Re: out of character wheel of time "the lifetree of death"
i am the gm as i am completely green to play by post i am open to critique as long as it is constructiveyou suck as a gm! go rape your momma is not constructive if you instead say you are a bit impatient, you should realy slo down i will thank you for your help
Last edited by da prophet : 10-16-2012 at 08:02 AM.
Re: out of character wheel of time "the lifetree of death"
Originally Posted by al'Lan Mandrag
Yay, also just to check, the item is an angreal and male attuned?
And will there be any others joining us?
yes it is male attuned(dont worry you will get your share of llot and glory aswell) as far as im aware of hawker will join and a friend of mine is making a character also saint of nights and drk is joining us how many of them who drops out is still left to see
Last edited by da prophet : 10-07-2012 at 02:34 PM.
Description: Targan is a bronzed skin man, with a solid frame. His hands are calloused and scarred from his years of working in a smithy. His skin has tanned from years in the sun. While his features are Shienaran, he lacks the usual topknot his people wear. He is completely bald (an interesting statement from a Shienaran). His eyes are deep-set and appear to be black, while his face is square and strong. Little about Targan suggests joy or happiness, unless it is in combat with the evil creatures of the Blight, when his eyes light up with an almost dark glee, or (more recently) discussing a certain woman studying at the White Tower.
He has earned the name Targan the Black due to his appearance - his clothes are all black, while his armor and weapons are all darkened and dusky looking. When asked how he got his gear to look that way, he simply states, "They were forged with the ashes of those who went before me."
Personality: Usually quiet, when Targan speaks up, it is a gravelly, gruff voice, strained from time spent shouting over bellows and hammers. He is quick to jump to the aid of the less fortunate, but rarely stays to participate in any thanks for his help. He treats stupidity and arrogance with disdain, usually ignoring such people unless their actions endanger him or his charges. When he drinks, he drinks heavy and long into the night; when he eats, it is as if he feels it might be his last meal. But he is neither a drunkard nor an obese man. The only time his guard seems to drop and a gentler side emerges is around children, whom he seems eager to please and watches almost longingly. Steadfast,dour, calculated, all could describe Targan. He has stayed alive as longas he has through courage, strength and a certain amount of cunning. He is an able ally ... and a deadly enemy.
Background: Targan was a blacksmith for a hinterland settlement outside of Fal Sion. Usually outside the range of any Trolloc attacks, the community of Mos Shalash still knew the dangers of the Shadowspawn. The town was maybe one hundred strong, half of which were warriors. As the head of the five-man smithy, Targan concentrated on making weapons and armor for his comrades, though he could wield ablade as well as any man there. He had a loving wife who worked the tannery, making the leathers needed for armor padding and for those desiring lighter protective garb. At home, their oldest boy watched over his little brother and baby sister. Life was hard and never certain, but it was good. With luck, the community hoped to soon rival that of Mon Shirare in size and ability. But such was not to be the fate of Mon Shalash.
During a particularly hard winter,it was apparent that a large force of Trolloc were headed towards Fal Sion. A call went out to all the communities to send warriors for what was hoped to be a spectacular defeat of the Shadowspawn armies. However, what it turned out to be was a feint by aparticularly cunning Myrddraal named Sis'lyntar. The gathering of a main army Trollocs kept the focus off of four separate bands of the beasts sent out to attack the various small communities supporting the fortress at Fal Sion. Mon Shalash was one of these communities.
Even for the excellent plan, the families at Mon Shamash were not stupid, and their sentries caught wind of the 30 strong band of Trollocs approaching the town. Word went out and families hid in houses with cellars large enough tohold them. Targan opened his home to at least six families, and they all hid quietly, hoping the beasts would leave without bloodshed. Overhead, they could hear the Trollocs searching and rooting for some sign of the towns people. Silence was their only chance now. But as Targan held his daughter, a small spider creeping along her hand bit down in surprise when the little girl twitched in her sleep. With a start, she awoke with a sharp cry. Above, the sounds of searching paused for a dreadful moment. Targan looked down at his daughter, who was already inhaling for another scream. He quickly pressed her to his breast, smothering her scream as they waited for the inevitable attack. But no attack came, and soon the sounds of the Trollocs leaving could be heard.
After waiting a good bit, Targan's wife leaned over to whisper if their daughter was all right. With a sickening clarity, the blacksmith realized he could no longer feel his daughter struggling against him. Opening his arms with dread, he gazed down at her limp body and realized that she wasn't moving. At all. No sign of breath, no feel of her little heart beating. Nothing.
No one in the community spoke against Targan. His wife mourned their daughter, but never openly accused him. His children hugged him, but did not speak of the incident. But as Targan looked into their eyes, he could only see a monster reflected in their eyes - the murderer of his daughter. By the eve of the next day, he had fled to the woods away from the settlement to live out the remainder of his days alone. He cut off all contact with his family and friends, leaving his best assistant to carry on the work of the smithy. But a scant week later, after the warriors had sent back word of a great victory, the Trolloc band returned, this time catching the settlement unawares. Targan saw the fires the next day, and hurried to Mon Shamash, only to find burned out houses and the dead strewn everywhere. Rather,he found the remains of the dead - abone here, a finger there, splatters of blood all over.
Going first to his own home, he found his family had been reduced to a few bloodstains and some matted hair. When he had killed his own daughter, the only factor that had kept him from killing himself was the fact that the town had survived. But now, he found that he had only delayed the inevitable - and in the process been denied the honor of dying in defense of his family and home. That day was forged a weapon to battle the Shadowspawn. And lost was any belief in the higher powers, since how could such beings allow such atravesty? No, the only thing that matter was steel and strength, blade and battle, damage and death. Any thoughts of suicide disappeared as Targan gazed across the town. Only a cold desire for revenge.
Moving to the remains of the smithy, he waited for the embers to subside. He found a knife and cut off his topknot, knowing he no longer deserved the honor of such a symbol. Next, he gathered his tools and began making weapons, weapons HEwould use. For months, he worked his trade, using metal washed in the blood and ashes of the villagers. Then he gathered what few supplies he could find and journeyed forth to take war to the Trollocs.
Over the past five years,Targan has fought all along the Borderlands, from the Aiel Waste to the shores of the Aryth Ocean. He is one of the best Shadowspawn Hunters around, though his primary prowess lies with Trollocs. He learned how to take advantage of his own strengths and their weaknesses, and has taught others the tactics he has learned to fight such creatures of enormous size. His skill is reknown across the Borderlands.
Recently, however, this dark hero found his hardened heart softened by a radiant face. He has taken to searching for this woman while he wages his personal war against the shadow. Now he knows that he no longer seek out battle.
It usually finds him first.
Posting should be normal. Weekend posting remains limited.
DM: "Why do you have so many characters?"
Me: "Because I never embraced the strategic value of running away."