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Rorik Kindleson

"Leave me alone."

0 · 846 views · located in Kingdom of Loeir

a character in “The King Sword”, as played by pieluver

Description

ImageRorik Kindleson

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Rorik is quite the rough looking man, with brown hair and a beard he tries to keep relatively short, leathery, tanned skin, and forest green eyes. He's lean and muscled from spending so much time working and so little time eating, and his callused hands are scarred from broken bowstrings and other mishaps. He also has an old scar over the left side of his face, from where he had a close encounter with a bear. Rorik tends to dress simply, mostly in browns and greys, and is often dirty looking, and can easily be mistaken for a bear himself, if one spots him moving through the forest.

A G E
32

G E N D E R
Male


PERSONALITY
Rorik has grown in to a quiet man who tends to keep to himself. When he does talk to people, it's hard to say whether his responses are words or grunts. He's fairly gruff, and quite blunt, but he's a big softie on the inside. When he goes into town, he likes to do favors for the townsfolk, usually heavy labor, like helping build houses or digging pits, or chop down trees, usually in exchange for a warm meal and maybe some jerky for the road. He's also quite stoic, slow to anger, but he also doesn't smile often. Usually his face retains the temperature of his temper, cool and impassive. But he also gets impatient easily, which can elicit sighs and eyes cast heavenward, but he isn't a complainer, and will work doggedly, no matter how much he dislikes his task.

KINGDOM THEY HAIL FROM
A citizen from Valein, he is loyal to them...to a point.

H O B B I E S
Hunting- While it's necessary for his livelihood, Rorik also just plain old enjoys being one with nature, hunting the wildife.
Music- while he's no great shake at making music, he loves listening to it, it's a nice change of pace from the sighing of the wilderness.
Map making- Rorik has created a handful of highly detailed maps for the areas he's lived in and traveled through. He puts a lot of care into knowing his surroundings to a T.

S E X U A L I T Y
Heterosexual

BIOGRAPHY
Rorik was the fourth child of a family of carpenters, and from a young age the lust for exploration seized him. He'd spend hours in the wilderness outside his little village, and slowly he learned how to hunt with a bow and arrows from some of his elders. As time passed he became restless, knowing he'd never be comfortable as a fourth son, he wouldn't inherit anything from his family, so he went off on his own and became a wandering nomad at age 16, making his own bows and living off the world around him.

While he occasionally makes stops in towns, he spends most of his time alone, just the way he likes it.

F A M I L Y
Rorik's family still lives comfortably in their town, though his parents are quite old. His five brothers and three sisters are off eking their own way in the world.

S T A T U S
A wandering Huntsman in Valein.

W E A P O N
Rorik favors bows, and he has several of varying length, strength, and accuracy. He also has an array of knives used primarily for cutting small tree limbs and for skinning and gutting animals.

DO THEY WANT THE SWORD? WHY DO THEY WANT IT
He has no interest int he sword.

So begins...

Rorik Kindleson's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Rorik Kindleson Character Portrait: Cassian Valein Courtsmen Character Portrait: Marie Deron Inautta Character Portrait: Tessa Macerine Anson Character Portrait: Alistair Valein Courtsmen
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Routa Belvadear Cain
Image


Routa found himself looking his father up and down, seeking anything that would give away an injury. He couldn't quite see anything on the man but he did find it rather curious that his father had kept his visor up. He knew his father to take the visor off during counsel meetings such as this. He glanced at the other advisers in the room as they began to talk amongst themselves before he turned back to his father. Upon hearing why his father kept his visor on, Routa gave a light nod. What kind of scar did those knights leave on his father's face? Would he go blind? Was it really bad? Damn his worry and curiosity! It wasn't his place to question his father and king here. He would have to squash his worry for another time. And now he was going to disappoint the man to boot.

"Things on the font aren't as good as we hoped, unfortunately. As you ordered, I took my men towards the Eastern border. In the distance I saw one of the Valein knights and their forces massed around the bridge. We tried to hurry, but unfortunately they were able to destroy the bridge before we had the chance to cross. They have effectively defended the pass," Routa answered and grit his teeth. He clenched his fist and didn't look up at his father. He knew there was nothing he could have done but he had to ask himself, what if they had moved faster, stopped less? They might have reached the other side and defeated the army stationed there. But then again, without rest the men would have been too tired to fight. "I am sorry that I have failed you. If we had gotten across, we could have surrounded the army and had a major victory."

He needed to think of other things besides his failure and there was something else his father had mentioned in his message. The young prince shook his head and did look up at his father then. "I got your message about this fabled sword... if it is true that sword could affirm our victory over Valein and prove we have the divine right to lead. But if it isn't true, then we were on a wild goose chase. What if it is a Valein ploy to get us to separate our men?" he asked then. "Do you have an idea of its location and who you are going to send after it? Besides the sword, what plans have I missed at the counsel? I'll do whatever I can to make up for my failure at the Eastern bridge."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rorik Kindleson Character Portrait: Lathan Keyull
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Rorik Kindleson
Rorik had spent several weeks in this particular spot of land, being that the flora and fauna were bountiful and the surroundings beautiful. And the forest was rather dense, which meant fewer travelers crossed his path, and some well needed shelter from the lazy summer sun. On this particular day, he'd been hunting a deer. Not to kill it, but to find out where it lived. He preferred to kill bucks, and when he came across a doe, he liked to watch her for a while, learning the habits of the deer in the area, whether food or predators were abundant, but he wouldn't kill her. It wasn't right to kill deer who had families. It could cause severe drops in the population. He didn't stay in one place for long enough to feel these issues, but the grizzled man respected nature.

So he watched the doe drink from a stream for a while, following her fresh tracks when she wandered off the graze. As the sun began it's slow descent, she suddenly looked up, froze for a few seconds, and bounded off into the forest. Rorik cursed softly. The breeze couldn't have blown his scent in her direction. He was down wind of her. And he'd been completely silent. And for that matter, she hadn't even looked in his direction. That mean there was either a predator or another person in the area. If it was a predator, he could kill it, most likely, unless it was a bear or a wolf, but he wouldn't be opposed to eating bobcat or coyote for dinner. If it was a person, well, he hadn't considered eating anyone yet. He wasn't that hungry.

Silently, Rorik slipped through the underbrush, pulling out a gut knife, prepared to eviscerate anything that jumped at him. As he slunk towards where the doe had looked, he heard voices rising from the forest. So that ruled out predators. But what exactly were these humans doing here? Had they gotten lost in the forest? As he neared, he saw a group of men and a rearing horse. The huntsman quickly swapped his knife for a bow and notched an arrow, hoping that they didn't notice him.

It appeared that the men were antagonizing a smaller looking lad, who was positively scrawny next to them. There were piles of things scattered around, and a horse was rolling it's eyes in fear as one of the men grabbed on it's bridle. Looked like highway men who'd found a target. Rorik sighed. These clumsy city folk didn't understand the first thing about traveling safely. While he knew that he didn't have to, he could easily leave without lifting a finger, let them do whatever they pleased with the stupid boy, he felt some obligation to help. If he'd fallen into that situation when he was yet a green lad, he would have liked the help.

One of the men, who had prominent, rock-hewn features that were twisted with amusement, pushed the lad, then pulled out a knife. Rorik immediately stood, pulling his arrow back halfway, waiting. The boy had his purse-strings cut, then the knife neared even further. That was what he'd been waiting for.

"Ho there," He grunted as he emerged from the trees, training his arrow, now fully drawn, on the man with the knife. "I don'nae know what ya think yer doin, but yew best stop." He said, his face impassive and his voice low as a feral dog's growl. "Off with ye, yew got what ya wanted, now leave the scrap be, neh, yew narsty bast'rds. 'for I put a bolt 'tween yer eyes."

Rorik wouldn't take no for an answer. When the knife-bearing man tried to complain, he just growled over him, taking a step forward and tightening his draw on his bow. "I ain't afeared ta kill ya, so go on, git." The other highwaymen were watching their leader, and when he finally put his knife back and took a step back, they followed suit, turning tail with their loot and the horse and disappearing into the forest.

Then he turned his attention to the scrap he'd saved from a very likely slit throat. "Yew a'right, lad?" He asked after he was sure the bandits were not coming back, leaving off the pressure on his bow and putting his arrow back. He took a few steps closer, as he would near a wary animal, his footsteps soft and his body open, not hostile. Then he offered the boy a large, callused hand to pull him to his feet, and regardless of whether he took it or not, the bear of a man appraised the lad. He truly did look scrawny, with glasses that made his eyes look huge and waifish, and little meat on his bones. His skin was pale, like he'd never spent a day outside, only exaggerated by his dark hair.

"What in tha Gods' names da'joo think ya doin out here by yerself?" He asked, his voice a little sharper than he'd anticipated. "What tha hells this?" He gestured towards the mess the bandit's had left, which was mostly books. Rorik rubbed his beard with one hand, shutting his eyes to compose himself. He couldn't just leave the stupid boy here by himself. He'd starve before he found the main road. If he didn't get ate first by one of the indigenous predators. Rorik's eyes softened for a moment. "Where ya headed lad? I'll take ya to tha nearest town so ya don't starve yaself out here on yer ownsome." He offered, even though he knew he'd quickly regret it. He'd never live with himself if he didn't. It was only right. This scrap of a man looked like a fawn, wobbling on it's legs for the first time, except there was no doe to hide him from the coyotes or the bears.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rorik Kindleson Character Portrait: Lathan Keyull
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#, as written by slcam
Image





Lathan’s heart jumped and his breath caught in his chest as the man neared. He scrambled back only a hand span before the blade was at his throat. He wondered if this would be the end of him. It was rather ironic. The first outing he had been confident enough to take on his own, full of certainty that he would be able to do something important to the world, and he had not even made it a day. The best he could hope for is that someday, his bones would be found sitting in the forest, and someone would be idly curious as to how he met his end among the scattered remains of his life’s work. His poor books lay rumpled in the dirt now, and he winced as a bandits trod on one.

Before the blade could fall, however, a confident voice rung out in the forest. At once, everyone’s attention was drawn to the unexpected archer, including Lathan’s. Lathan wondered if this was another of the bandits. He realized the bow was pointed, not at him, but at the burly men surrounding him. Just a moment before, he had not even hoped for any salvation whatsoever, and suddenly an archer pops from the forest. Lathan gasped in a breath for the first time in what seemed to be ages. The bandit who had been about to cut his throat backed off and was grumbling at the archer, muttering insults that made Lathan’s skin crawl. Still, the archer posed an intimidating figure. He watched as the standoff built in tension, while the leader and the archer sized each other up. Lathan did not dare to move more than his eyes for fear it would somehow bring down calamity.

Yet, the moment passed suddenly as the leader sheathed his knife and the dark-clad men melded into the forest. Lathan felt relief until he realized they also took all his newly bought gear and food. There was a sinking feeling in his gut until his eyes dropped to the books scattered about. He scrambled forward, not really registering the approach of the man, until his fingers gingerly fumbled at the closest book which lay face-down in the dirt. He turned it over, almost afraid of what he would see, but the worst of the damage was a definite tear to a couple pages near the binding, some liberal wrinkling, and a liberal coating of dirt. It was then that he noticed the archer had almost reached his side. He gave a small start, but smiled, though it was more an embarrassed crook of his lips. The burly man offered him a hand, and, misunderstanding the meaning, Lathan scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over himself. He grabbed the man’s hand but Lathan’s handshake felt more like a dead, dirt-covered fish. “Oh, yes! I do believe I am quite alright, and all thanks to your appearance it seems. Lathan Keyull. Very pleased to make your acquaintance indeed, good sir.” He dropped his hand quickly. His eyes then darted back to the slew of books still scattered around the small area. There was a bag or two otherwise, but all else was gone.

The archer asked what he was doing out in the woods, further inquiring after the books in a manner far from genteel. Lathan had already begun going around, collecting his books, handling them and dusting them off with much more care than he had afforded himself. “Well, you see…” he paused, grabbing one of the more trampled tomes and sighing as several pages slipped loose from the binding, “I am actually on a journey related to some research I have been conducting. Fairly technical, no need to fret about it.” His attention never flickered from the books he picked up. After a moment, he moved on, the pile in his arms steadily growing.

“At least they seem to have left most of the important ones. Oh, dear me, wherever could….” His face froze in fear a moment and he began scrambling about, flipping books like mad. He came across a red-bound manuscript, tattered more with its age than its recent abuse. He sank to his knees, picking up the old manuscript as respectfully. Lathan sighed his relief, stoking the vestiges of dirt from the thick leather bindings. He spoke again with a reflective tone, “At least with this, I can get along. It’s funny, they seemed to be seeking objects of value, yet left this behind. It is worth at least a comfortable villa in the highest circle of the Capital, I would say.” He inspected it and added it to the rest of the books. After just a moment, he had gathered the rest and strode to the bags. The first was empty, but for a length of twine and his flint. He carefully placed the books inside and pulled the drawstring closed. He peeked in the second, letting out a sound of delight as he saw his instrument. He set it beside the books. The archer asked his next question and Lathan cocked his head to one side as he thought.

“I suppose I am heading about northwest, but more west than north for now.” He looked up, finding the sun nearing dangerously close to the horizon. He glanced around, a new urgency in his mood, and spotted what he was looking for near the roots of an elm. He darted over and unrumpled the paper of his map. A large, thin section of the bottom had been torn away, but it was otherwise readable. Lathan continued smoothing it out as he approached the burly man. His eyes searched over the recorded woods, cities, plains, and mountains until he found his path. He angled his body so that the bowman could better see the contents of the map. The wide parchment stubbornly flopped down, hiding his hand and baffling his efforts. He fiddled with it for an aggravating moment before finally squatting. “Here, this will do for now.” He smoothed the paper over the uneven ground, looking comically like a little boy playing explorer.

“Obviously no tables in a place such as this, so--” This time, he showed the path he was taking, pointing out the westerly trail he had attempted to use before getting hopelessly lost. “You see, I set out from Anthalon just this morning, heading toward the Shie River in the north. I was attempting to take this shortcut through the woods. No need to fear though, I think I just lost it not too far back. If you can show me back to the path, I am sure I will have no trouble reaching the main road. No need to go all the way out of your way. After all, I am headed to Thein, more than two day’s journey hence, and then up toward Despi mountain.” He considered the map for a while longer, a content look on his face, before a look of doubt crossed his features. “Do you know where the path is from here? It should not be too far. And pardon my rudeness; I did not happen to catch your name. You aren’t lost too, are you?” He laughed nervously.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rorik Kindleson Character Portrait: Lathan Keyull
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Rorik Kindleson
Rorik stared at the boy with his mouth slightly open, giving him a bemused expression. He was chattering about, and had shaken his hand with his own clammy fingers when he offered him a hand, stumbling about like a top heavy elk. He fumbled around for his books as if they were his lifeblood scattered across the forest floor, carefully handling him. He was obviously from the city by his talk, overly formal and not musical at all. Good sir? He couldn't remember the last time someone had called him sir. He raked his beard as the lad babbled on about his books, not making much sense at all. Maybe those bandits had dropped him on his head. He should be worrying about the fact that he now had no food, his horse was gone, and with night threatening them, he was stuck in the forest. But here he was, talking about a villa? Rorik rubbed his face. This mite had definitely never been out in the woods before for any prolonged amount of time, to be worrying about books for any other reason than using them for kindling.

The burly male didn't show much interest in what Lathan had to say until he pulled out the map, and then proceeded to flop it around everywhere before managing to tame it against the ground. He knelt down beside it to examine the handiwork, and let out a tch. Other than the fact that the map had been ripped, it did a poor job of detailing the paths through the forest, but he supposed it was a city map for a city lad. When he requested to just be shown back to the path he'd apparently lost, Rorik stared at him blankly. Did he really think he'd make it for any amount of time in the woods by himself? Besides the highwaymen, there were bears and coyotes in these woods who'd make a fine snack out of an easily frightened twig like him. Especially with night coming on and not a spot of food to his name.

"Name's Rorik, and I ain't lost." he grunted in response to the inquiry, then he cleared his throat slightly awkwardly, trying not to be too harsh with the boy, who obviously didn't know the first thing about the forest. "Lad," he said, straightening, but trailed off after a moment. "Look, I ain't tryna patronize ya, Lad, but yew ain't gotta fish's chance in the desert of makin it threw these woods on yer ownsome, 'specially wit no vittles or horse and night commin' quick. A coyote'll et ya as soon as look atcha."

He shifted his weight to search through the pack he carried with him to record deer trails as he found them, and pulled out a much smaller map to show the lad. It was the stretch of forest he was currently living in, following the main road a far ways up. It was lovingly drawn, with deer and other game trails marked along with the main paths and a few foot trails. "Thein's here abouts," He gestured to an area above where the map ended, and then pointed farther down the map. "We're somewheres 'bout here, an' mah camp's there." He drew his finger a bit to one side and marked the area where he was currently living. "I ain't gonna make ya do anythin, but if ya at least get some food inya and a nights rest, I can take ya up this way to Thein, where ya'll be safer like an' ya won't starve three ways ta hell." He followed an intricate web of game trails that met again with the main road near the top of the map with his finger, then glanced at the lad. "I ain't gonna letcha starve, ain't mah way, but iff'n ya dog set on takin the path yew been on, I can take ya that'n way tomorrow wit some vittles in ya pockets, tho I dun't think much ov yer prospects there, lad." He knew he'd regret either path he chose, leaving the lad on his own would mean a certain death for the poor mite, but he could already tell that the boy was going to drive him up the river without a boat if he took him all the way up to Thein, or wherever it was that he wanted to go. "I dun liketa stay in one place ta' long anyways, headin north ain't no trouble for me, lad."

So of course he had to offer his roundabout, slightly awkward brand of help, trying to be friendly, but not too friendly, and also not make the boy do something he didn't want to do, but also make sure he didn't get himself killed. He gently rolled his map back up and restored it to it's place in his pouch and shouldered his bow, though his ears were still attuned to voices, just in case the bandits decided they wanted to go for a round two, in which case he would put an arrow through someone's eye if they had in mind to harm them.