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"Black Garyn" Sogaard

"To call me self serving is a bit of an understatement."

0 · 135 views · located in Albion

a character in “The Tale of the Lost Heroes”, as played by Mikhos

Description

Ruggedly handsome might be how he would describe himself, but Black Garyn will also tell you that he has never lost an arm wrestling match.

Loose red bangs hang in his somewhat gaunt, square face, tough skin that would be pale if not for the dust of travel that lay upon it. A small part of his right ear is missing, but this does not detract from the smug smile on his face, a face that appears to be around the age of twenty-eight.

Cool, calculating pools of murky blue look out from a somewhat heavy brow. Small designs in blue woad decorate his cheeks, not unusual for someone hailing from the frosty areas of Albion. Most of his face lies obscured from the brown wolf's head hood he wears perhaps too far down his face.

He stands just under six feet tall and has a lanky build, thin but not weak.

Personality

Firmly believing in the phrase "Every man for himself," Garyn's friendship is at best tenuous and usually only given when there is something in it for him. Contracts are generally the only thing that will bind him, as his spoken word is worthless. He speaks with a grating brogue and some have said that it is better to let him sit in his voluntary silence than to rouse the vulgar half-truths and tall tales he spouts, though when he is drinking it is quite hard to keep him quiet.

His self-worth and ego are obvious, but sometimes the way he acts betray the fact that it is more of a front than the real truth. He is every bit your run of the mill mercenary, someone you had best conclude business with as soon as possible, as oily is his personality as it is his allegiance.

He is a skilled marksman and prefers a lofty perch to aim and neutralize his enemies, preferably without being noticed. However, in the heat of the fray he is remarkably mediocre. Fighting fair is not his strong point.

Equipment

Wearing dark-colored leathers and furs, Black Garyn looks like any other rogue who might be sitting at a tavern bar sipping cheap ale. Of note are the hood made from a wolf's head, with a small set of stag antlers sewn in, and a bear head pauldron. Straps and buckles keep the ensemble together. He wears knee high leather boots, soft and quiet, but not altogether very protective.

Slung over his shoulder is a repeating crossbow and a quiver filled with bolts. While an exceedingly well made weapon, Garyn has no idea who crafted it, or when it was made. He proudly declares it was loot from one of his more bountiful days of work. He does seem to take care of it, at least.

A billy club sits at his side, unmarked and showing an obvious lack of use. Meant for his tasks when he can't kill the target, always a disappointment, and sometimes, even a deal breaker.

History

Born in the southern frost to unnamed peasants, Garyn was never a shining light of confidence growing up. Always too skinny, too weak, and never friendly enough. To call his life rough would be half true - no peasant has it easy, but Garyn survived very much intact and imbued with a strong sense of survival.

He is at home amongst the building and torchlight that make up settlements, and even as a child was climbing around on buildings and getting into trouble. He is also skilled in the wilderness, though he does not feel at home and would prefer a warm bed over a bedroll any day. As soon as he could, he left his village to find fame and glory as a mercenary, though he has found neither... just a tendency to drink too much and a gambling problem. Sometimes these mix and he falls asleep in a drunken stupor after a bad night of dice....




Name: "Black Garyn" Sogaard
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Appearance: 5'11" 150lb, Red hair, deep blue eyes, pale skin. Clad in leather and fur.
Weapon (unless magic then state specialty): Repeating Crossbow
History: A mercenary with a story as boring as any you'll meet, but a personality just so memorable you might even like him despite every reason not to.

So begins...

"Black Garyn" Sogaard's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: "Black Garyn" Sogaard Character Portrait: Sammus Manus
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#, as written by Mikhos
Garyn sighed. Reptilian people were always easy prey. While they might be well suited to the raw wilderness, the intelligence and cunning of a well equipped human would usually be enough to outwit and defeat the green bastards. Lowering the crystal magnification scope of the repeating crossbow from a deep blue eye and slinging the weapon over his shoulder, the rogue skittered up a tree. Trees were easier than buildings to climb and move about, but some limbs belied their actual strength, having rotted out or cracked. Leaves rustled as the fur-clad form jumped nimbly, wondering idly in the back of his mind when this was going to be over and when he could fill his wineskin with some alcohol and spend the night near a fire.

Why did the blind woman ask him to do this? Why did he accept? He couldn't even remember what payment he accepted in return for his services... damn it all, he had to get his drinking habit figured out.

As he got in range where his shot couldn't possibly miss, Black Garyn raised his repeating crossbow up again and took aim. It seemed like the snake men.... weren't they called nagas? It didn't matter what they were called, so long as they died, and the people who fought against the nagas did -not- die. The seeress was very specific about that. Damn her. Black Garyn wasn't a nanny. He didn't have to look after anyone but himself. If everyone thought the same way no one would have to worry.

Ah. One of the humans was stupid enough to try and reason with a snake person. Idiot. Garyn chuckled, until he saw another naga deftly readying its halberd to stab the archer in the back of his head, and that chuckle turned to a swear, and Garyn turned the crossbow twelve degrees counter clockwise.... trigger pull. Iron bolt through the temple, approximately three inch deep wound... yeah, that should kill it.

Three seconds later the snake man collapsed in a heap of scales. Bulls-eye.