Post by vassil on Oct 13, 2010 15:28:30 GMT -5
Name:
Vassil Fjaðrdanze
Age:
96
Race:
Elf
Occupation:
Undecided at this point
Allegiance:
Ileria
Physical Description:
Vassil is quite tall as elves go, standing at about six feet tall. Physically he is thin, yet toned to near perfection. His long brown hair lays on his back, in a neat braid to keep it out of his way while fighting, and his large dark brown eyes have a glint that reveals his hunger to prove himself to his elders. He is generally very kind as elves go, though until he gets to know you, he will probably hold his personality back, so upon first impression, he is very cold and withdrawn. He is slow to anger, though if pushed to that point, he is truly a force to recon with. He wears the garb of the elves for most occasions, which is generally a Russet colored tunic and pants of fine weave, worn, yet still nice looking boots, and a wide belt, with his finely engraved Rapier hanging from one side, and a curved scimitar on the other. The hilt of each sword is carved to resemble the sign of his house. The Rapier looking like a Crane, and the scimitar a panther. These represent both his house, and his fighting style, the finesse of a crane, along with the steel bite of the panther.
Personality:
Vassil is a very kind individual, doing his best to help those that need it. He strives to live his life to become like his mentor and teacher, one of the famed Dragon Riders of Ileria. Though he can get into trouble, he holds onto the old fashioned notions of Chivalry and doing what is right. He is nearly always honest, unless it will bring harm to others, and will gladly step in to defend the helpless. He one day hopes to be worthy of a dragon egg, and will work hard until his elders award him for his actions. Until that day, he will do his best to prove his strength, wisdom and compassion to the world around him.
History:
Vassil was born nearly one hundred years ago, a flash in the pan to most elves. He was born to Vellium and Estheria of house Fjaðrdanze. Being the Second son, he wasn't to be groomed to be head of household, so he was allowed to follow whichever path pleased him the most. Vassil spent many years trying to decide which path he would follow. He took the time to learn many trades and arts along the way, from weapon smithing, to singing, to gardening, and cooking.
One day he was wandering through a new part of Du Weldenvarden when he heard the loud clash of steel against steel. He had unknowingly chanced upon the sparring of a blademaster with his student. He stood at the edge of the clearing, transfixed on what he was seeing. The flowing movement, the ferocity of the attacks. The way mind and body were tested at once. This was the day that Vassil would find the true path that he would follow during his life. As he regained his senses, he ran back to his dwelling, as quickly as he could to tell his parents of his discovery.
His parents, relieved that he had decided upon a respectable profession, gave their word that they would find him a teacher. But that wasn't what Vassil wanted. He wanted to leave now. He wanted to start learning right away. So he slipped out of the house and into the woods and practiced with sticks against imaginary opponents among the trees. A year or two passed, Vassil's body becoming more and more toned as he strained it to the maximum extent that one could practicing with sticks, and eventually thin steel poles among the trees, when one day, he entered the compound of his family's residence to find his mother out in the garden, looking both happy and sad at the same time. He approached her, silently sitting down, knowing that she had come out to meet him. She gave him a large smile and informed him that he would be leaving them. He would be leaving the ancient forest. He was on his way to Ileria the very next day. They had finally gotten him accepted to train under the riders. He would finally get his wish.
He entered the house to find his father also waiting for him, a very large package in his hands. He opened the package to find two wonderfully crafted swords. A rapier, the hilt composed of a crane with it's wings spread on the Bell-guard, the leg making up the tip of the hilt, clutching a large ruby. The long slender blade that extended was flawless, made of bright steel, tinted red, with small veins of dark red flowing through the flawless metal. The second blade's color was a perfect match to the first, except this one was a wickedly curved Scimitar, this one with the hilt fashioned after the form of a Panther, the head making the top of the hilt, clutching another ruby within it's dangerous mouth, the tail curving around the base of the blade near the guard. Vassil had seen these weapons before. They had belonged to Vardael, the first of the long line of proud elves. A fighter who had been a great general within the elven army, feared by his enemies and loved by his allies. He knew what those blades meant to his family, and promised that he would do the family well by them. He would live up to his family name, and become the greatest fighter to ever grace the land.
With all of his confidence, he quickly made his way along with a small band of elves to the city of Ileria. Along with two other elven children, they quickly arrived in the Household of Viroling, a Rider in the order. This is where they would learn the ways of Swordsmanship, magic, and tactics. Vassil found that he had started out no better then any other student that Viroling had taken on, but quickly climbed to the top of the students that he had arrived with. Within a few years, Vassil was able to best nearly all of the rest of the students in his age group in the city, and upon the completion of his training, he was the uncontested best among every other young elf in the city. Soon after he found himself walking out of his master's house, into his new life. His training complete, all that was left for him to do was prove his worth within the world around him. He would wander for a time, until he found his true place within the swirling conflict that was Alagaesia.
Roleplaying Sample:
Vassil stood upon the edge of a cliff, overlooking the city of Iliera, the wind blowing the braid on his back slightly, and ruffling his fine Russet tunic. The sun was just rising over the backdrop behind him, and he was about to get ready to leave and begin his journey. His hands lay near the hilts of his swords, as he overlooked the city in which he had spent the last 50 years. It didn’t look as large as it did the day he arrived. His eyes rested on the large manor of Viroling, his master. The man had become his Hero over the past 50 years, and he would always strive to live up to the example that he set. It was his goal in life to be as honorable, wise, and knowledgeable as Viroling. This was his chance to prove himself. He had recently found out how it was he could be selected to be one of the honorable dragon riders. He must travel around, helping all who needed it. He must make his name as a just, honorable, and wise fighter. There could be no doubt about his personality. Then one day, he would return to request to be presented to the eggs for the opportunity to become a rider. A legend. A hero and savior of the land. He would be allowed the opportunity to become as great as his former master.
He quietly turned towards his small camp, not far from the cliff that he had been standing on, just within the edge of the woods. His first stop would be home, to assure his parents that he had lived up to their expectations, then after that, who knew? Moving away from his small bedroll, and fire pit, he prepared for his day to start. He slowly went through Rimgar, the dance of the snake and crane. This was the way he started each morning, slowly stretching and flexing the muscles in his body, keeping them well toned and ready for anything. He moved through each form required by the daily training regiment, stretching, contorting and flexing his body in every possible way. He was quickly covered in a thin layer of sweat from the exertion that he was placing on his body. Each movement was difficult, yet his body could handle it, after completing the same movements each morning of his 50 years of residence in the city below.
As he finished the third level of Rimgar, the sun had just finished rising behind him. He drew his ruby red weapons from his belt and slowly began to go through his sword forms. The rapier in his left hand and scimitar in his right, darting and weaving through the air in perfect symmetry as he practiced different forms of fighting, sometimes sheathing one blade or the other in order to practice using each. He finished this in the late morning, returning both blades to his belt as he walked to the stream, planning on cleaning the sweat from his body. He quickly stripped down and washed himself in the water. After making sure that he was clean and groomed, he packed up his camp. Placing the saddle on his horse, he mounted, pulling a piece of travel bread from a saddle bag, to silence his growling stomach as he rode. The city at his back, it was finally time to begin his journey. As his horse began to head through the forest, he looked behind him for one more fleeting glance of the city he loved so much, the place that housed the order that he hoped to one day join. When his journey was complete, he would return to take his place and become part of History. He was off to test fate, find adventure, and prove to himself and the world that he was good enough to be part of the Elite.
