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Rorrim

"Men with nothing to loose can only win"

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a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Saxious

Description

Rorrim : Captain of the 37th Imperial Regiment
Image
"Men with nothing to loose can only win."


PHYSICALITY

Description
Rorrim is young, for a captain. He stands out with his pure white hair and his milk-white left eye and scarred face. He is stern when giving orders and is not accustomed to anyone answering back. He wears a chain-mail and a breastplate with wrist and shin plates, black and purple uniform and leather boots.

He cares greatly for his men under his command and wishes only to bring back as many as possible, though such occasions seems rare. He is short tempered when not allowed to speak his mind and holds a personal grudge against those that he considers for 'Snobby' noblemen.

Though ranked as a Captain, Rorrim has absolutely no experience for riding, always having had the preference of marching alongside his men. Something which has won him the hearts of his soldiers and also caused him to severely misunderstand the importance of a cavalry charge.

Appearance
Hair: White.
Facial Hair: Small goatee.
Eyes: Blue
Build: Leanly.
Skin Tone: Pale.
Height: 184 cm.
Weight: 97 kg.
Voice: Stern and loud.
Handed: Right
Body Markings: No.
Scar Tissue: Two scars on his face:
-Going from left side of forehead to the left side of the jaw.
-3 cm long scar going from the center of the upper lip and up past the right nostril
Many more scars are fond on the torso and the back.
Unique Body Features: None.

Name
Rorrim

Nickname
Rorri

Title
‘Captain’

Race
Human

Visual Age
Early 20s

Factual Age
20 Years.

Gender
Male

Sexual Orientation
Heterosexual.

Mage Ranking
None

Class
Warrior/Soldier

Specialization
Infantry and Artillery warfare. Rorrim and his regiment are experienced when fighting Demon cultists and mutants.


MENTALITY

Personality
Rorrim believes strongly that discipline is essential for anything, therefore he is makes it clear what he expects and meets insubordination with hard measures. He cares deeply for every man in his regiment, keeping Rorrim looking for ways which he can reduce his casulties, be it canons or different tactics.

Quirks
1. Rorrim lacks education.
2. Limited military knowledge and appliation.
3. Arrogant.

Moral Alignment
Lawful

Virtue/Creed
“some men must do what others can't or won't. We are the unknown heroes.”

Motivation
Seeing the end of all mutants and demonic cultists.

Fears
Death and seeing his men die.

Goal
Rid the lands of all demonic cultists and mutants.

Likes
-The men of the 37th Regiment.
-The Priestess of the local town.
-Victories.

Dislikes
-Scholars.
-"Incompetent" leaders.
-"Snobby" Noblemen.

Strengths
-The support of the 37th Infantry (Incl. cannon batteries, mortars and thousands of infantry).
-His dedication and stubbornness.
-Cunning tactics.

Weaknesses
-Arrogance.
-Lack of cavalry understanding and usage.
-His dependency of other regiment's information regarding the location of his enemies.


ARMAMENT

Head
Nothing.

Neck
Nothing

Chest
Chain-mail, breastplate and military uniform of the 37th Regiment.

Back
Chain-mail, breastplate and military uniform of the 37th Regiment. The standard issued rucksack filled with food, blankets and a tent.

Arm/Shoulder
Metal shoulder pads and wrist plate armor.

Right Hand
Leather glove.

Left Hand
Leather glow.

Right Accessory
Nothing.

Left Accessory
Nothing.

Waist
Leather belt that carries his pouch, shed & sword, and his pistols.

Legs
Shin plates.

Feet
Leather booths.


COMBAT PROWESS
Rating System
[Perfect] - [Excellent] – [Good] - [Above Average] - [Average] - [Below Average] - [Poor] - [Very Poor]


Combativeness
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
[Average] – Trained for wrestling though nothing more.

Melee Combat:
[Good] – Training and experience taught Rorrim to fight.

Armed Combat:
[Good] – Training and experience taught Rorrim to fight.

Magic Combat:
[Very Poor] – He has no magical talents nor training.

Mounted Combat:
[Very Poor] – No experience riding horses.

Racial Abilities
None.

Natural Talent
Cunning Improvisation: [Perfect] Rorrim knows how his enemies think and he knows how to manipulate it for his benefit.

Iron Disciplin: [Excellent] Rorrim has drilled every man in his regiment to be disciplined and do what they're told. This allows him to put a lot of trust on his sergeants

Class Skills
Great Stamina: [Good] Training and marching has made Rorrim endurant, capable of harsh marching and crossing vast lands.

Damage Dealer: [Good] Rorrim knows where the weak points are in a man's armor and how to find his weak spots.



EQUIPMENT

Items
-Tent.
-Blankets.
-Bread, cheese and berries.
-Bottle of Rum
-deck of cards

Accessories

Weapon
Weapon Name: None
Weapon Type: Sword
Material: Iron
Ammo: none
Length: 110 Cm
Weight: 1.5 kg
Weapon Description/Info: A common sword that could have been made by any blacksmith.

Weapon Name: Flintlock Pistol
Weapon Type: Gunpowder.
Material: Metal and wood.
Length: 30 Cm
Weight: 2.2 Kg
Weapon Description/Info: A rare piece of weaponry, made by expert smiths.


BACKGROUND


Faction
Rorrim is loyal to the Northern Constantine.

Marital Status
Single.

Relatives
Unknown, Rorrim was an orphan.

Origin
Tyron.

Social Rank
Soldier.

Occupation
Soldier.

Blood Pact
None

Bio/History

Rorrim was raised as an orphan in Tyron. He showed great interest in soldiers from an early age and

So begins...

Rorrim's Story

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#, as written by Saxious
Rorrim enters the bar and looks around with his one good eye. This is what goes for a tavern around here? Damn I'm well out of the Constantine boundaries, Rorrim thought and then started to walk over to the bar.
" 'Ey, who here is serving?" he called, looking up and down the bar, unsure who he had to talk to. While he waited he took a look at the people around him; an odd bunch if you asked him however Rorrim was unfamiliar with the customs of the kingdoms and principalities outside of the Constantine.

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Rorrim looked at Forrest with a confused expression. [color=blue]"Very well... Thank you," he called back and then just leaned over the counter and grabbed a bottle of 'Whiskey'.
Somehow Rorrim felt out of place here, wearing his medieval uniform and chainmail somehow made him feel that he was not meant to be around these people, though the smell of the whiskey quickly stopped his thinking and increased his drinking. Hell's bells, this whiskey is bloody fine. Probably costs a fortune, he thought.[/color]

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[color=blue]"Good Gods," Rorrim exclaimed when he saw Illuminous bite into Forest's neck. Dropping the bottle he grabbed his sword, ready to draw it. "Damn things are everywhere," he said, slightly panicked.[/color]

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Rorrim looked at Vincent, "Eh? You mean they won't die by cold iron?" he asked, getting more nervous. A small hissing could be heard as Rorrim slowly drew his sword.

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Rorrim didn't shed his sword, instead he looked at the creature and then at Vincent. Rorrim had been instructed and trained to find and destroy monsters, though he had never encountered things which sucked other people's blood.
He was uncertain what to do and this he would rather play it safe by having a sword in his hand.

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[color=blue]"He ought to be put down for good," Rorrim said, looking nervoudly at Illuminious, already planning his moves in case he got loose from the grip.[/color]

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"Nirmar... Save us," Rorrim muttered as he watched the metalical thing enter the bar. He slowly raised his sword, ready to defend himself from both the newly arrived and Illuminous. If I live to see a new sun, Nirmar will be smiling on me, he thought as he began to back away.

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"Nirmar... Guide my soul to your gates," Rorrim whispered and then stepped towards Forrest, Illuminous and the large metallic thing, sword raised and ready to fight.

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Rorrim looked between the three and then returned a nod to Forrest, "I'm expecting you have enough honor not to stab me in the back," he replied and stepped towards the large monster, feeling his heart beating harder and harder.

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Rorrim could feel the heart move into his throat, almost chocking him. "I am Rorrim. Captain of the 37th Constantine Regiment. I've fought demon cultists and mutants, and I swear by the holy light of Nirmar, you will fall like the rest!" Rorrim roared, feeling his courage return.
Leaping forward he struck out after the monster, praying that honest iron would be enough to get to this monster.

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Rorrim watched in horro as his weapon was covered in frost as it was entangled. Hissing a curse, Rorrim grabbed a nearby drink and tossed it at the thing's face, hoping to distract it long enough to free his weapon.

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"That was...Unexpected," Rorrim said, utterly bewildered whether he was being mocked or if it really was the monster's weakness. Whatever the case, Rorrim need a drink badly.
"Waiter," he called. "Ale, and keep it rollin'," he then shed his sword and found a seat at the bar, still pondering over the brief battle he just had.

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Waiter, bartender, owner. All works the same place, Rorrim thought, drinking the ale in large gulps.

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Rorrim turned and looked at Tycho. "Calm down!" he shouted back.

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"You don't say," Rorrim muttered and had another refill of his ale which he drank greedily. "How much is on the lad's head?" he then called out to Tycho. "I think I might know a few bounty hunters if the price is right," he said, putting a hand on his iron sword.

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"Eh?" Rorrim replied, looking weirdly at the man, What's a universe? he thought.

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Rorrim ignored the kids that entered the tavern, from his experience it wasn't unusual for kids to be found in such places and besides, those who had coins could get what they desired.
"Another one," he said, slurring slightly as the alcohol got to him.

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Rorrim called for another drink though it was becoming more and more apparent that he was drunk. "I'm... I'm finf," he replied to the thin air, appearing as if he was talking to himself.

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Rorrim screamed in surprise as the stool suddenly broke. His cup of ale went flying through the air and he landed face first on the floor.
"Who broke me chair!" Rorrim roared as he got back on his feet, blood running out of his nose. He kicked the remaining pieces of the stool, making it skit across the bar and then went to pick up his cup.

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Rorrim turned as he heard someone giggle, "Was it you?" he called out in the crowd, not really sure who he was actually addressing. "You broke me chair?" he repeated.

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Rorrim staggered down the bar and then grabbed what he read to be for a menu. His lack of education made the reading a lot harder for him though eventually he made out something. "Ey, uhm, bartender. Long. Island. Ice. Tea?" he spelled out, looking at Gwen.

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Rorrim looked at Gwen with his blood shot eye, clearly surprised, "You're an angel of Nirmar!" he replied and then took the drink and took a sip. Turning around he spat it out, "Hell's bell this is strong... Oh well, here goes my soul."
Taking large gulps, Rorrim finished the drink and then stood, swaying back and forth, a finger to his lips, trying to prevent himself from barfing.

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Rorrim gave Gwen another puzzled look, "Wha-" He didn't come further before he suddenly lost footing and feel flat on the floor. It took him a while to realize what happened. He began crawling, "Stay low, the archers will see us!" he hissed loudly as he crawled along the bar's length.

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Rising up, Rorrim looked around and then drew his sword, "The entrance to the castle is this way. Climb the wall men!" he hissed again and crawled over the bar counter.

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Getting back up, Rorrim looked around. "By the Gods! Such sick-minded bastard! Using alcohol for raising the dead! We must stop these cultists once and for all," he said aloud as he began walking along the bar counter, his sword poking a bottle every now and then.
"By Nirmar's light... The liquid is alive!" he would suddenly say, picking up a bottle of Gin to study.