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Haldaz Player Approval.; Duh?
Topic Started: Jul 9 2009, 07:51 PM (155 Views)
Haldaz
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Name: Haldaz or Collin.

Roleplaying Experience: 4 years of literate Role Play.

Preferred Roleplay Style: Any that has a decent plot.

Roleplaying Sample:

Short background. This was a entry post for one of my characters Haldaz Bloodhorn, a minotaur. He was captured by pirates/slavers and was being loaded off a slave ship.

Quote:
 
Haldaz snorted loudly, as a man approached him and "inspected him". He snorted, and growled like an animal as he got close, making sure to get spit and snot in his face as he looked at the creature. 

Haldaz Bloodhorn was a minotaur, proud in his beliefs, strong in his mind and back. He remembered vividly the days of his youth anymore, he was taken by slavers when he was a young bull, the long green prairie’s of his home were nothing more than a long lost dream anymore...

All he knew now was combat, combat and hate. Hate for the slavers, and combat against the unlucky individuals he faced in the many arena's he had seen. He had to fight for his life from his first fight. He always fought to the death, in normal cases, two beings went in, one went out. He had fought hundreds of men, in all shapes, colors, and variety. He had fought drow, sold away by their own kind. He had fought captured soldiers, knights, dwarves, and numerous monsters that had been contained. He fought everything that could harbor any hostile intent in the disturbing bloodsport. 

He also felt hate towards himself. Deep down, he relished the contests in a small bit. In the arena, things were simple. In the arena, he was a slave no longer, he was a celebrity. The thunder of the crowd stomping their feet, and the chants of his name were vivid. 

He flashed back again, remembering running through the tall grasses of his home. Running with his friends, the rest of the herd. Remembered sitting around the tribe fire in the dark of the night, listening to the stories of the elders, and the cry of the even younger calves as they suckled their mother's breasts. It was a happy time, a paradise in it's own way.

Bloodhorn. That would become his warrior name as he matured. When the ogres came to his village he had earned that name. He had earned the title of warrior and joined the ranks of the bulls. It was the first time he experienced the "Rajj" Few were able to utilize it, he remembered little of the first time. He became more powerful during Rajj, and more dangerous. He remembered peace afterwords. Few of his tribe had died that day, he once again remembered standing tall and proud the day the chieftain gave him his title. Bloodhorn...

He also enjoyed solitude. This was his downfall. He remembered wandering the coast lands, alone. He approached the forest, the place that was forbidden. Simple really, minotaurs didn't go there, and it's inhabitants didn't come out. But he was young, foolish, and worst of all, brave. He entered the forest in hopes of returning with his own tale to tell at the tribe fires. He went deep into the forest until he found a bay. It was also the first time he saw the pale skins. He approached them cautiously. They were frightened by him, and he tried to show his friendliness. They gave him food, and firewater. He was given it as a gift, and he drank much. Then, he was wrapped with a rope, and found himself unable to defend himself, then a large club, then blackness.

He awoke inside something. Some great hut he thought at first, he was chained, and the whole hut moved. He found later the hut was called a ship. He was put on the oars, and whipped mercilessly until he was obiedient. He remembered being knocked out again and thrust into a ring. His first oppopent was an ogre, and in his rage he attacked it with a fury, gaining him favor.

Once again his mind went back to his green fields, the carefree days wandering with his friends and relatives...

He snapped back into reality, and stared into the eyes of the pirate. He spit again, "MOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He roared into his face, again taking care to spit in his face. He was bound, and in his eyes contained an inner fury that would send tingles down the spines of most. He was an imposing figure of course, he was a large creature. Standing at 7 foot 5 inches, and 650 pounds by human measurements, he was all muscle. His thick and rich brown fur was firmly accented by his brilliant green eyes. He settled into a firm stance as he had done so many times before, and growled menacingly.


He wasn't moving.
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Silvermourn
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The Redneck, the Cynic, the Nerd, and the Hopeless Romantic

(Approved) Welcome to the site, and glad to have you with us. Feel free to post an intro and in the roleplays.
"I mourn that which may have been but will never be."

"Stupidity is a wound that bleeds forever; Intelligence is a blade that stays forever sharp"

"An armed man will kill and unarmed man with monotonous regularity"

"Nothing adds a little class to a sniper course like a babe in a Ghillie suit."

"You have the rest of your life to solve your problems. How long you live depends on how well you do it."

"Make your attacker advance through a wall of bullets. I may get killed with my own gun, but he's gonna have to beat me to death with it, 'cause it's going to be empty."
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