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Marick

A warrior of Gondor who has spent nearly five years on the war-front that is Osgiliath.

0 · 321 views · located in Middle-Earth

a character in “Blood of the Third Age”, as played by SonOfMars

Groups

All sons and daughters of Gondor who fight for the White City join up!

Description

Name: Marick
Age: 28
Race: Man
Sub-Race: Middle Man, with a smidge of the blood of old Numenor.
Nation: Gondor, and he is based in Osgiliath.v
Physical Description: Marick is a tall, dark-haired man who is a sight to see on the battle-field, for his shoulders are broad and his voice mighty. When on duty he wears the armor of a Gondorian at war. Full plate and chain, with the white tree emblazoned on the breastplate. He carries a londsword and black shield, also painted with the White Tree. When off duty he tends to wear a simple tunic and a pair of pants. He is marked with many scars from his five years on the front. His eyes carry both the pain of years of war and the joy of life, and that joy is what keeps him fighting well.
Personality: Marick is a very jovial man except when it is time for battle, and that is where he retreats into his shell and steels himself for conflict. He's a pretty open-minded person, and easy to make friends with. He is extremely loyal to Lord Boromir, because the lord saved Marick and several of his mates in one of the countless battles at Osgiliath. As such, he will do anything for his lord.
Reasons for Fighting: His father was a soldier, and as such, he wished to follow in his father's footsteps.
Short Back-story: Marick was born in Minas Tirith as the son of a soldier and a washer woman. He spent his childhood years lingering on every word his father said, and when father wasnt home he was a little hoodlum terrorizing boys weaker then he. When his father found out he had him sent to be a squire to one of the gondorian knights where he learned the traits of dicipline and obediance. As soon as he turned sixteen he signed up with the army and was stationed in Minas Tirith initially, but on his twenty third birthday he was sent to Osgiliath and he has been there since.

So begins...

Marick's Story

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Character Portrait: Marick
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Twas a grim morning amongst the ruins of Osgiliath, former capitol of the Kingdom of Gondor, but now a wasteland where only soldiers of the White City and orcs dwelled, though there were fewer of the former then usual. Marick was standing guard near a shattered tower on the eastern bank of the great river Anduin, and he was absolutely and completely bored. He had been on guard duty since dawn and he was ready to break his fast. He absent mindedly scratched his armpit, his shield lying against a stone, and his sword sheathed when he thought he saw something move. He pulled his blade out and called out "Who goes there!". There was no response, until a black orc came charging out of the ruins. Marick jumped back a bit and then scooped up his shield, quickly slipping his arm through the leather strap. As he did so he examined the orc wildling charging forward more closely. It was shorter then Marick, but it was thicker. It carried a crude axe in one hand and in the other was a damaged shield, with some dark reddish-brown stains on it. It was armored in a mix of crude furs and chain-mail, but other then that it had nothing. Marick took another couple steps forward, thrust his shield forward and then made a side-slash towards the orc. It shrieked a shrill war-cry and then clumsily parried the blow, but Marick banged the orc in the face with his shield and then as it fell he stabbed it in the throat, and a jet of sick, black fluid jetted up, spattering Marick's scarred breast-plate. He sighed, pulled his sword out, and wiped it on the ugly corpse, and began to head back to the headquarters to give his report and get relieved.

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As Marick walked to the headquarters, which was a slightly less ruined tower more or less centrally located, he pondered the last few years of his life, as he usually did when he was alone on duty. He thought of the countless skirmishes, the friends lost, the glory gained, and one particular moment came to mind. It was his first month at Osgiliath, and the veterans were calling him and his company "meat". They hadn't fought yet, and they were getting frustrated. Thus, Marick and his entire squad thought it would be a good idea to go into the occupied edge of Osgiliath, and kill a few orcs. In the dead of night they crept out of base, and snuck towards it. Disaster struck almost immediately, for the orcs had been preparing for an attack and nearly a score of scores (2,000) had gathered for the sneak attack. Marick and his squad didn't stand a chance, and they would have all died had Boromir and his company of Guards of the Citadel come charging in like avenging maiar. They formed a shield wall and pushed the orcs up against a ruined building while Marick and remaining four friends fought as hard as they could, desperately trying to survive until Boromir got to them. It was at this skirmish that Marick earned the nickname Mighty, for just as his best friend Curanir was about to get impaled by a spear Marick stabbed the orc through its stomach, lifted it, and hurled it off his blade into the crowd and killed six orcs in roughly ten seconds, but the next event earned him his other nickname: Enemy of rocks. Marick was about to kill another orc when he tripped over a rock and hit his head against a piece of masonry, and subsequently lost conscience. When he awoke, Boromir himself was shaking him awake. After Boromir got the story from him he gave Marick and his only surviving comrade Curanir two weeks of camp duty: cooking, clearing out rubble, making arrows, and taking care of the wounded.
Marick's reminiscence was interrupted by the sound of stone on stone, and the screams of orc and shouts of man. He looked about and saw that roughly two streets over a Gondorian unit, the 22nd judging by their banner, were in danger of getting overwhelmed. A bare three hundred men scattered over six blocks struggled against what looked like four times their number of orcs, with maybe three dozen Uruks playing hammer to the orc's anvil. Marick unsheathed his sword and prepped for yet another fight in the endless war that Gondor had fought fought centuries...

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As Marick drew his blade, his feet began to hit the ground faster as he went into a trot, his plates clanging against each other, and then just as he was about to reach the thinnest portion of the orcish line, he let out a great shout. He smashed his shield into the orc to his left and decapitated the orc to his right. He continued shield bashing and sword swinging for about a minute, in which he reached the friendly line. He joined into the shield line and began to push forward to the beat of his commander's sword against shield.
Clang. Left.
Clang. Right
Clang. Left
Clang. Shove, and then take another right.
This went on for roughly an hour when the orcs decided to flee. Marick was bone tired by this time, and had received an gash across his forehead. As he staggered around the battle site looking for survivors among the dead, he realized how few men had made it out. Of the three hundred or so men that he had seen, only about one hundred were walking around...

He was mulling over this when a man walked up to him and said "Lord Boromir wishes to see you sir! He is over by the Dome of Stars. Go see him as soon as you can." and then the man ran off. Marick sighed, and then began slowly making his way to the dome, roughly in the center of Osgiliath.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Akash Character Portrait: Leif and Twig Character Portrait: Marick Character Portrait: Celebrian Character Portrait: Farineld Character Portrait: Gorthak the Piercer Character Portrait: Deranan Character Portrait: Kyouki Mari Character Portrait: Ian karkov
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(Let's get this shit revived, people :3 I tagged all of you so you would know my intention. We must get this ball rolling again!)
It is a beautiful, clear-skied day. The sun shines bright on a field of pure blue, illuminating the flowing green and gold fields of Eastemnet, much to the chagrin of Gorthak the Piercer, one of the leaders of Saruman's Fighting Uruk-hai. He looks over his shoulder at his legion, shielding his eyes from the annoyance that is the sun and growling at the competence of his troops. He prides himself on having one of the best-trained troops in Isengard's force, though the accuracy of that is disputed by some. Today, though, he simply needs to kill something. He hasn't seen battle in a long while, and executing incompetent Orc Snagas had gone from fun to grating. If he didn't get to feast on some man-flesh prior to getting to Helm's Deep, he just might go mad(er).

As luck would have it, heading in their direction was a large detachment of Rohirrim Forces, lead by an equally ill-tempered Rohan Captain named Mordren whose weary men had just had a run in with White Hand warg riders. They had defeated the riders with few casualties, but the experience of chasing down and killing riderless wargs was one that could make any man or horse tired and annoyed, and his men had the same general feeling. Currently he just wanted to run into some small band of Uruk-hai or Orc scouts to make short work with an raise the morale of his men.

Neither were close enough to spot each other just yet, but their meeting is inevitable, and wherever the Horse Lords and the White Hand meet, there's sure to be blood, black or red...

(Also...ignore the "Ian" character I tagged. He'd been rejected already. Not sure how he got on there.)