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Roark - The Forgotten Sell-sword; WiP
Topic Started: May 27 2008, 08:32 PM (216 Views)
Wolfy
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The Dying Breed
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Roark
The Forgotten Sell-sword

The Legacy
 
Roark, the sell-sword, you separate from the others, disappear as is your wont, your talent, your essence that attracts to you so many nicknames and troubles. You lean against a tree, relaxing yourself, waiting for the action to come to you, as is your way. You do not seek danger - you do not need to. Even if it did not once, your name, your deeds, ensure that it now seeks you.

Age: 26

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 182

~Appearance~
Roark had long since hung up his leather armor and dark-colored cloak he had been so infamous for. While the non-flashy protection hadn't ever garnered any attention, it had been unremarkable enough that when he faded into the shadows after launching a fatal-arrow all anyone ever saw as the flickering of his cloak. Those garments hadn't seen actions for years seeing as how a mild-mannered farmer sought not to kill nor fade from existence. Due to his new profession as a man of the land, he sticks mostly to practical pants and earth-toned tunics and shirts as if the colors help him blend in more to the village.

Looks-wise he's your everyday handsome farmer with messy auburn hair, bright blue eyes, and a kind smile that would make him seem friendly to anyone. Across the bridge of his nose is a scar from one of his battles; it acts as a very prominent distinguishing feature. On the right side of his body is a large scar given to him in his last battle as a for-hire-mercenary; several smaller ones dot his body and create an interesting pattern.

~Personality~
Roark is a very odd individual. The way he acts is almost opposite of what most might expect from the Sell-Sword's reputation. Most of the time he's very kind, but a bit reserved, so he's not overly brazen. He comes off as the type you could ask for a favor and you would know it would get done no matter what. When in battle he's completely passive, showing not a hint of emotion in his otherwise calm demeanor. He's not the type to take the leadership role, but he will guide the leader along if he thinks they need help, often acting as a second in command or adviser, but never standing in the limelight.

In more recent times he's been a bit more emotional, becoming attached to the community he's living in.
Edited by Wolfy, Aug 28 2012, 07:26 PM.
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Wolfy
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Normalcy

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A mother dead from birth...

...A grief-ridden father who later took his own life

Much of Roark's History is lost in obscurity, much haze clouding his past. Whether or not it was from the trauma or if simply because he didn't want to remember, but his childhood years have all been forgotten. However, the Sell-Sword first made his mark as an archer in the Allioquin Long bowmen Corps; a Bowmen organization known for their talent at long distance archery. Roark had earned himself the title of 'Tactical Sniper' when you combined his talent with bows and his abilities as a tracker. That was at the age of fourteen. He stayed with them for two more years until his unit went into combat and he discovered his company leader had been bribed to back stab their own army. Roark went A.W.O.L. in that battle and started his life as a mercenary-for-hire. The place he had known as home no longer could be, and now he no longer had a home at all. They had made sure that his reputation as a deserter spread quickly and only those of the lowest morals would hire Roark.

Spoiler: click to toggle


After a few months of smaller jobs acting as a scout for several smaller skirmishes he finally got into what earned him his reputation as a big name Sell-Sword: Assassin Contracts. Many knights and noblemen fell to his bow, and with just one arrow. It was just to survive, but it was what he needed to do, and he followed that path for another few years until he was seventeen.

Spoiler: click to toggle


At which point he had been hired by the merchant's state and stayed on under a Blade Captain named Oren Magnar. During this time was when he learned how to sword fight. The Captain had been kind enough to teach him how to defend himself up close when his bow would otherwise fail him. Roark was actually content to stay there, and viewed his superior as a role model of sorts. The Captain was actually of decent values, but before Roark could enjoy that time the Captain fell in battle. They had been sent on a suicide mission, to act as a distraction for a main force, and nearly the whole platoon had been wiped out; Roark survived.

Spoiler: click to toggle


After that he fell into drifting between jobs for years more, never once again finding a place he felt at ease. Many more battles awaited him, but there had been one in particular, a really fierce exchange between countries....

Spoiler: click to toggle


Roark was in recuperation there for months recovering from the wounds he sustained protecting the no-name village. The villagers had accepted him, grateful for his deeds, and that is where he stayed from that day forth. Dropping off the face of the earth as Roark the Sell-Sword or Roark the Assassin. Instead becoming Roark the Farmer. News traveled fast among those who knew the mercenary channels that Roark had finally been felled, and so, he faded from every one's minds.
Edited by Wolfy, Aug 28 2012, 05:43 PM.
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Wolfy
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Divinity

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It had been for all of Roark's life that people had called him "lucky", "blessed by a god", "or possessing some magical trinket". No matter how dire a situation had been, the sell-sword had always managed his way out of it. Sometimes with a few scratches, other times near-death, but he would always survive. This was part of what attributed to his amazing career, being able to make shots with his bow most people didn't believe possible. Being undetected by wild beasts, detachments of knights, spies, whole battalions of guards, or even other assassins during times when a single sound or shift in light would have killed him.

Death had befallen many and its ire had always turned away from the auburn-haired rogue. All of his time spent out in the world he had discovered many deities and spiritual beings from the other countries, given his prayers to each out of respect to a lost friend, but when in the endless plains of Levant it seems as if the Plains Goddess whispers to him her troubles, her own sorrows. So soft that it sounds like a gentle breeze; words unintelligible. This innate connection always has him returning to the east. Perhaps its more because hearing this Goddess has doubts and issues her own that he can find comfort in knowing something all-powerful isn't perfect, that no one thing can guide fate, can be outside its influence.

Why Roark has been able to hear these cries has always baffled him. Something, somewhere within him knows that there's a memory hidden away on the farthest fringes of his mind that could provide an answer to this mystery. The key would hopefully fall into his hands at some point, at some revelation.
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Twilight

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Lost in Dusk
 
For so long I hadn't had any real guidance, no direction in which to guide myself. An arrow without purpose is unpredictable, dangerous to the world or wasted upon the wind.

My head ached, swimming in an uproar of thundering drums and flashing lights. After a few moments I discovered it was just the beat of my heart and my eyes adjusting to the murky light I was currently bathed in. The air was dry and completely still. The trees that looked like they were made of stone, didn't sway or move. Time around me seemed frozen. I waited patiently in hopes that life would suddenly return, but the desolate landscape remained dead. My entire shuddered in dread as waves of pain resonated outward from somewhere deep within me. There were no wounds, nothing I could see or feel out. No blood. Nothing. It felt as if my soul had been mortally wounded and was decaying with each passing minute. My memory didn't want to conjure up my last moments before these either. Everything was just on the edge, but bathed in a murky fog, much like the dusk I was currently cast into.

There were ruins around me. Pieces of an old village. After great effort, I managed to find a single building still standing. Normally I would run for it, hoping for salvation, but the very sight of it filled me with icy terror. Every fiber of my being screamed to stay away from it. After the first sight of it, it felt as if something was always watching me, hiding in the shadows of the twilight.

Survival became paramount, and knowing I didn't want to deal with whatever was inside that building, I turned towards the stone-like trees and thrashed through the shrubbery, and run for what felt like miles and miles. When I finally collapsed and managed through another line of brush I found myself face to face with that same building. This only made me more fearful and I turned back around and ran, this time marking trees as a means to make sure I wasn't doubling back on myself. I was tired and in an immeasurable amount of pain, there was no knowing for sure I was moving in a straight line or in the right mind.

Despite my efforts, the looming tower always reappeared before me and each time I felt as if whatever was chasing me was getting closer.

I continued this for what felt like days more. Covering my tracks, setting traps in an attempt to shake this hunter I knew was so close.

The tower was still there. Dark. Ominous. Warped...

I had seen many terrible things growing up. Death, rape, plague. All such things didn't compare to the mounting despair. Each step drove me closer to insanity, to death of a different kind.

Finally after arriving back to the tower after what felt like the millionth time, I took step towards it. My mind and body shouted warnings, beckoning me away from the doom that awaited me through the shadowed entrance, but I knew whatever was pursuing me would be upon me soon. It was better I force it into a place I could better defend myself. Right? That's how I reasoned it...

Passing through the threshold of the entryway, I was submersed in shadows and felt like I was swimming in them. There was no longer a ceiling or a floor or walls, just blackness. Turning back I saw a pinprick of light that I knew was the entrance. It was miles away now. Instinct told me there was no going back. Steeling myself, I traversed deeper into the shade, unknowing as to what I would find, if anything. Surrender to this cruel world had occurred to me. Just stop running and allow whatever it was chasing me to consume my being and be done with it. It had been a thought. Just a thought. That was it. Survival meant more to me. Something drove me to keep breathing.

I hadn't eaten in days. I think it was days. I hadn't had water or anything to drink for longer. None of that existed in this unlimited twilight. No matter how long I had run, tried to count the seconds to form a timeline, it always remained at dusk, never changing time. Part of me was beginning to believe I had a goal here, something to do. Since I hadn't been able to track or trap the creature on my tail, the tower was the only other thing I hadn't observed. It was just so much easier to run. Fear was a great motivator.

I walked for hours. Finding nothing but more of the infinite void.

I was lost.

Without guidance once more.

Almost poetic.

You seek a way from the shadows, trying to find a way into the light. Instead embrace them.

The voice didn't startle me. It was mine.

The world has been cruel. The wicked rule and kill the innocent before your very eyes.

For the longest time I had observed cruelty on levels I hadn't even known possible from just average people, shop owners, farmers; the rich and privileged always being the worst.

I was angry that I watched so much of it and could never change it. Not truly.

Release your rage upon the world. Embrace that which you have run from and take upon the duty that will help you right the wrongs set before you. Like many others, they fear the hollow void darkness offers. Embrace them as you would it. Find purpose in your fury, in the void. Do what has to be done to provide balance to the world.

So badly did I want to accept.

But behind me was the hunter.

Around me was nothing.

I accept.

A thought. Not even put into words.

Instantly the looming feeling of the hunter vanished. I was aware of myself once more. I could see my fingers, my hand, my arm. Clouds of darkness slithered around me, welcoming me into its embrace. Fear no longer conquered my emotions. Instead I was relaxed. Comfortable. There was no anger, no grief, no guilt.

There was acceptance.


When Roark had gotten back onto the plains of Levant, he could recall everything clearly. Memories returned to him. All the strife in the world existed, but there was no longer anger. Waves of calm washed over him at the thought of all that was wrong.

With this new view, came more than just his own life, but the lives of those who had too accepted the shade. There was a stronger force guiding him than just some league of assassins. Fate offered to him the marks that would keep balance in the despicable world he inhabited. The armor he had arrived in granted him powers unimaginable. On some level he was aware of the danger, but always dismissed it due to his work. Each shadow before him had kept the balance in check and he would need to as well.

Darkness eventually found everyone.

Just for some more wicked it was always sooner than expected.

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~A Man Possessed~



For a long time, it appeared as if a monster existed within the Hegemony of Assassins. Dark leather created from some unnatural beast, curved short-swords of the most wicked nature, metal armor that has no shine or sheen as if it only accepts darkness. With or without sunlight, the hooded helmet is always masked by shadows. Something deceptive permeates the armor, or perhaps the man within adding to it an unease that most can't shake. A long history has seemed to follow the beast dubbed "The Fel-Shadow". Felling whole nations, eliminating entire royal families and bringing with it death and despair in its wake, "The Fel-Shadow" is a creature of horrific legends.

For the span of about three years, a young red-headed archer had been lost in shadow, hazed by blood and guided by chaos. Roark had become an assassin of legendary proportions, regarded as a demon cloaked in shadow during his famed period. The insatiable desire to right the wrong in the world, to restore order via a spray of blood had conquered his mind for so long, but he had forced himself out of the void and back into the light. This forced a reawakening within Roark, stowing away his dark past. Every day is a struggle to not seek out retribution on the world, to descend back into the darkness and instead he tries to bring life into the world, protect that which deserves to flourish.

A part of Roark's history none knew about and a part some would never forget.




Confirmed Kills ~ Fame/Infamy Scale - I - II - III - IIII - IIIII

Knight Commander Adrien Kailor - Fame IIII - Killed during a skirmish with Gellieth Forces
Pirate Lord Jack "Ale" Rarette - Infamy III - Executed after an honor duel
H.o.A. Circle Head Hera Lalait - Infamy IIIII - Killed publicly during a Circle Meeting as part of a Coup
District of Commerce Commissioner Zacarei Dolt - Infamy IIII - Killed during a gathering of Gellieth Business Owners
Allioquin House Representatives John Williams, Edmund Oreoas, Bridget Allard, and Joyce Selwyn - Fame II - Killed during a public debate
Allioquin Capital Defense General Geoffrey Scarcliff - Fame IIII - Slain during an incursion of Dai'Lostos monsters

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Edited by Wolfy, Sep 1 2012, 04:23 PM.
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