skin: Pale undertone, but weathered from excess labor and exposure
Identifying Marks: Dark circles under his weary eyes
Appearance: A man appearing older than his years with light eyes that look surprisingly dark. He has a dark demeanor which he covers with polite courtesies and actions of good deeds. He either dresses in mails, furs, and leathers or his white and gold uniform that he gained during his crusades.
Strengths: An extremely calm demeanor when facing hard decisions. He is not prone to rash decisions but will not tolerate insults either. A stark man born to rule during combat and from a keep, he honors the old ways, and the old gods. And he is stubborn in his traditions.
His strengths are his trained abilities, and his cool head. His strong arm wields an axe fiercely in battle and his mind and voice keeps his men and himself alive.
Weaknesses and Fears: He has no powers, no magics, and no abnormal super human abilities. He is a Norse man. A very tough one, but mortal and fallible nonetheless.
He is also a stubborn man. Stubborn, sometimes, beyond wisdom. Many times he has invited misfortune at the price of honor and duty, two things he would never betray.
Religion: He pays homage to the old (Norse) gods as well as reveres the gods of the realm
Profession: He is a Jarl first and foremost, a leader of men. The land he now rules is his second and smaller, though he is glad to have it. The first being an entire realm, which was stripped from him, only to disappear into darkness and chaos.
The Childhood of Phorvuld
Born of a from a Jarl, named Auvuld, of small stock in a small land. His father’s lands were not coveted and no jealousies or rivalries existed as his father’s lands were not prosperous enough for anyone else to want. However, his father ruled the land well and people survived and thrived were they should not. The men hunted game and the women gathered berries and roots. The ground of the fief was hard and frozen, yet crops were rotated yearly anyways and a small harvest came each year. Soon the town had a small surplus to sell and lived with a few luxuries.
Phorvuld was the first son of five children, one other boy and three sisters, and meant to inherit his father’s position. At age of four he began training in court, by shadowing his father, and practicing in the training fields with wooden swords. He began duties at age of eight, writing letters, assisting the warriors with their armor, and continuing his trainings. By fourteen he was considered a lordling, expected to hold all the responsibilities of his father when he was absent.
His mother died one winter after his coming of age of a hard chill. Phorvuld prayed hard during this time and sought solace in the Gods, hoping they could consul what men’s words could not. His father was not distant but did not make his emotions apparent and Phorvuld thought it his duty to do the same. It was during this hard time that the only enemies Auvuld had attacked. The Ender goaded giants into raiding the land. Golem’s of snow and stone pressed attacks at Phorvuld’s father’s lands, and Auvuld moved out to intercept. Auvuld’s Master of Arms urged Auvuld to hold at the keep but the stubborn lord insisted on marching out to protect his furthest lands. It was in this battle that Phorvuld lost his last parent, and most of what was now his army.
For two years Phorvuld commanded the hold against the siege. For two years his people starved, fought, and died under his command. A bard’s song recalls the two year siege and its tragic last moments.
Boy of young, turned to man
Came to age, when battle began.
He raised his banner on the keep
For two or more years, he did not sleep.
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, the staller of woe!
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, you fought back the cul’!
You fought for their lives without care for your own,
But forever you’ll sit alone on your throne.
His men all dead, laid in the ground
Exhausted and broken,he was found.
Tragedy forever, it follows his heart,
Left alone, from his home he did part.
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, the staller of woe!
Phorvuld, Phorvuld, you fought back the cul’!
You fought for their lives without care for your own,
But forever you’ll sit alone on your throne.
He’ll wander this earth, to slaughter the End
Attacking their home, with none left to defend.
Seeking vengeance, for those he did love
In Vallhallah they wait for him up above.
The bard sang of the loss of his home… By the time of his seventeenth name day he had seen over two years of war, and the murder of his entire village. He took two arrows to the left thigh and a thrown spear to the right shoulder before passing out. When he awoke he found that his men had smuggled him out of the keep only to be ambushed in the forest. His soldiers were slaughtered around him, all killed in the process of slaying their assailants. By the time he had the strength to make it back to the keep he found it razed and burning. That night he allowed himself to weep for his family and the people he lead. That was the only night….
To be continued...
