Post by Tyson on Jul 21, 2013 2:15:05 GMT -5
Name: Tyson Ford
Species: Humani
Class: Crusader -> Templar
Hair Color: Strawberry Blonde
Eye Color: Pale Blue
Age: 22
Appearance: From first glance, you'd think he looked like a fool more than one of the Watcher's many acolytes. His muscles are developed and he stands at a formidable 6'5, but he still has a "frail child" look about him. His hair is long and tends to get everywhere instead of being wavy. He doesn't care much about the state of his hair because of it, and he can walk around all day with that disheveled fresh-from-sleep style, despite his teacher's best wishes. If he's really trying to impress, he'd have his hair held back with a priestly circlet and well combed. His eyes and eyebrows are both large in their own respects; his expression looks so blank at times it seems like he's staring into another realm. Or in an ear to ear grin. He's not pale due to his profession in the church. He's a lot tanner than most of the other members, even though he's fair-skinned. His beard grows, but he tries his best to keep his face clean-shaven. As a newborn, his arms were not correctly set in place; while it was fixed a few years afterwards, where his wrist meets the hand you can tell he had a problem.
Clothes:
Picture a priest's robes. Now picture the bottom with two slits on either side and green. It sounds strange, but it matches with his look somehow. Underneath the cassock he wears a sleeveless and grey collared shirt. The tips of the robes are tinged with gold and dark green fabric, the colours of his teacher's family crest. He wears stiff grey pants along with the shirt. He'd be horribly scolded if anyone knew about the sleeves being torn off of his shirts, needless to say it's hard to catch him without his cassock or some other manner of robe or cloak on. You can, however, catch him with a mother-of-pearl keepsake necklace. He claims it to be from his teacher as a promotional gift, but it was a present from his parents, who works as jewelers. These aren't his finest clothes, but stuff like this is what you'll normally see him in.
In battle, he wears an armour that would make him look like a normal on-foot soldier. He's learned to wear this even while fighting on Horseback. While less comfortable and heavier than a normal cavalier's, it's a great advantage over any unlucky chap that mistakes him for a rider, and gives his spear more momentum behind it. However, he doesn't like horseback very much. It's much too bumpy for him to completely get used to.
Born in: Jerch, Calirce.
Story: Don't ask about Fords. The stories you'll get are as divided as the people themselves. Some say they were zealots, others say thieves, cannibals, pillagers or all of the above. Whatever the case, they were a scourge to the good(good being relative) name of Gunertians everywhere. To be honest, you could think of them as organized raiders in the Hadrian Desert. The first recorded Ford that descended from them was a woman named Janus with her death date traced back to about thirty years after the War of Dread. Ironically, she wasn't a true Ford, but taken captive from a pillaged caravan as an infant. The tribe was descriptively known for short black hair and green eyes, but she started the trademark "blonde and blue-eyed" look. Raised as one of them alongside the other "wards", but wasn't much of a fighter. She had a little prowess with a spear but where she really shown was in literature. Poems, shorts, plays, you name it. Early on, she was a huge liability to the group. She was nearly thrown out of the group when she gave away their position during a raid once. The leader intervened by proclaiming of a "vision" the Watcher sent. She would lead the tribe to glory and riches. You'd be a fool to buy that, and that's exactly what they did. Hey, what the leader said, went. Janus didn't believe it at all, but you guessed that by now most likely.
Years passed and the leader more or less forcefully took her on as his successor due to said visions. He was senile, but his vote must've really carried a lot of power with the group. As he lay dying, she argued to give the role to someone else, literally anyone. There were more than enough people suited for the job. He remained adamant on it to his last breath. The group kept moving onwards with the young girl as their leader. Many disapproved, believing that a man and a fighting one at that, would be a better leader. It hadn't been a month when already she heard whispers of her "untimely demise". She fled from the group in the night, taking with her bare survival needs. In her haste, however, she forgot to steal water. She didn't make it very far, as you can imagine. Call it fortune, or the Watcher's blessing, but her savior appeared in the form of three dusty vagabonds who gathered her from the wastes after seeing her limp form on the horizon. After giving her a little water, the four backtracked to Holdstat, where they dumped Janus at the doorstep of a church and rode off. She had been semiconscious during the all-day trip, and she never did get their names.
Having nowhere else to go and wanting to be sure she wasn't found, Janus stayed at the church. It was like the religion the group had, only without all the banditry. Looking back, she was sure they were incorrect in what they did. She was adopted by a middle aged cleric and taught the finer aspects of the Churches of the Watcher. As Janus grew, she kept a journal where she wrote the experiences she remembered and the ones she'd have. The rest of her days would be filled with holy teachings and prayer. She usually didn't leave the city from fear of the Fords, but it didn't stop her from marrying to a quiet and precise Battle Priest named Kurtis when she turned thirty-five. This happened a year before The War of Dread. Many of the templars as well as Kurtis left for the front lines as well as soldiers, and most of them did not return. Kurtis did survive the war, but died of his wounds on the way home. Janus was heartbroken but re-married, much to the dismay of the rest of the church. She was remove from her position, in fact, and told to never return. The journal was left by mistake, and lies on some forgotten bookshelf down in the church's basement, collecting dust.
Janus conceived from her re-marriage and gave birth to a son who was named after Kurtis. She died a very contented scribe at the age of sixty seven. Kurtis continued the genealogy of the "Fords" while the bandits proceeded to die out, but not before a bajillion stories were created about them. There are many offshoots of the "Janus-Ford" lineage, and you'd be hardpressed to find a place without at least one, and frequently in the church. Pretty ironic. But let's focus on the main character here. Fast-forward Twelve Generations, and Tyson Ford is our main man. As the Ford lineage spread out, they slowly moved over to Calirce, known for its theocratic worship of the Watcher. This was about six generations before him. As each generation came and went, they slowly lost the trademarked dark skin Gunertians usually have.
Lotte was a hardworking man, who was deeply devoted to the church as well as his wife Diane. They lived out in the sticks of the capital, but it wasn't so bad. Their son Tyson, although he slept a lot for a three year old, was a happy go lucky fellow who like most young lads wanted to be like his dad. He followed him wherever he went 24/7. Tyson especially loved watching when the younger clergymen sparred. The church stuff was all well and good, but he wanted to be a warrior! With a life of adventure and excitement! As Tyson grew, he moreso wished to serve the church. His father made sure he studied the Book of the Watcher on a daily basis, but every now and then the boy would sneak off to see the fights.
Although they found him a nuisance as a child, they'd show him their moves, and teach him the bare basics of fighting. Most of them fought with (blunt!)spears and sometimes bucklers. Spears are harder to train with than a sword or an axe, they had told him. You have to have it down to a science. Either you hit, or not. You can't practice until you get it right, you have to practice until you never get it wrong. While he listened and read the many articles before him, he'd often daydream, and after the age of seven, fall asleep constantly, much to his father's irritation. The cause? He was awfully young to have it, but he appeared to have developed narcolepsy.
Constantly badgering his father, he was permitted a weapons tutor at the age of thirteen. While Tyson was adept with holy magic, where he really shone was in lances. All those years of listening intently paid off; he wasn't a complete idiot by the time he started. His tutor was an old man from one of the "mainer" churches in the city named Adafon. He had been a man of high position but he stepped down when he believed it was his time to retire. Boy did Tyson underestimate him when they first sparred. He wasn't especially muscley, but to say Tyson was curbstomped was an understatement. Early on the boy would skip classes and usually nap, but Adafon learned all his hiding spots within the first months. You wanted to learn, and that's what you're going to do. He would repeat. Tyson not only learned how to fight with a spear, but he learned of Adafon's history whenever they took a break. He loved the little stories the old man would tell, especially the ones that were about some of the sparrers that Tyson was acquainted with at a young age.
Between the training and the church, Tyson was completely booked for a few years of his teenage life. As it closed in on his sixteenth birthday, he was disappointed to learn that Adafon had ran out of things to teach him. Tyson had become all that he could hope for, with a little more on the side. You cleaned up nice, I remember back when you would avoid me for a quick nap! Adafon joked. He was recommended for the church after building up experience at the church his father attended. He did simple stuff. Errands, prayers, etc. The church he was aiming to work for had not accepted him until he turned twenty two. He wasn't a noble or the richest on the block, and if had to guess that'd be the reason. But they would never say it to his face. It infuriated him to no end but he snatched the offer from them quickly.
He had only been there for about two months and he was raring to prove himself. The opportunity was presented to him in the shape of an escort mission. He was to safely bring a parcel into a minor city on the Lupercallia-Gunert border. Apparently shipping through war country wasn't within the mail service's policy. A partner was going to come with him; some snot nosed noble brat called Henry. He packed his stuff as well as the parcel within the afternoon, and hightailed it out of the capital without Henry. Maybe he was acting rash, but he was going to beat them at their own game. No matter what.
Stats:
Strength-8
Intellect-5
Speed-8
Defense-4
Resistance-5
Species: Humani
Class: Crusader -> Templar
Hair Color: Strawberry Blonde
Eye Color: Pale Blue
Age: 22
Appearance: From first glance, you'd think he looked like a fool more than one of the Watcher's many acolytes. His muscles are developed and he stands at a formidable 6'5, but he still has a "frail child" look about him. His hair is long and tends to get everywhere instead of being wavy. He doesn't care much about the state of his hair because of it, and he can walk around all day with that disheveled fresh-from-sleep style, despite his teacher's best wishes. If he's really trying to impress, he'd have his hair held back with a priestly circlet and well combed. His eyes and eyebrows are both large in their own respects; his expression looks so blank at times it seems like he's staring into another realm. Or in an ear to ear grin. He's not pale due to his profession in the church. He's a lot tanner than most of the other members, even though he's fair-skinned. His beard grows, but he tries his best to keep his face clean-shaven. As a newborn, his arms were not correctly set in place; while it was fixed a few years afterwards, where his wrist meets the hand you can tell he had a problem.
Clothes:
Picture a priest's robes. Now picture the bottom with two slits on either side and green. It sounds strange, but it matches with his look somehow. Underneath the cassock he wears a sleeveless and grey collared shirt. The tips of the robes are tinged with gold and dark green fabric, the colours of his teacher's family crest. He wears stiff grey pants along with the shirt. He'd be horribly scolded if anyone knew about the sleeves being torn off of his shirts, needless to say it's hard to catch him without his cassock or some other manner of robe or cloak on. You can, however, catch him with a mother-of-pearl keepsake necklace. He claims it to be from his teacher as a promotional gift, but it was a present from his parents, who works as jewelers. These aren't his finest clothes, but stuff like this is what you'll normally see him in.
In battle, he wears an armour that would make him look like a normal on-foot soldier. He's learned to wear this even while fighting on Horseback. While less comfortable and heavier than a normal cavalier's, it's a great advantage over any unlucky chap that mistakes him for a rider, and gives his spear more momentum behind it. However, he doesn't like horseback very much. It's much too bumpy for him to completely get used to.
Born in: Jerch, Calirce.
Story: Don't ask about Fords. The stories you'll get are as divided as the people themselves. Some say they were zealots, others say thieves, cannibals, pillagers or all of the above. Whatever the case, they were a scourge to the good(good being relative) name of Gunertians everywhere. To be honest, you could think of them as organized raiders in the Hadrian Desert. The first recorded Ford that descended from them was a woman named Janus with her death date traced back to about thirty years after the War of Dread. Ironically, she wasn't a true Ford, but taken captive from a pillaged caravan as an infant. The tribe was descriptively known for short black hair and green eyes, but she started the trademark "blonde and blue-eyed" look. Raised as one of them alongside the other "wards", but wasn't much of a fighter. She had a little prowess with a spear but where she really shown was in literature. Poems, shorts, plays, you name it. Early on, she was a huge liability to the group. She was nearly thrown out of the group when she gave away their position during a raid once. The leader intervened by proclaiming of a "vision" the Watcher sent. She would lead the tribe to glory and riches. You'd be a fool to buy that, and that's exactly what they did. Hey, what the leader said, went. Janus didn't believe it at all, but you guessed that by now most likely.
Years passed and the leader more or less forcefully took her on as his successor due to said visions. He was senile, but his vote must've really carried a lot of power with the group. As he lay dying, she argued to give the role to someone else, literally anyone. There were more than enough people suited for the job. He remained adamant on it to his last breath. The group kept moving onwards with the young girl as their leader. Many disapproved, believing that a man and a fighting one at that, would be a better leader. It hadn't been a month when already she heard whispers of her "untimely demise". She fled from the group in the night, taking with her bare survival needs. In her haste, however, she forgot to steal water. She didn't make it very far, as you can imagine. Call it fortune, or the Watcher's blessing, but her savior appeared in the form of three dusty vagabonds who gathered her from the wastes after seeing her limp form on the horizon. After giving her a little water, the four backtracked to Holdstat, where they dumped Janus at the doorstep of a church and rode off. She had been semiconscious during the all-day trip, and she never did get their names.
Having nowhere else to go and wanting to be sure she wasn't found, Janus stayed at the church. It was like the religion the group had, only without all the banditry. Looking back, she was sure they were incorrect in what they did. She was adopted by a middle aged cleric and taught the finer aspects of the Churches of the Watcher. As Janus grew, she kept a journal where she wrote the experiences she remembered and the ones she'd have. The rest of her days would be filled with holy teachings and prayer. She usually didn't leave the city from fear of the Fords, but it didn't stop her from marrying to a quiet and precise Battle Priest named Kurtis when she turned thirty-five. This happened a year before The War of Dread. Many of the templars as well as Kurtis left for the front lines as well as soldiers, and most of them did not return. Kurtis did survive the war, but died of his wounds on the way home. Janus was heartbroken but re-married, much to the dismay of the rest of the church. She was remove from her position, in fact, and told to never return. The journal was left by mistake, and lies on some forgotten bookshelf down in the church's basement, collecting dust.
Janus conceived from her re-marriage and gave birth to a son who was named after Kurtis. She died a very contented scribe at the age of sixty seven. Kurtis continued the genealogy of the "Fords" while the bandits proceeded to die out, but not before a bajillion stories were created about them. There are many offshoots of the "Janus-Ford" lineage, and you'd be hardpressed to find a place without at least one, and frequently in the church. Pretty ironic. But let's focus on the main character here. Fast-forward Twelve Generations, and Tyson Ford is our main man. As the Ford lineage spread out, they slowly moved over to Calirce, known for its theocratic worship of the Watcher. This was about six generations before him. As each generation came and went, they slowly lost the trademarked dark skin Gunertians usually have.
Lotte was a hardworking man, who was deeply devoted to the church as well as his wife Diane. They lived out in the sticks of the capital, but it wasn't so bad. Their son Tyson, although he slept a lot for a three year old, was a happy go lucky fellow who like most young lads wanted to be like his dad. He followed him wherever he went 24/7. Tyson especially loved watching when the younger clergymen sparred. The church stuff was all well and good, but he wanted to be a warrior! With a life of adventure and excitement! As Tyson grew, he moreso wished to serve the church. His father made sure he studied the Book of the Watcher on a daily basis, but every now and then the boy would sneak off to see the fights.
Although they found him a nuisance as a child, they'd show him their moves, and teach him the bare basics of fighting. Most of them fought with (blunt!)spears and sometimes bucklers. Spears are harder to train with than a sword or an axe, they had told him. You have to have it down to a science. Either you hit, or not. You can't practice until you get it right, you have to practice until you never get it wrong. While he listened and read the many articles before him, he'd often daydream, and after the age of seven, fall asleep constantly, much to his father's irritation. The cause? He was awfully young to have it, but he appeared to have developed narcolepsy.
Constantly badgering his father, he was permitted a weapons tutor at the age of thirteen. While Tyson was adept with holy magic, where he really shone was in lances. All those years of listening intently paid off; he wasn't a complete idiot by the time he started. His tutor was an old man from one of the "mainer" churches in the city named Adafon. He had been a man of high position but he stepped down when he believed it was his time to retire. Boy did Tyson underestimate him when they first sparred. He wasn't especially muscley, but to say Tyson was curbstomped was an understatement. Early on the boy would skip classes and usually nap, but Adafon learned all his hiding spots within the first months. You wanted to learn, and that's what you're going to do. He would repeat. Tyson not only learned how to fight with a spear, but he learned of Adafon's history whenever they took a break. He loved the little stories the old man would tell, especially the ones that were about some of the sparrers that Tyson was acquainted with at a young age.
Between the training and the church, Tyson was completely booked for a few years of his teenage life. As it closed in on his sixteenth birthday, he was disappointed to learn that Adafon had ran out of things to teach him. Tyson had become all that he could hope for, with a little more on the side. You cleaned up nice, I remember back when you would avoid me for a quick nap! Adafon joked. He was recommended for the church after building up experience at the church his father attended. He did simple stuff. Errands, prayers, etc. The church he was aiming to work for had not accepted him until he turned twenty two. He wasn't a noble or the richest on the block, and if had to guess that'd be the reason. But they would never say it to his face. It infuriated him to no end but he snatched the offer from them quickly.
He had only been there for about two months and he was raring to prove himself. The opportunity was presented to him in the shape of an escort mission. He was to safely bring a parcel into a minor city on the Lupercallia-Gunert border. Apparently shipping through war country wasn't within the mail service's policy. A partner was going to come with him; some snot nosed noble brat called Henry. He packed his stuff as well as the parcel within the afternoon, and hightailed it out of the capital without Henry. Maybe he was acting rash, but he was going to beat them at their own game. No matter what.
Stats:
Strength-8
Intellect-5
Speed-8
Defense-4
Resistance-5