Skaadvik
01-04-2009, 10:49 AM
Full Name: Skaadvik Eriksson
Nicknames: Skaad, Skaadi
Age: 53
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Hair: Long, greying
Skin: Pale, but tough
Eyes: Brown with a hint of green around the edges
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 245
Place of residence: Stormwind currently
Place of Birth: The Hinterlands
Known Relatives: His brother Skallagrim is his only known living relative, though he hasn't seen his brother in some time.
Religion/Philosophy: Follows the Holy Light, but still honors the old gods of his people.
Occupation: Jewelcrafter, Miner, Poet, Fisherman
Group/Guild affiliation: Praetorian Guard
Guild Rank:
Enemies: All who oppose the Holy Light, any who threaten the citizens of the Alliance.
Likes: Song and dance, battle, drinking, beautiful women, good company.
Favorite Foods: Meat
Favorite Drinks: Booze, especially mead, whiskey, and heavy dwarven ales.
Favorite Colors: Blue and Silver, Black and White
Weapons of Choice: Whatever weapon he can get his hands on to channel Holy Magic,
though he prefers a blade.
Dislikes: Ignorance, ineptitude, pacifism, and apathy.
Hobbies: Fishing, mining, gem cutting, and drinking copiously.
Physical Features: Skaadvik is a tall, imposing man, standing taller than most around him. He has a large, scarred face and broad shoulders. He wears his plate armor effortlessly, as though it's no more than simple cloth. There is an odd, very faint glint of something in his eyes when he battles; he says it's the memories of all his past battles before he was a Paladin. His hair has begun to grey as the weight of years and the horrors of war press down upon him.
Special Abilities: He believes the old gods of his ancestors guide and protect him.
Positive Personality Traits: Quick to lead, and quick to support those in positions of leadership, though with due caution. Fervently defends Alliance lands, and just as eager and willing to retaliate, and prides himself on his vigilance over Alliance lands.
Negative Personality Traits: Intolerant of people he sees as inept or apathetic. Prideful. He is also a bitter old alcoholic. He has become increasingly warlike in his old age, something of a throwback to his ancestry.
Misc. Quirks: He's a fucking viking.
Played by What Famous Person: Asbjorn Riis (AKA the old guy in Thirteenth Warrior)
http://www.bjorns-wrestling.dk/bjornfoto/Viking2.JPG
Theme Songs: "Grace" by Ikuinen Kaamos (http://www.imeem.com/people/Bpzr0E/music/LRzs3Shw/ikuinen-kaamos-grace/)
"Without Fear by Amon Amarth (http://www.imeem.com/people/NP1Ba0p/music/_Or2GU3o/amon-amarth-without-fear/)
History: Skaadvik's ancestors were born in icy Northrend, known as Vrykul. A curse was laid upon their settlement by a long forgotten witch, and their offspring were stunted and weak from then on. Fearing they would be seen as weak and unworthy by others, the tribe set off these "runts" in boats to live elsewhere. They managed to make shore in Azeroth, and his particular bloodline took refuge in the high peaks of the Hinterlands. Skaadvik was descended from these men and women, much of his early life spent in a small mountain settlement, known to few of the outside world. He eventually left that life behind entirely, though hasn't revealed why to any but a few, and his wanderings led him into the lands of other humans, and eventually to Stormwind City. There, he began to learn about Paladins and their ways and eventually took up training as one.
(( The following is meant to be a dramatized account written by an outside observer ))
A cold morning mist rolled over the hills as the warlord looked out across them. He grunted, hefted his hammer, and let it drop back to the ground. Where the hell were they? He'd been told a war party was headed this way to spy on his very tribe. Hunh, we'll see how far they get, he thought. But where are they? Behind him, his two most trusted warriors, advisors, and captains stood. Geri the Bersark and Fisk the Wise. Behind them, sharpening his enormous axe, sat Jorn, the Warlord's grandfather.
"Skaadvik! What's the hold up!?" Shouted Jorn. "Patience, old one," grumbled Skaadvik with a dismissive wave- "shhh! Here they are..." whispered the warlord, heading off to a stand of trees 15 feet away. Everyone else followed suit, waiting in hiding, listening to the slow, silent advance of 10 or 12 pairs of boots. This isn't going to be easy, thought Skaadvik. Oh well, the best fights are always the ones you shouldn't have survived. Death by the sword is honorable indeed.
As the first of the warparty stepped onto the spot Skaadvik was standing on, an axe stuck into the side of his skull. Dammit, Geri, thought the warlord, and he charged.
Skaadvik swung his massive hammer down in an arc, crushing the man's skull who'd been hit by the axe before he could hit the ground. He felt a sword clatter feebly off of his thick hide armor, and turned, bringing his hammer up into the man's torso, crushing him like a ripe fruit. Geri and Fisk met battle with gusto, together with their axes forming a whirlwind of violent, howling razors. Skaadvik heard a noise behind him, and turned to see a fully-armored, almost glowing knight strike down his grandfather. Rage overcame him then, and in a single leap he closed the range with the knight, and sent his hammer home with all the strength he'd ever known.
The hammer clattered ineffectively off of the knight's shield, and as the warlord swung again and again, his blows were ineffective. All the while, the knight's wounds seemed to be closing themselves. The knight finally let loose with a mighty swing of a huge, glowing blue sword, which the warlord dodged deftly, and gave another swing of his hammer in turn, this time hitting home. The warlord and his adversary were locked in battle thusly for half an hour, and had both grown very weary. Skaadvik knew he had little strength left, and knew his opponent couldn't have much left... but this strange warrior had powers Skaadvik couldn't comprehend, and he could take no chances. Dredging up the last reserves of strength and stamina left in his entire body, he prepared to end the battle.
Arili Bladedancer had never fought anyone like this. He'd crushed her armor so fiercly with that she was sure many of her ribs were shattered. This man seemed to be drawing his very strength from rage, anger, and even the mental scars from physical pain built up on his soul. She could see the way his soul burned and suffered, almost as though he'd imprisoned and enslaved it.
Blinking, she recentered herself. This man must be defeated, for the good of the Hinterlands, and all of northern Azeroth. She was so tired, though. She knew her energy was drained and coming back slowly, and she knew this.. berserk warlord was her physical better. I'll have to rely on my cunning and agility, she thought quickly. As she parried a weak hammer blow, she shifted her entire body to use her weight to bring her sword up, and back around.
Skaadvik reeled and cried out in anger and pain as this knight- whom he now saw to be a woman- swiped his entire chest and part of his face with a brutal sword strike. Immediately he felt his own wet, warm blood covering his chest and stinging his eyes. Now is not my time! This warrior will still feel my wrath and taste her own blood as she has made me to do!
Now, to finish this! The young Paladin smiled grimly as she saw her foe fall. "Drop your weapon, and by the grace of the Light, you shall be spared!" Arili knew what task she'd set for herself, and knew what it would cost her. One way or another, this man would come to the Light. Before she could react, the man whipped a short stabbing blade out and sunk it to the hilt in her side, through a weakness in her armor. No! No, not yet! She focused all of her Holy power, and her eyes flashed like the purest diamonds in the sun. She felt white light burning her from the inside, and in a flash time stood still and all she could feel was white, burning, cleansing light.
Skaadvik was stunned. He should have died... his grandfather did die... but he had killed her. He'd managed to finish her with his last reserves of strength. He looked at his grandfather again. He looked around, at the blood-stained grass and the bodies around him. He was the only one to survive. He looked at the warrior, dead at his feet, peering curiously at her now battered armor. Skaadvik had never been a thinker. He was smart, oh yes, a brilliant tactician and brutal but effective leader. He was no wise-man or shaman, though. He never hungered for knowledge. Now, though, there was one thing consuming his mind, like a burning, white-hot, fire in the back of his head. He had to know who this warrior was, and what she was.
He walked into his tent that day, dropping his hammer outside. He put on a simple grey woolen cloak, grabbed a stick, and began walking south.
He was never seen or heard from again, to my knowledge. Soon after his departure, his tribe left the Hinterlands for good, returning to icy Northrend, where his Brother Skallagrim was last known to be. Why that young Paladin gave her life for this man I'll never know, but he is marked. He will find the light, one way, or another.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Skaadvik left behind the drudgery of dungeon-crawling with Winter Heart, disillusioned and feeling his connection with the Light fading a bit. He has since rejoined the Fabled Order, taking up a renewed stance of aggression toward the Horde. Though somewhat frowned-upon by others in the Order, he feels at home there and hopes to help bring the Order strongly into the coming times, ready for war and whatever else is going to happen.
Despite his efforts, he felt more and more dejected within the Order. He was not seeing the change he wanted, and he slowly realized that this could no longer be his home. His place was at the side of those whose sole intent was to bring justice to the Horde, at whatever cost. He then joined the Praetorian Guard to aid Cavanaugh it it's growth, seeing there a chance for what he wanted for the Alliance. He was honored for his commitment to the Alliance and his King by being offered the rank of Exarch within the guard, and gladly took it up.
Despite their great success, the Praetorian Guard was soon disbanded due to the founder Cavanaugh's unrest. Skaadvik held no hard feelings, for the man always had been and would be his close friend and ally. He joined ranks with the Dusk Watch, guided mainly out of a respect for Ms. Omy and Daigil. He had originally not thought highly of Trigin or Cytiana, but he found friends among them as well in the Watch. After a small official upheaval within the guild, Cavanaugh and Rethius joined ranks with the Watch as well. This was short-lived, however, and more official upheaval and drama led to all three of them departing shortly, and their friend Harken disappeared for good.
Skaadvik set out finally to forge his own banner of leadership, not entirely abandoning but certainly setting aside his oaths to King Wrynn. He swore a blood oath to protect the people of the lands, his people, above all else, and formed the Bloodsworn, seeking out those who would take that oath with him. Rethius and Cavanaugh aided in its foundation, and he soon found the support of his newfound allies Trigin and Cytiana as well. Bloodsworn's inception had not been as glorious, nor as steeped in bloodshed, as the Praetorian Guard's, but that would hardly dissuade the man.
He has begun to hear things he had never been called before, indeed, things he used to call others. "Warmonger." "Bloodthirsty." He is regularly accused of perpetuating a cycle of violence with the Bloodsworn and his personal policies. This is a responsibility and guilt that he both recognizes and accepts. He sees what he does and what his comrades do as something that must be done, for the sake of his people. He is now nearing a sort of end to the cycle of his life evolution, returning at least somewhat to his previous warlike manner. He will never again fully be what he was, but he has found a balance now between what he is and what he once was, and uses the strengths of both to his advantage (and sometimes to his weakness).
Skaadvik has finally rejoined his old friend Cavanaugh in the Praetorian Guard, where he plans to spend the rest of his natural life. He hopes to stay on the battle scene against the Horde with coming changes, as long as their aggression remains.
Nicknames: Skaad, Skaadi
Age: 53
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Hair: Long, greying
Skin: Pale, but tough
Eyes: Brown with a hint of green around the edges
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 245
Place of residence: Stormwind currently
Place of Birth: The Hinterlands
Known Relatives: His brother Skallagrim is his only known living relative, though he hasn't seen his brother in some time.
Religion/Philosophy: Follows the Holy Light, but still honors the old gods of his people.
Occupation: Jewelcrafter, Miner, Poet, Fisherman
Group/Guild affiliation: Praetorian Guard
Guild Rank:
Enemies: All who oppose the Holy Light, any who threaten the citizens of the Alliance.
Likes: Song and dance, battle, drinking, beautiful women, good company.
Favorite Foods: Meat
Favorite Drinks: Booze, especially mead, whiskey, and heavy dwarven ales.
Favorite Colors: Blue and Silver, Black and White
Weapons of Choice: Whatever weapon he can get his hands on to channel Holy Magic,
though he prefers a blade.
Dislikes: Ignorance, ineptitude, pacifism, and apathy.
Hobbies: Fishing, mining, gem cutting, and drinking copiously.
Physical Features: Skaadvik is a tall, imposing man, standing taller than most around him. He has a large, scarred face and broad shoulders. He wears his plate armor effortlessly, as though it's no more than simple cloth. There is an odd, very faint glint of something in his eyes when he battles; he says it's the memories of all his past battles before he was a Paladin. His hair has begun to grey as the weight of years and the horrors of war press down upon him.
Special Abilities: He believes the old gods of his ancestors guide and protect him.
Positive Personality Traits: Quick to lead, and quick to support those in positions of leadership, though with due caution. Fervently defends Alliance lands, and just as eager and willing to retaliate, and prides himself on his vigilance over Alliance lands.
Negative Personality Traits: Intolerant of people he sees as inept or apathetic. Prideful. He is also a bitter old alcoholic. He has become increasingly warlike in his old age, something of a throwback to his ancestry.
Misc. Quirks: He's a fucking viking.
Played by What Famous Person: Asbjorn Riis (AKA the old guy in Thirteenth Warrior)
http://www.bjorns-wrestling.dk/bjornfoto/Viking2.JPG
Theme Songs: "Grace" by Ikuinen Kaamos (http://www.imeem.com/people/Bpzr0E/music/LRzs3Shw/ikuinen-kaamos-grace/)
"Without Fear by Amon Amarth (http://www.imeem.com/people/NP1Ba0p/music/_Or2GU3o/amon-amarth-without-fear/)
History: Skaadvik's ancestors were born in icy Northrend, known as Vrykul. A curse was laid upon their settlement by a long forgotten witch, and their offspring were stunted and weak from then on. Fearing they would be seen as weak and unworthy by others, the tribe set off these "runts" in boats to live elsewhere. They managed to make shore in Azeroth, and his particular bloodline took refuge in the high peaks of the Hinterlands. Skaadvik was descended from these men and women, much of his early life spent in a small mountain settlement, known to few of the outside world. He eventually left that life behind entirely, though hasn't revealed why to any but a few, and his wanderings led him into the lands of other humans, and eventually to Stormwind City. There, he began to learn about Paladins and their ways and eventually took up training as one.
(( The following is meant to be a dramatized account written by an outside observer ))
A cold morning mist rolled over the hills as the warlord looked out across them. He grunted, hefted his hammer, and let it drop back to the ground. Where the hell were they? He'd been told a war party was headed this way to spy on his very tribe. Hunh, we'll see how far they get, he thought. But where are they? Behind him, his two most trusted warriors, advisors, and captains stood. Geri the Bersark and Fisk the Wise. Behind them, sharpening his enormous axe, sat Jorn, the Warlord's grandfather.
"Skaadvik! What's the hold up!?" Shouted Jorn. "Patience, old one," grumbled Skaadvik with a dismissive wave- "shhh! Here they are..." whispered the warlord, heading off to a stand of trees 15 feet away. Everyone else followed suit, waiting in hiding, listening to the slow, silent advance of 10 or 12 pairs of boots. This isn't going to be easy, thought Skaadvik. Oh well, the best fights are always the ones you shouldn't have survived. Death by the sword is honorable indeed.
As the first of the warparty stepped onto the spot Skaadvik was standing on, an axe stuck into the side of his skull. Dammit, Geri, thought the warlord, and he charged.
Skaadvik swung his massive hammer down in an arc, crushing the man's skull who'd been hit by the axe before he could hit the ground. He felt a sword clatter feebly off of his thick hide armor, and turned, bringing his hammer up into the man's torso, crushing him like a ripe fruit. Geri and Fisk met battle with gusto, together with their axes forming a whirlwind of violent, howling razors. Skaadvik heard a noise behind him, and turned to see a fully-armored, almost glowing knight strike down his grandfather. Rage overcame him then, and in a single leap he closed the range with the knight, and sent his hammer home with all the strength he'd ever known.
The hammer clattered ineffectively off of the knight's shield, and as the warlord swung again and again, his blows were ineffective. All the while, the knight's wounds seemed to be closing themselves. The knight finally let loose with a mighty swing of a huge, glowing blue sword, which the warlord dodged deftly, and gave another swing of his hammer in turn, this time hitting home. The warlord and his adversary were locked in battle thusly for half an hour, and had both grown very weary. Skaadvik knew he had little strength left, and knew his opponent couldn't have much left... but this strange warrior had powers Skaadvik couldn't comprehend, and he could take no chances. Dredging up the last reserves of strength and stamina left in his entire body, he prepared to end the battle.
Arili Bladedancer had never fought anyone like this. He'd crushed her armor so fiercly with that she was sure many of her ribs were shattered. This man seemed to be drawing his very strength from rage, anger, and even the mental scars from physical pain built up on his soul. She could see the way his soul burned and suffered, almost as though he'd imprisoned and enslaved it.
Blinking, she recentered herself. This man must be defeated, for the good of the Hinterlands, and all of northern Azeroth. She was so tired, though. She knew her energy was drained and coming back slowly, and she knew this.. berserk warlord was her physical better. I'll have to rely on my cunning and agility, she thought quickly. As she parried a weak hammer blow, she shifted her entire body to use her weight to bring her sword up, and back around.
Skaadvik reeled and cried out in anger and pain as this knight- whom he now saw to be a woman- swiped his entire chest and part of his face with a brutal sword strike. Immediately he felt his own wet, warm blood covering his chest and stinging his eyes. Now is not my time! This warrior will still feel my wrath and taste her own blood as she has made me to do!
Now, to finish this! The young Paladin smiled grimly as she saw her foe fall. "Drop your weapon, and by the grace of the Light, you shall be spared!" Arili knew what task she'd set for herself, and knew what it would cost her. One way or another, this man would come to the Light. Before she could react, the man whipped a short stabbing blade out and sunk it to the hilt in her side, through a weakness in her armor. No! No, not yet! She focused all of her Holy power, and her eyes flashed like the purest diamonds in the sun. She felt white light burning her from the inside, and in a flash time stood still and all she could feel was white, burning, cleansing light.
Skaadvik was stunned. He should have died... his grandfather did die... but he had killed her. He'd managed to finish her with his last reserves of strength. He looked at his grandfather again. He looked around, at the blood-stained grass and the bodies around him. He was the only one to survive. He looked at the warrior, dead at his feet, peering curiously at her now battered armor. Skaadvik had never been a thinker. He was smart, oh yes, a brilliant tactician and brutal but effective leader. He was no wise-man or shaman, though. He never hungered for knowledge. Now, though, there was one thing consuming his mind, like a burning, white-hot, fire in the back of his head. He had to know who this warrior was, and what she was.
He walked into his tent that day, dropping his hammer outside. He put on a simple grey woolen cloak, grabbed a stick, and began walking south.
He was never seen or heard from again, to my knowledge. Soon after his departure, his tribe left the Hinterlands for good, returning to icy Northrend, where his Brother Skallagrim was last known to be. Why that young Paladin gave her life for this man I'll never know, but he is marked. He will find the light, one way, or another.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Skaadvik left behind the drudgery of dungeon-crawling with Winter Heart, disillusioned and feeling his connection with the Light fading a bit. He has since rejoined the Fabled Order, taking up a renewed stance of aggression toward the Horde. Though somewhat frowned-upon by others in the Order, he feels at home there and hopes to help bring the Order strongly into the coming times, ready for war and whatever else is going to happen.
Despite his efforts, he felt more and more dejected within the Order. He was not seeing the change he wanted, and he slowly realized that this could no longer be his home. His place was at the side of those whose sole intent was to bring justice to the Horde, at whatever cost. He then joined the Praetorian Guard to aid Cavanaugh it it's growth, seeing there a chance for what he wanted for the Alliance. He was honored for his commitment to the Alliance and his King by being offered the rank of Exarch within the guard, and gladly took it up.
Despite their great success, the Praetorian Guard was soon disbanded due to the founder Cavanaugh's unrest. Skaadvik held no hard feelings, for the man always had been and would be his close friend and ally. He joined ranks with the Dusk Watch, guided mainly out of a respect for Ms. Omy and Daigil. He had originally not thought highly of Trigin or Cytiana, but he found friends among them as well in the Watch. After a small official upheaval within the guild, Cavanaugh and Rethius joined ranks with the Watch as well. This was short-lived, however, and more official upheaval and drama led to all three of them departing shortly, and their friend Harken disappeared for good.
Skaadvik set out finally to forge his own banner of leadership, not entirely abandoning but certainly setting aside his oaths to King Wrynn. He swore a blood oath to protect the people of the lands, his people, above all else, and formed the Bloodsworn, seeking out those who would take that oath with him. Rethius and Cavanaugh aided in its foundation, and he soon found the support of his newfound allies Trigin and Cytiana as well. Bloodsworn's inception had not been as glorious, nor as steeped in bloodshed, as the Praetorian Guard's, but that would hardly dissuade the man.
He has begun to hear things he had never been called before, indeed, things he used to call others. "Warmonger." "Bloodthirsty." He is regularly accused of perpetuating a cycle of violence with the Bloodsworn and his personal policies. This is a responsibility and guilt that he both recognizes and accepts. He sees what he does and what his comrades do as something that must be done, for the sake of his people. He is now nearing a sort of end to the cycle of his life evolution, returning at least somewhat to his previous warlike manner. He will never again fully be what he was, but he has found a balance now between what he is and what he once was, and uses the strengths of both to his advantage (and sometimes to his weakness).
Skaadvik has finally rejoined his old friend Cavanaugh in the Praetorian Guard, where he plans to spend the rest of his natural life. He hopes to stay on the battle scene against the Horde with coming changes, as long as their aggression remains.