Post by Amur on Feb 2, 2011 21:25:57 GMT -5
Name: Solomon Latro -[Birth name: Valkenhayn]-
Age: 23
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Occupation: Hunter –[Traveller]-
Allegiance: Currently he answers to no-one, however, his allegiance will always belong to his clan.
Physical Description:
5'10", his build is compact, making him look deceptively skinny, over his years hunting he has gained a lot of muscle.
Solomon is something of an oddity; at first glance eyes are normally drawn to his hair. While his youth is obvious the roots of his hair are already dark grey, and while this does eventually darken into his natural black hair it does tend to raise many questions. (Although even Solomon has no idea why his hair is greying already.)
His hair is shoulder length, and while the roots are grey the tips are black.
His eyes are blue.
Move on to his face and at once it becomes obvious that Solomon is no stranger to extreme danger, the white of his right eye is blood red and starting from his right eyebrow, down the right side of his head and ending at the base of his neck is a series of brutally knotted scars.
The scar does not cross his face, only the side of his head, although it does cover the bottom of his chin as well as the side of his head.
His nose is crooked, due to obvious multiple breaks.
He also sports a small collection of less impressive scars on his torso from his hunts, there are more of them in total, but compared to the one of his head they are small.
On his right arm is a black tattoo, a small picture of a snarling wolf-head within a circle bearing four points: One at the top, one to the right, one on the bottom and one of the left; the insignia of his clan.
The main item of clothing that usually catches the attention of passers-by and onlookers in a custom-made garment resembling a long cape with sleeves that end just above his ankles. (To you and I it is known as a trench coat.) It sports a heavy set hood and is made from black wyvern-skin, which acts as a light form of armour without sacrificing flexibility or mobility.
His torso is usually covered by a plain-white shirt, which sits beneath a light-weight, black chest, plate. Which, like his coat is also crafted from wyvern-skin.
His legs have only a small number of scars, even less impressive than those covering his torso.
His lower body is usually covered by a pair of plain black heavy-duty hunting slacks, his feet by a heavy-duty pair of boots and a set of dark-metal greaves are fastened to his shins, which have three inch spikes jutting from each heel.
Personality:
Solomon is an enigma; his loyalty belongs to his clan and no-one else. It bears no odds to him that his clan was destroyed, it was because of them that he became the man that he is today, and as such he has made every effort to remain loyal to his clans cause, and remain independent from all forms of political power regardless of who and/or what they are.
That is the most commonly seen side of Solomon, in public he presents himself as a calm and collected, and curious individual, interested in befriending as many people as he can. However, that is a facade; he is an opportunistic, subtle, calculating predator. Everything and everyone is prey and nothing is above him, he revels in the manipulation of others and is dedicated to his next kill, regardless of whether or not he knows what his next target will be.
Like all predators he is extremely patient and can sit in wait for hours on end while merely tracking and observing his prey, nothing is more exciting than the hunt.
His prey is not limited to mere animals either, monsters, magical creatures, even other humans are nothing but prey to him, if rumours of what he deems to be "worthy prey" reach him he will often drop what he is doing, or abandon his current quarry in order to first verify the rumours and then hunt it.
He does not always partake in the flesh of his prey, most of the time it is purely for sport, however, if his prey proves to be challenging enough he will eat some of their flesh to show his dominance over the kill.
He prefers to keep his identity concealed, however, and as such never takes public credit for his kills, believing that an unseen, unknown predator causes more fear than anything else.
Equipment:
¬ Nacht Trenmesser: -[Hunting Bow]-
A Long Bow made by curing several wyvern bones in a special way and then fusing it with the scales to give it a dark and oppressive appearance. The bow string cannot be removed, however, the bow is fitted with a mechanism that allows it to fold for easy storage, in either state it is locked in place so there is no danger of it snapping open or shut at an inopportune time. It is a highly durable weapon.
¬ Zerstechen Arrows:
A specially made arrow favoured by Solomon’s clan for bringing down large prey with ease. At the base of the arrow, directly beneath the head is a small glass vial, fitted to the rest of the shaft. Upon impact the vial shatters and the compound inside reacts violently with the air which causes an explosion. Due to their volatility, these are rarely carried around, and when they are they are always stored in a shock-proof case that can attach to a normal quiver of arrows.
¬ Tear: -[Short Sword]-
A custom weapon forged by somehow allowing wyvern venom to fuse with the metal during creation, because of this the blade itself is venomous (wyvern venom is potent) meaning that even the smallest cut from this blade can lead to a long and painful death.
The colour of the blade is a sickly, mottled purple.
The tip of the blade ends in a small barb, which causes the wound to tear upon infliction. However, it is not designed to withstand multiple, heavy impacts.
¬ Stalker’s Eye:
A hand-held, hollow piece of glass filled with water, normally kept in a pouch and within reach. Used in hunts to track the movement of prey when the correct spell is uttered with it.
Also keeps a small collection of hunting knives concealed within various places in his clothes.
History:
Born to a merchant mother and a Knight Errant father, Valkenhayn had, had his life decided before birth, his parents had decided that it was best for Valkenhayn to follow in his mothers footsteps. Neither of them wanted a life of violence for their child, so from an early age he was educated by his mother in her trade, he would see his father rarely and only ever for short periods of time before he left. Valkenhayn grew to hate the routine and his parents, by the age of thirteen out of spite born from his hatred he ran from his mother and into the wilderness they were travelling through at the time, dropping all connections to the man and woman that had called him “son” he wandered the wilderness for several days as a nameless vagabond.
With no survival skills he soon found himself staggering blindly around the wilderness, on the verge of death from dehydration he collapsed.
He woke in an unfamiliar place some weeks later as a prisoner, the discussions he heard about him revolved around using him as bait, however, he was given a chance. When asked for his name and revealing that he had none he was offered a home among these people, at his age, he had no idea what else he had going for him and blindly accepted the offer, after all anything was better than being used as bait.
After receiving a brief education on the history of the four hunting clans he was initiated into the clan that had found him. Hunting Clan Latro, for the next five years he remained nameless as he was educated by his clan, the education was extensive and oftentimes harsh, yet he excelled, pulling ahead of his other clan members rapidly.
When he turned 18 he along with seven other clan members were allowed to earn their place among the other hunters. Their task was to hunt something worth note and return it to their hideout, so he set out, stopping in small towns, allowing himself to take in the sights and sounds as he befriended many people and found out all that was worth finding out.
From the information he had learned he found his first target, a master of combat living as a hermit on the outskirts of a nearby kingdom. Using everything he had learned throughout his education he stalked his prey for several days, learning the daily routine of his quarry. Where he went and when he went there, who he met and when he met them and eventually had his plan. A single arrow to the throat and his prey lie dead, it was a rush unlike anything he had ever felt before; he took his prize back to his hidden camp and left during the night.
Out of the seven that had left only he and two others ever returned and their kills were just as impressive as his, the next boy had managed to kill an elite warlord while the only female among them had managed to stalk and kill a Prince in his castle. Between them their kills generated much talk around the clan and were deemed worthy kills to earn them their place among the hunters of the Latro Clan.
He remembers the ritual vividly, on a single knee he pledged his loyalty to that of his clan, that his kills would be among the best and that he would always be a hunter, he was above anything that was not a Hunter like him.
“Now arise nameless Latro and tell us your new identity.”
He had chosen his name during his hunt and was quite proud of it, drawing himself to his feet he drew in a deep breath before uttering.
“Solomon.”
The spectators cheered his choice which drew a small smile from the elder conducting the ritual, a small nod and then.
“Welcome to Hunting Clan Latro. You, Solomon Latro are one of us, free to all the comforts of life we enjoy, may your hunts prove challenging, and may your successes prove fruitful, to both yourself and to your clan.”
Solomon Latro, he liked it, he finally belonged somewhere he wanted to belong he was given his Stalkers Eye soon after. 2 years passed, his notoriety spreading throughout his clan. He became highly respected, even had several younger clan members under his wing, without a doubt his life was looking better every day.
The first unexpected shock of his life happened during a high-profile hunt that was asked of him by the elders; he had spent several weeks stalking and observing his prey and had his plan set out and now, in the black of night he was about to deliver his killing blow when something caught his attention.
A shadow in the night, distant at first, but growing closer, it was not until he realised what it was that fear took him. He was attacked by a large black wyvern, unable to escape and without the chance to finish his current prey he was forced to face the wyvern himself.
He took a heavy blow to the head early on, slashing the side of his head and distorting the sight in his right eye with red, luckily the wyvern’s sting had missed him so he was spared its venom. It was a brutal battle that pushed him beyond his physical limit; however, once silence fell he was stood atop the unmoving wyvern with a hunting knife in hand.
The next few days were a blur of activity and travel to Solomon; he can never accurately recall what happened after his fight with the wyvern, half delirious having not received immediate attention for his wounds he returned home to shocked silence and passed out soon after the cheering started, his last thought then was of satisfaction, he had done something that not even the best of hunters could claim to have done.
When he woke he learned that the severity of his wounds had taken the lives of several of the clan’s healers, and even then they had not been able to heal the wound. But Solomon liked what he was when he looked in the mirror, his right eye dyed by his own blood, the side of his head covered with a vicious scar. He was a hero, he had the scars to prove it and now he would have the equipment as well, in accordance with his clan’s laws he had full access to the corpse of all large game that he killed before anyone else.
Within months he had his own custom equipment crafted from various pieces of the wyvern’s corpse to call his own and soon was back hunting, however, things came crashing down a short while later when the hideout of his clan was attacked a group of Knights lead by a grizzled looking veteran, only he had no allegiance insignia. A Kingless Knight Errant, Solomon knew who he was instantly, and it seemed that he recognised something of Solomon as well for he immediately looked tense as he uttered the work.
“Valkenhayn!?”
Solomon smirked and shook his head.
“It is you! Do you know what your mother-“
Solomon laughed, and he laughed hard, which drew a pained expression from this murderer; he looked back up and cocked an eyebrow in the most mocking expression he could muster.
“The anguish on your face says it all, and it is delicious!”
The Knight Errant let loose a primal scream and lashed at Solomon, however, he merely caught him once with his custom short sword and said “wyvern venom” before blowing the man a mocking kiss and fleeing from his home.
Things had become dangerous, the Allied Kingdoms had found their hideout and had undoubtedly found the other three clans, and he had to flee the country. He spent some weeks wandering before he managed to track down a vessel for pilgrims, a one-way trip, that much he knew. Offering his services as a guard he left his homeland without looking back, he would begin anew in other lands, that much he knew, lands that held no knowledge of him or of his homeland.
He has spent the last few years exploring this new land he arrived on, getting to know the scenery, the towns and the few people that managed to catch his interest, he taught himself to speak the language of the people here and has since managed to blend in to the crowd almost seamlessly, he has hunted a large number of prey and killed them all successfully, leaving the bodies to be found. No-one knows him but he keeps himself to crowds allowing himself to appear as some kind of sword-for-hire.
RP Sample:
From his vantage point his eyes followed his prey, the huge wolf-like creature was clearly able to tell that something was amiss, though there was no way it would be able to tell that it was being hunted. He swiftly leaped over to the next tree branch, not leaving so much as a single leaf out-of-place as he shifted position.
Since he had arrived here he had almost literally fallen in love with this place, this forest surrounded by mountains, the large game was plentiful and sharp enough to force him to have to think on his feet. It passed through his trap, leaving a thin line of purple paint on the side of its torso. Now the game had begun, he moved over to the next branch and then into the next tree, landing without a sound on a smaller branch before leaping to his next point.
He kept still in the squatted position he landed in, his wyvern-skin coat drifting with the breeze, he pulled his hood back, examining the surroundings with a trained eye. His prey had just passed “Mark One.” -Of course that was just an odd rock formation, a skilled Hunter took the time to pick out these little oddities and use them as a reference. - Another few steps and it would trigger the next phase. A pained yelp reached him and Solomon allowed himself a small smirk, this one had been a tad younger than the last, so the hunt had been shorter.
He readied his bow, opening it with ease and fitted an arrow. His prey was trying to escape a series of knotted branches that Solomon had set earlier, he took aim, compensating for the distance and slight breeze that he was working against and then loosed the shot.
In his practiced hand there was no doubt that the shot would miss, and now the result of several days worth of tracking and hunting lie on the ground with an arrow through its neck, a flawless kill. Silently Solomon jumped from branch-to-branch, reaching the ground swiftly. From within his coat he withdrew one of his hunting knives and set to work, the hunt and the kill were both as exciting as each other, and now he would have to leave the result to be found.
“The unknown inspires much more fear.”
He muttered to himself with a smile, his accented voice lost to the sound of cutting and slashing as he set himself the task of creating unrecognisable wounds.
Notes:
The Equipment list is as much for my reference as it is for yours, this is a character that relies on the tools he has at his disposal. Helps me to keep the character use consistent and lets you see that I’m not just pulling things out of nowhere when it comes to threads against him... Well should they occur.
His native language is German; however, his accent is Russian. (Probably the most evil sounding combo ever.)
He has an understanding of how magic works and is able to shield his mind from intrusion; however, his command over magic itself is fairly limited and his use of it generally aids him in his hunting.
He is able to speak his native language and English fluently and also has a relatively strong grasp of the Ancient Language as well. (That is as a language though, not as a means of magic use.)
The compound within the vials on his Zerstechen Arrows is made by a mixture of water, plants and then a special kind of stone. The stone takes several days to dissolve and meld with the rest of the compound which is when it becomes unstable, the compound is normally put in the vial, then the stone is added and then the vial is sealed to prevent it from exploding during creation.
Yes, Solomon does know how to create the compound, but has little use for Zerstechen Arrows so he rarely needs to make it.
Solomon already has several concealed camps hidden in various places and often travels between them, though all things of value stay with him.
The reason his blood dyed the white of his right eye is as much the result of botched healing spells as anything else, while the sight in his right eye was saved it is a glaring distinguishing feature for him along with his scar.
His short sword “Tear” (As in when you cry) is normally sheathed, hilt down on his back and under his coat.
The “Stalkers Eye” is used for Scrying since there is no way to get the water out of the glass object without breaking it, the “paint marking” used in my RP sample is a method which adds a distinguishing feature to animal prey that may look the same as others of their race which will allow Solomon to scry them with ease.
[]
Age: 23
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Occupation: Hunter –[Traveller]-
Allegiance: Currently he answers to no-one, however, his allegiance will always belong to his clan.
Physical Description:
5'10", his build is compact, making him look deceptively skinny, over his years hunting he has gained a lot of muscle.
Solomon is something of an oddity; at first glance eyes are normally drawn to his hair. While his youth is obvious the roots of his hair are already dark grey, and while this does eventually darken into his natural black hair it does tend to raise many questions. (Although even Solomon has no idea why his hair is greying already.)
His hair is shoulder length, and while the roots are grey the tips are black.
His eyes are blue.
Move on to his face and at once it becomes obvious that Solomon is no stranger to extreme danger, the white of his right eye is blood red and starting from his right eyebrow, down the right side of his head and ending at the base of his neck is a series of brutally knotted scars.
The scar does not cross his face, only the side of his head, although it does cover the bottom of his chin as well as the side of his head.
His nose is crooked, due to obvious multiple breaks.
He also sports a small collection of less impressive scars on his torso from his hunts, there are more of them in total, but compared to the one of his head they are small.
On his right arm is a black tattoo, a small picture of a snarling wolf-head within a circle bearing four points: One at the top, one to the right, one on the bottom and one of the left; the insignia of his clan.
The main item of clothing that usually catches the attention of passers-by and onlookers in a custom-made garment resembling a long cape with sleeves that end just above his ankles. (To you and I it is known as a trench coat.) It sports a heavy set hood and is made from black wyvern-skin, which acts as a light form of armour without sacrificing flexibility or mobility.
His torso is usually covered by a plain-white shirt, which sits beneath a light-weight, black chest, plate. Which, like his coat is also crafted from wyvern-skin.
His legs have only a small number of scars, even less impressive than those covering his torso.
His lower body is usually covered by a pair of plain black heavy-duty hunting slacks, his feet by a heavy-duty pair of boots and a set of dark-metal greaves are fastened to his shins, which have three inch spikes jutting from each heel.
Personality:
Solomon is an enigma; his loyalty belongs to his clan and no-one else. It bears no odds to him that his clan was destroyed, it was because of them that he became the man that he is today, and as such he has made every effort to remain loyal to his clans cause, and remain independent from all forms of political power regardless of who and/or what they are.
That is the most commonly seen side of Solomon, in public he presents himself as a calm and collected, and curious individual, interested in befriending as many people as he can. However, that is a facade; he is an opportunistic, subtle, calculating predator. Everything and everyone is prey and nothing is above him, he revels in the manipulation of others and is dedicated to his next kill, regardless of whether or not he knows what his next target will be.
Like all predators he is extremely patient and can sit in wait for hours on end while merely tracking and observing his prey, nothing is more exciting than the hunt.
His prey is not limited to mere animals either, monsters, magical creatures, even other humans are nothing but prey to him, if rumours of what he deems to be "worthy prey" reach him he will often drop what he is doing, or abandon his current quarry in order to first verify the rumours and then hunt it.
He does not always partake in the flesh of his prey, most of the time it is purely for sport, however, if his prey proves to be challenging enough he will eat some of their flesh to show his dominance over the kill.
He prefers to keep his identity concealed, however, and as such never takes public credit for his kills, believing that an unseen, unknown predator causes more fear than anything else.
Equipment:
¬ Nacht Trenmesser: -[Hunting Bow]-
A Long Bow made by curing several wyvern bones in a special way and then fusing it with the scales to give it a dark and oppressive appearance. The bow string cannot be removed, however, the bow is fitted with a mechanism that allows it to fold for easy storage, in either state it is locked in place so there is no danger of it snapping open or shut at an inopportune time. It is a highly durable weapon.
¬ Zerstechen Arrows:
A specially made arrow favoured by Solomon’s clan for bringing down large prey with ease. At the base of the arrow, directly beneath the head is a small glass vial, fitted to the rest of the shaft. Upon impact the vial shatters and the compound inside reacts violently with the air which causes an explosion. Due to their volatility, these are rarely carried around, and when they are they are always stored in a shock-proof case that can attach to a normal quiver of arrows.
¬ Tear: -[Short Sword]-
A custom weapon forged by somehow allowing wyvern venom to fuse with the metal during creation, because of this the blade itself is venomous (wyvern venom is potent) meaning that even the smallest cut from this blade can lead to a long and painful death.
The colour of the blade is a sickly, mottled purple.
The tip of the blade ends in a small barb, which causes the wound to tear upon infliction. However, it is not designed to withstand multiple, heavy impacts.
¬ Stalker’s Eye:
A hand-held, hollow piece of glass filled with water, normally kept in a pouch and within reach. Used in hunts to track the movement of prey when the correct spell is uttered with it.
Also keeps a small collection of hunting knives concealed within various places in his clothes.
History:
Born to a merchant mother and a Knight Errant father, Valkenhayn had, had his life decided before birth, his parents had decided that it was best for Valkenhayn to follow in his mothers footsteps. Neither of them wanted a life of violence for their child, so from an early age he was educated by his mother in her trade, he would see his father rarely and only ever for short periods of time before he left. Valkenhayn grew to hate the routine and his parents, by the age of thirteen out of spite born from his hatred he ran from his mother and into the wilderness they were travelling through at the time, dropping all connections to the man and woman that had called him “son” he wandered the wilderness for several days as a nameless vagabond.
With no survival skills he soon found himself staggering blindly around the wilderness, on the verge of death from dehydration he collapsed.
He woke in an unfamiliar place some weeks later as a prisoner, the discussions he heard about him revolved around using him as bait, however, he was given a chance. When asked for his name and revealing that he had none he was offered a home among these people, at his age, he had no idea what else he had going for him and blindly accepted the offer, after all anything was better than being used as bait.
After receiving a brief education on the history of the four hunting clans he was initiated into the clan that had found him. Hunting Clan Latro, for the next five years he remained nameless as he was educated by his clan, the education was extensive and oftentimes harsh, yet he excelled, pulling ahead of his other clan members rapidly.
When he turned 18 he along with seven other clan members were allowed to earn their place among the other hunters. Their task was to hunt something worth note and return it to their hideout, so he set out, stopping in small towns, allowing himself to take in the sights and sounds as he befriended many people and found out all that was worth finding out.
From the information he had learned he found his first target, a master of combat living as a hermit on the outskirts of a nearby kingdom. Using everything he had learned throughout his education he stalked his prey for several days, learning the daily routine of his quarry. Where he went and when he went there, who he met and when he met them and eventually had his plan. A single arrow to the throat and his prey lie dead, it was a rush unlike anything he had ever felt before; he took his prize back to his hidden camp and left during the night.
Out of the seven that had left only he and two others ever returned and their kills were just as impressive as his, the next boy had managed to kill an elite warlord while the only female among them had managed to stalk and kill a Prince in his castle. Between them their kills generated much talk around the clan and were deemed worthy kills to earn them their place among the hunters of the Latro Clan.
He remembers the ritual vividly, on a single knee he pledged his loyalty to that of his clan, that his kills would be among the best and that he would always be a hunter, he was above anything that was not a Hunter like him.
“Now arise nameless Latro and tell us your new identity.”
He had chosen his name during his hunt and was quite proud of it, drawing himself to his feet he drew in a deep breath before uttering.
“Solomon.”
The spectators cheered his choice which drew a small smile from the elder conducting the ritual, a small nod and then.
“Welcome to Hunting Clan Latro. You, Solomon Latro are one of us, free to all the comforts of life we enjoy, may your hunts prove challenging, and may your successes prove fruitful, to both yourself and to your clan.”
Solomon Latro, he liked it, he finally belonged somewhere he wanted to belong he was given his Stalkers Eye soon after. 2 years passed, his notoriety spreading throughout his clan. He became highly respected, even had several younger clan members under his wing, without a doubt his life was looking better every day.
The first unexpected shock of his life happened during a high-profile hunt that was asked of him by the elders; he had spent several weeks stalking and observing his prey and had his plan set out and now, in the black of night he was about to deliver his killing blow when something caught his attention.
A shadow in the night, distant at first, but growing closer, it was not until he realised what it was that fear took him. He was attacked by a large black wyvern, unable to escape and without the chance to finish his current prey he was forced to face the wyvern himself.
He took a heavy blow to the head early on, slashing the side of his head and distorting the sight in his right eye with red, luckily the wyvern’s sting had missed him so he was spared its venom. It was a brutal battle that pushed him beyond his physical limit; however, once silence fell he was stood atop the unmoving wyvern with a hunting knife in hand.
The next few days were a blur of activity and travel to Solomon; he can never accurately recall what happened after his fight with the wyvern, half delirious having not received immediate attention for his wounds he returned home to shocked silence and passed out soon after the cheering started, his last thought then was of satisfaction, he had done something that not even the best of hunters could claim to have done.
When he woke he learned that the severity of his wounds had taken the lives of several of the clan’s healers, and even then they had not been able to heal the wound. But Solomon liked what he was when he looked in the mirror, his right eye dyed by his own blood, the side of his head covered with a vicious scar. He was a hero, he had the scars to prove it and now he would have the equipment as well, in accordance with his clan’s laws he had full access to the corpse of all large game that he killed before anyone else.
Within months he had his own custom equipment crafted from various pieces of the wyvern’s corpse to call his own and soon was back hunting, however, things came crashing down a short while later when the hideout of his clan was attacked a group of Knights lead by a grizzled looking veteran, only he had no allegiance insignia. A Kingless Knight Errant, Solomon knew who he was instantly, and it seemed that he recognised something of Solomon as well for he immediately looked tense as he uttered the work.
“Valkenhayn!?”
Solomon smirked and shook his head.
“It is you! Do you know what your mother-“
Solomon laughed, and he laughed hard, which drew a pained expression from this murderer; he looked back up and cocked an eyebrow in the most mocking expression he could muster.
“The anguish on your face says it all, and it is delicious!”
The Knight Errant let loose a primal scream and lashed at Solomon, however, he merely caught him once with his custom short sword and said “wyvern venom” before blowing the man a mocking kiss and fleeing from his home.
Things had become dangerous, the Allied Kingdoms had found their hideout and had undoubtedly found the other three clans, and he had to flee the country. He spent some weeks wandering before he managed to track down a vessel for pilgrims, a one-way trip, that much he knew. Offering his services as a guard he left his homeland without looking back, he would begin anew in other lands, that much he knew, lands that held no knowledge of him or of his homeland.
He has spent the last few years exploring this new land he arrived on, getting to know the scenery, the towns and the few people that managed to catch his interest, he taught himself to speak the language of the people here and has since managed to blend in to the crowd almost seamlessly, he has hunted a large number of prey and killed them all successfully, leaving the bodies to be found. No-one knows him but he keeps himself to crowds allowing himself to appear as some kind of sword-for-hire.
RP Sample:
From his vantage point his eyes followed his prey, the huge wolf-like creature was clearly able to tell that something was amiss, though there was no way it would be able to tell that it was being hunted. He swiftly leaped over to the next tree branch, not leaving so much as a single leaf out-of-place as he shifted position.
Since he had arrived here he had almost literally fallen in love with this place, this forest surrounded by mountains, the large game was plentiful and sharp enough to force him to have to think on his feet. It passed through his trap, leaving a thin line of purple paint on the side of its torso. Now the game had begun, he moved over to the next branch and then into the next tree, landing without a sound on a smaller branch before leaping to his next point.
He kept still in the squatted position he landed in, his wyvern-skin coat drifting with the breeze, he pulled his hood back, examining the surroundings with a trained eye. His prey had just passed “Mark One.” -Of course that was just an odd rock formation, a skilled Hunter took the time to pick out these little oddities and use them as a reference. - Another few steps and it would trigger the next phase. A pained yelp reached him and Solomon allowed himself a small smirk, this one had been a tad younger than the last, so the hunt had been shorter.
He readied his bow, opening it with ease and fitted an arrow. His prey was trying to escape a series of knotted branches that Solomon had set earlier, he took aim, compensating for the distance and slight breeze that he was working against and then loosed the shot.
In his practiced hand there was no doubt that the shot would miss, and now the result of several days worth of tracking and hunting lie on the ground with an arrow through its neck, a flawless kill. Silently Solomon jumped from branch-to-branch, reaching the ground swiftly. From within his coat he withdrew one of his hunting knives and set to work, the hunt and the kill were both as exciting as each other, and now he would have to leave the result to be found.
“The unknown inspires much more fear.”
He muttered to himself with a smile, his accented voice lost to the sound of cutting and slashing as he set himself the task of creating unrecognisable wounds.
Notes:
The Equipment list is as much for my reference as it is for yours, this is a character that relies on the tools he has at his disposal. Helps me to keep the character use consistent and lets you see that I’m not just pulling things out of nowhere when it comes to threads against him... Well should they occur.
His native language is German; however, his accent is Russian. (Probably the most evil sounding combo ever.)
He has an understanding of how magic works and is able to shield his mind from intrusion; however, his command over magic itself is fairly limited and his use of it generally aids him in his hunting.
He is able to speak his native language and English fluently and also has a relatively strong grasp of the Ancient Language as well. (That is as a language though, not as a means of magic use.)
The compound within the vials on his Zerstechen Arrows is made by a mixture of water, plants and then a special kind of stone. The stone takes several days to dissolve and meld with the rest of the compound which is when it becomes unstable, the compound is normally put in the vial, then the stone is added and then the vial is sealed to prevent it from exploding during creation.
Yes, Solomon does know how to create the compound, but has little use for Zerstechen Arrows so he rarely needs to make it.
Solomon already has several concealed camps hidden in various places and often travels between them, though all things of value stay with him.
The reason his blood dyed the white of his right eye is as much the result of botched healing spells as anything else, while the sight in his right eye was saved it is a glaring distinguishing feature for him along with his scar.
His short sword “Tear” (As in when you cry) is normally sheathed, hilt down on his back and under his coat.
The “Stalkers Eye” is used for Scrying since there is no way to get the water out of the glass object without breaking it, the “paint marking” used in my RP sample is a method which adds a distinguishing feature to animal prey that may look the same as others of their race which will allow Solomon to scry them with ease.
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