Character profiles.

It's happy hour, the alcohol is flowing. It's time to pull up a tankard of ale, bottle of wine for the ladies and regail tales of heroism and grandeur.

Topic/Postby Juste » 14 Apr 2018, 22:24

Cherwina on 10 Apr 2018 10:37 wrote:If it's any help for anyone, from the WoWRPG book:

Night Elf: Female = 174 - 318 lb | Male = 184 - 324 lb

I have all the base races and High Elf and if I find the right box I also have Draenei, Worgen, Pandaren and Goblin. (Other Elf variants use the High Elf chart).

If anyone wants me to put up the basic bits from the 3 editions of the RPG, I can. They are surprisingly interesting.

That... does not make any sense. Unless Night Elf females are supposed to look like strongmen what in game models do not reflect at all.
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Topic/Postby Cherwina » 15 Apr 2018, 12:59

Based on a Human height-weight chart, 174lb would be underweight and 318lb would be overweight at 7ft. There's nothing weird of unusual about it when you take in to account they are tall as fuck. Also, outside of a few roles, Night Elves are actually quite muscular in a lot of the official art.
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Topic/Postby Jhalil » 03 Aug 2018, 00:10

A letter with handwriting and signature of Jhalil finds its way to the guild house

My greetings Serendipity and my dear friends of Rhyme and Punishment,

I hope this letter will find you well despite those dire times we are currently facing. As my duties as field medic will take me far from Stormwind these days, I am afraid I might not have the chance very often to be part of your wonderful community. Before I leave for Kalimdor however, I would like to dedicate this letter as a recommendation for a friend of mine.

I trust Keelis of Stormwind has already made your acquaintance the one or other time in the Blue Recluse. I have crossed her path many years ago for the first time, and see with delight that in the last year, she has been taken to leave Stormwind on adventuring missions supporting the Alliance.

Keelis comes from a rather unfortunate background; I will not sugarcoat it, most part of her life she spent as an urchin on the wrong side of the law and while I believe that even these days her thievish past is occasionally still winning the better of her, her unconventional upbringing has left her with a very special skillset that might be of use with a little bit of.. moral guidance.

To cut a long story short, I believe she would benefit greatly to be part of a community, so this comes as a letter of recommendation - both Keelis as well as myself would appreciate it to count her as a member of Rhyme and Punishment.

May the Light guide your path, and in hopes to see you again soon,

Jhalil Al-Sharani

I was actually considering to add this to my application - but the thread is locked, so guess that place is good as well?
Unfortunately Jhalil has not even made it out of her Lamb status yet, when I decided to pull her out of R&P.. however, I at least wanted to get you some more information about my second char Keelis, who now just got promoted to my main R&P char ;)

Full Name: Keelis
Nickname: 'Blondie' for Dipity ;)
Race: Human
Class: Rogue
Professions: Thievin' and adventurin' ..

Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hair: Blond
Eyes: Grey
Weight: slim
Height: medium
Garments/Armor: Seems to love blue; usually wearing a rugged blue leather vest, a white shirt and soft brown leather boots
Alignment: Chaotic Good

Personality: Careless, big mouth, talks a lot, usually a rather happy person. Not the brightest bulb in the barn. Pretty greedy and opportunistic. Too dim to be manipulative, but happily trying.

History: Keelis didn't have the best of upbringings. Born as an unwanted brothel spawn in Elwynn at the outskirts of Stormwind, she ran away to the city when she was a child. Her childhood and teenage years she spent more or less as an urchin on the streets - stealing whatever she could get her grubby little fingers on, and charming the bakers and innkeepers to keep her fed. For the longest time she was content with a life in the shadows of the big city, oblivious about the conflicts out in Azeroth; the cut purses turned into more profitable burglaries, but other than that, she never saw a reason to leave her life behind.
Only in the last year, a chain of events (starting with a heist on one of the war ships, ending up as a blind passenger and washing up across the Great Sea) got her out into the world for the first time in her life. After a few hair raising adventures in the desert lands of Uldum, Keelis returned to Stormwind.. Just to find the old life's not fun anymore when there's a whole world outside of the city walls!
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Topic/Postby Yorkthir » 03 Sep 2018, 13:46

Full Name: Yörkthir Ulfjard Snowborn
In-Game: Yörkthir
Nickname: His friends call him Yörk, and the Dwarves he grew up with call him the Giant, The Bear or simple the Northman

Guild: Rhymes and Punishment
Title: Various military ranks throughout his war-torn history, the most recent at Knight, though he doesn't offer this to anyone who'd ask.

Race: Human, though with a distinct Dwarven accent
Class: Warrior
Professions: Blacksmithing, though has a talent for being a brutish battering ram..

Age: Mid to late thirties, with greying hairs and wrinkles forming on his face, age clearly is catching on to him.
Sex: Male.
Hair: A dark reddish blonde, long and usually tied back with a simple length of ribbon or leather. The underside and sides behind his ears remain shaved neatly and short. His beard likewise is wild and sprawling, thick and bushy. He prides himself on that beard, however..
Eyes: A startling ice blue, one of the first features to be noted about the man. There is no age in his eyes, sparkling and radiant as if he were still a young man. Depending on the light, his eyes can shift from almost a silver to a darker navy.
Weight: If asked, he'd simply smirk and respond with "A lot" although the main of his bulk is muscular worth, it is greatly increased by the hefty steel plated armour that adorn his body.
Height: A towering 6 foot 5, growing around Dwarves has given him the nickname of Giant around the Dwarves familiar with him.
Garments/Armor: During combat he is a titan of a warrior, wearing the thickest practical steel plating he can muster together, ornate with dents and scrapes, punctures and bangs, a juggernaut in the field of war, due to this he is slow and paced and can easily tire if the combat is prolonged. As a result to this he isn't a stranger to charging forward shirtless and near bare, even in the colder weather you could find him without thick furs, he isn't afraid to throw off his plate if the war asks it of him and display the marks left in his previous battles.
Other: He has various tattoos ranging from ornate weaving knotwork around his biceps to the banner of the Alliance on his shoulder, clearly a momento from his youth. His voice is deep and warm, hearty and cheerful, and with a thick Dwarven accent, to which he proudly announces.
He has a proud northern steed by the name of Balagast, or Bala for short, for when he is on travel through the Eastern Kingdoms, loyal to a point and courageous as any.
He also has a bond of understanding with a Proto-drake called Havjald, from his time at war in Northrend, initially his foe, but came to realise the dependency on one-another in time of mutual need. Where he travels, so does Havjald.

Alignment: Neutral Good, whilst his actions may not be lawful, it wouldn't be for selfish gain, he works to better the lives of those he cares about, and the better of his Kin and the Alliance.

Personality: From a distance he has a rough look, riddled with various scars across his face and body, giving him a gruff appearance. At first he is rather quiet and reserved, almost stoic and professional. However when actually spoken to, he is a friendly, social and happy individual happy to offer aid whether in words or a hand. He has many friends back in Ironforge and can be noted as a hardworking, driven man. However, he is quick to anger and can be deemed blunt and brash. He is one to plan ahead, though is usually first in the field, he is a simple man of simple values. Hit first, ask questions later. A man with no given gift of the Arcane nor Light, he relies on more brute strength and grit to overcome hurdles.

(WIP) History:
Born in the frozen mountains of Dun Morogh with a human family in a Dwarven homeland, by his father Domenic and his mother Kvaldi, he grew up running through snow-laden forests and woodland amongst the other children, who of which barely grew like he did. His childhood was one of peace and innocence, with closed eyes and ears to the troubles of Azeroth. His parents worked hard to shelter their only child from the darkness that lingered beyond their mountainous home. He was raised a Smith by his father's friend, a Dwarf named Bronn, who was like a second father to young Yörkthir, to which using a forge is second nature now. And soon after his tenth birthday moved to Ironforge to pursue this craft. As he aged in to adulthood, without romance or children of his own, he was a brash young human, who enjoyed drinking, feasting and fighting. He was a true dwarf in human form and everyone knew that. He treats the Dwarves like family, even calling them his Kin.

He was twenty-four when the Scourge was formed, when Lordaeron was corrupted and the dead spread through the northern lands of the Eastern Kingdom. It was a time of uncertainty, of fear and worry. To which the young Yörkthir felt obligated to rise up against the onslaught, to join the forces, to take up arms and fight. Although his family and friends were mostly against the idea of this, they offered their support, Bronn of course offered him the most in terms of aid, forging him an axe to take with him, inscribed with his name as an inside joke, though one of love and sentiment. His journey would take him outside of Ironforge, and to the human city of Stormwind, where he enlisted in the army of the Alliance, a footsoldier with the determination to fight. It was the first he felt of belonging, placement, amongst fellow brothers and sisters. His next few years were spent training, building up his strength and skill, being sent off around the Eastern Kingdom on various tasks and orders to assist the Alliance and it's people.

He has traveled across Azeroth, fighting whatever threatens the peace, through Dark Portals to combat immortal demons, towering far larger than any building he had seen. Time and time again he prevailed through the darkest situations, watched his friends fall to the onslaught of the Burning Crusade. This is where his hatred for Demons came from, the fleet of fel and corruption. Though he ascended through the ranks, he was a nameless suit of armour within the fist of the Alliance, by his Dwarven brothers, he was named The Bear, a title awarded for his fierceness and battlehardened worth. He adapted overtime, to always grab the heaviest weapon, to always charge first no matter the odds. He was one who always proclaimed that the only death to be sought after is one in war, with honour and valour. It was a time of loss, of living nightmares to which he had never truly experienced. The green glow of the fel haunting his mind for the endurance of his time at war here. With reluctance and doubt, he was summoned to take up his steel and enter the monolithic Dark Portal. Here a hellish world the likes he had never seen before. He still has nightmares, though he barely talks about this time in his history however. The scars physically visible across his body.

Rest never comes to those who have taken up arms. It was barely a year before he was summoned again, after a brief time spent at home, healing his mind and body after the torrent of horrors he had endured before. When the frozen North was a beacon for the stories of the dead. Rumours in the ranks stated that dying on the field birthed an eternity of slavery to this Lich King. Fear is what drove Yörkthir forward, not glory or honour. Fear for survival against an living nightmare. He thought countless times about running, hiding away, being a coward. As many had tried before him. Yet he continued. Sailing to Northrend in silence. None spoke among those he journeyed with. He knew most of these people, young and old, wouldn't survive what would come next.

He will not, under any circumstances, speak of the nature of those battles he faced. The landing of Northrend, the death he fought, the way he survived, seeing his own friends die, only to join whatever horror commanded them. He slaughtered his own men and friends once they rose again, barely knowing who was dead and who was alive. A mess of carnage befell those he fought alongside with. Friend turned on friend, all the while their odds grew against them. Even hearing of the simple continent of Northrend will silence him to a distant, chilled expression. Still, a nameless blade in an ocean of steel, he survived. It was without glory, yet he lived. Forging his own alliance with a Proto-drake, to whom would be one of his oldest friends. The dead, however they may be, benevolent or mindless, are his foe. After this war, he returned to Ironforge and wept in silence. His family nor friends could stir him from the restless nights that only consumed his every sleep.

Demons and the Undead could be dealt with, he told himself, after each one had fallen to his blades. Though when the thunder of giant fiery wings echoed in the distance, he was unprepared. As were them all. Rumour and tale where his only insight on what winged titan had resurfaced from the world. Causing havoc and catastrophe throughout Azeroth. He heard stories of the earthquakes in Kalimdor, how mountains had fallen to this World Eater. After the fall of the dam in Loch Modan, he and his family took shelter in Ironforge, and endured the stories of refugees and fanatics. This was a time in Yörkthir's life to which he remained home under the protection of Ironforge, ensuring he was there for his family and friends if anything were to happen.

Under the great mountains of Dun Morogh, he stayed with the Dwarves once again, after hanging up his cloak and axe to pursue a more peaceful life, a blacksmith as he had been taught, working among likeminded Dwarves and Humans who could tolerate both the freezing mountains and scorching heat of the Great Forge. He had a lover, and was settling to create a family, Dalaras Hartford, with long flowing golden hair and the same crystal blue eyes that shone with love and joy, a smile that could heal any wound. The scars of his life already fading away with the touch of a loving hand and caring smile. She was a priest, one who not only healed the veteran of war, but his entire mind and soul. She aided those who came back from the wars in Northrend, who ventured to Misty lands to the south. He was in love and happy once again. He carried the mantle of his family with pride and strength.

But once again, the drums of war beckoned his name. An enemy he had already faced in an age before. The green flame that sought to burn the hearts of man and the very world they live in. With reluctance, against every fiber of who he was, he once again wore the mantle of the Alliance. Kissed his loved one farewell, for it may be the last. All of which sorrowed to see Yörkthir once again fight a war he did not seek. He was in silence on his journey to Stormwind, others new and old joined the call of which was their King. He was Knighted, as many men and women were for fear they would never return. He carried his armour with pride, held his axe with confidence. He had carved his life with steel and sweat, and once again he was honoured to fight for not only his King, but for his home, the entire land of Azeroth.

He boarded a nameless ship, ill-prepared for the crusade that they were to face. Stood amongst his brothers and sisters it was his time to stand up tall and salute his brethren. It was there the dark clouds swirled above a ragged, war-torn coastline, where the skeletons of ships littered the sea and the dead afloat like leaves in the wind. It was a solemn silence before they drew near. Watching their vessels sink and explode around them. "Some of us have fought our entire lives, to some, this is their first battle. We are the fist of the Alliance, of Azeroth, those who would not submit or bend the knee to reckoning, to stare death in the face and still raise our shield. Let us set these demons ablaze with the fire in our hearts! For our King! For the Alliance! For Azeroth!" And with a cry of their own, in determination to fight till the end of their life, they broke rank and headed on to the blooded, broken shores. There was no turning back, and those that tried met a watery grave. Those that fought ahead either were slaughtered or survived with their retreat.

Yörkthir had fought these demons before, and with a newfound hatred for these abominations, he struck with a ferocity and passion for slaughter. They never begged for mercy, never retreated. So neither would he. Unaided by the Light, the Arcane. His steel was his only force and it came with glory. Demons fell to the spirit that was his warring desire. Bathed in the blood of his enemies. Even with his own wounds he did not falter till the last moment of retreat. When his shield broke, he used the splinters as a weapon, when his axe was torn from grasp, he used a clenched fist.
He was dragged from the field, both from exhaustion, his wounds and the overwhelming odds that was Legion. When he awoke days later, the news of the war was offered. Their King had been slain saving the last of the Alliance invaders, to which his son, Anduin became High King of the Alliance. The Horde turned their back on the invasion and that cowardice settled in his mind. His journey would take him back to this broken fragment of land in the ocean to once again fight for the Alliance and the greater good of Azeroth. Battleworn and tested, he endured simply through experience and sheer force of will. The determination to make it home again and again after each war he faced. He was described as a machine built and bred for war. Selflessly throwing himself in to the sea of demons. Whether to cut them down or to save another, be it Horde or Alliance. He offered aid. He was soon to head back to Stormwind after suffering horrendous injuries.

Here he lay in Stormwind for weeks resting on his burns and wounds. Near death he was transported to Ironforge less he did not recover. His love and family tended to him as they always had when they saw him return from war. He was after all, a warrior. And his deeds brought his family honour and name. He was a Knight of the Alliance, one of the many blades that held out against the onslaught of the Burning Legion.

He once again prepares for War, heralding his own stories and lessons to the next generations beneath him who have taken the tabard of the Alliance.
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Topic/Postby Gergel » 03 Sep 2018, 18:10

Yorkthir on 03 Sep 2018 15:46 wrote:Age: Mid to late thirties, with greying hairs and wrinkles forming on his face, age clearly is catching on to him.


No, seriously, what?!

Is he... like... half-hozen or something? Or did you mean "mid to late sixties"? Because thirties is nothing to a human. I'm late thirties in real life and I'm far from wrinkling or greying and my age is most certainly not catching up to me. My mother is in her late seventies and has only barely developed some gray hair and a mere few wrinkles.
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Topic/Postby Yorkthir » 03 Sep 2018, 18:28

Life has been rough on the poor man! A life of war and struggles, emotional battles and twists and turns. Not like SUPER defined wrinkles or anything, merely the starts of it all.
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Topic/Postby Serendipity » 03 Sep 2018, 19:58

Gergel on 03 Sep 2018 18:10 wrote:
Yorkthir on 03 Sep 2018 15:46 wrote:Age: Mid to late thirties, with greying hairs and wrinkles forming on his face, age clearly is catching on to him.


No, seriously, what?!

Is he... like... half-hozen or something? Or did you mean "mid to late sixties"? Because thirties is nothing to a human. I'm late thirties in real life and I'm far from wrinkling or greying and my age is most certainly not catching up to me. My mother is in her late seventies and has only barely developed some gray hair and a mere few wrinkles.

And at the other end of the scale, one of my friends is younger than me and a wrinkly fecker.

Me though? Late 30s and still peachy. I attribute it to the power of Resting Bitch Face and a keen aversion to the sun.
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Topic/Postby Pepple » 03 Sep 2018, 23:43

Serendipity on 03 Sep 2018 18:58 wrote:aversion to the sun.

This is the true fountain of youth, I can attest.

I don't doubt poor Yorkthir being a bit weathered though looking at his history!
Shevron wrote:(that came out larger than I expected)
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Topic/Postby Shevron » 04 Sep 2018, 07:24

Pepple on 04 Sep 2018 00:43 wrote:
Serendipity on 03 Sep 2018 18:58 wrote:aversion to the sun.

This is the true fountain of youth, I can attest.

I don't doubt poor Yorkthir being a bit weathered though looking at his history!

Yup. Coming from the land of eternal sunshine I can vouch for that. I'm 35, avoid the sun like a vampire and not a wrinkle in sight.

My friends who barely just cracked 30, and "enjoy" the beaches all summer, look like they're well past 40.
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Topic/Postby Yorkthir » 04 Sep 2018, 20:57

Pepple on 03 Sep 2018, 23:43 wrote:
Serendipity on 03 Sep 2018 18:58 wrote:aversion to the sun.

This is the true fountain of youth, I can attest.

I don't doubt poor Yorkthir being a bit weathered though looking at his history!

I got a lil' carried away whilst I was writing, wasn't sure if I should do simple and brief or.. Full out like that.. Heheh!
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