Post by towowo on Sept 11, 2014 20:32:35 GMT -7
Character Name: Horace Thorton
www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=1011035
Background Information:
Horace was never one for formality. He didn't have formal training in fighting, didn't formally ask his parents before he left home, and most certianly never formally asked when he relieved people of their valuables. The group he ended up with did make him suffer some formality, branding his arm, but Horace didn't care much at the time, he mostly just liked to fight, and a man has to eat. There are worse groups to break bread with, albet not many.After a few years of his less-than-chivalrous ways, Horace just didn't feel satisfied. His belly was usually stated, and his fists usually bruised, but it just wasn't enough. He wanted real combat. Not travelers, not even merchant's guards, but real opponents who knew how to take a punch. Horace never even formally asked to leave the band of ruffians he'd been with, he simply left one day for Rook, where he'd heard stories of gladiator combat. A place where a man was measured not by his brain or his wealth or even by his strength directly, but only by who he could defeat- and how well he could entertain the crowd.
The townsfolk knew the mark on his arm and didn't much care for it, but there were worse types in the arena, so it's not like he stood out all that much. At Horace's first match he was offered a weapon of his choice for the fight. He simply laughed and held up his fists. "Got them right here," he said, smile on his face. Horace smiled the whole match, how could he not, with how exciting this was? The crowd hollaring, the stains on the walls of the arena, his opponent staring him down, broadsword in hand. His opponent didn't smile. Who would, when Horace's fists hurt so much? He loved the arena, loved the combat, the bloodshed, the comradery that the gladiators had when they weren't on the sands. But even that grew stale. Horace wanted more. More combat, better opponents, maybe something with teeth and scales. He never told them he wasn't going to come back, likely threw the fight schedule into a mess. Oh well, wasn't his problem. He aimed to misbehave.
You Available Times Of Play:
Friday evenings preferably around 7 PM, I could also do Tuesdays much around the same time on Friday.
A brief description of your favorite play-style: I enjoy rollplay just as much as roleplaying, the type of campaign or adventure doesn't matter much to me.
www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=1011035
Background Information:
Horace was never one for formality. He didn't have formal training in fighting, didn't formally ask his parents before he left home, and most certianly never formally asked when he relieved people of their valuables. The group he ended up with did make him suffer some formality, branding his arm, but Horace didn't care much at the time, he mostly just liked to fight, and a man has to eat. There are worse groups to break bread with, albet not many.After a few years of his less-than-chivalrous ways, Horace just didn't feel satisfied. His belly was usually stated, and his fists usually bruised, but it just wasn't enough. He wanted real combat. Not travelers, not even merchant's guards, but real opponents who knew how to take a punch. Horace never even formally asked to leave the band of ruffians he'd been with, he simply left one day for Rook, where he'd heard stories of gladiator combat. A place where a man was measured not by his brain or his wealth or even by his strength directly, but only by who he could defeat- and how well he could entertain the crowd.
The townsfolk knew the mark on his arm and didn't much care for it, but there were worse types in the arena, so it's not like he stood out all that much. At Horace's first match he was offered a weapon of his choice for the fight. He simply laughed and held up his fists. "Got them right here," he said, smile on his face. Horace smiled the whole match, how could he not, with how exciting this was? The crowd hollaring, the stains on the walls of the arena, his opponent staring him down, broadsword in hand. His opponent didn't smile. Who would, when Horace's fists hurt so much? He loved the arena, loved the combat, the bloodshed, the comradery that the gladiators had when they weren't on the sands. But even that grew stale. Horace wanted more. More combat, better opponents, maybe something with teeth and scales. He never told them he wasn't going to come back, likely threw the fight schedule into a mess. Oh well, wasn't his problem. He aimed to misbehave.
You Available Times Of Play:
Friday evenings preferably around 7 PM, I could also do Tuesdays much around the same time on Friday.
A brief description of your favorite play-style: I enjoy rollplay just as much as roleplaying, the type of campaign or adventure doesn't matter much to me.
