Post by Directed by M. Night Shyamalan on Apr 16, 2012 22:46:53 GMT -5
Name: Darshkiva
Gender: Male
Age: (Age in human years) Forty two
Species: Pine marten
Occupation: Commissar of the Infinite Army
Physical Appearance: A taller than usual marten, he is also slenderer than most of his race. He has brown fur all over his body, and a white patch running along his belly. However, tough times have fallen upon him as of late. His ragged fur is crusted with salt. His whiskers droop, and his underside is now a filthy white color. His dark brown eyes are heavy looking, a window into his nearly constant state of depression. His tail is also far from well, ragged and unkempt, and crunchy with clumps of sea salt. He has several scars over his body, but the most obvious wound is the chunk of meat missing from his right leg, forcing him to limp horribly.
Possessions: He wears a ragged brown military overcoat wherever he goes. His head is topped with a beaten officers cap with the barely-visible gold three-pointed star on the front of it. On the rare occasions he goes into battle, he dons a steel chest plate and forearm and thigh guards. Ever-present at his side is the one item he keeps in good condition, a basic saber. Also ever-present with him is a bottle of strong fire ale.
Personality: Darshkiva keeps his mood as light as possible in the presence of his comrades, but he can barely hide his depression. Horribly wounded in a humiliating accident during training, he was shamed immensely and never married. His parents tried to be good to him, but they couldn’t hide their disappointment. He is obsessed with doing something noble for the motherland, anything to regain some sense of self-worth and glory before he dies. But due to his injury, he is kept from the frontlines, instead shuttled around on the missions not calling for good warriors.
He is a drunk, using the alcohol to hide from reality and from the pain in his leg when it grows to intense. He has little patience for insubordination, and once brutally scourged a young soldier for refusing to do some menial task. He doesn’t do well with anyone who hasn’t really suffered anything, and prefers the company of those who can sympathise with his struggles.
He has a remarkable degree of determination though, he learned how to fight with a saber with his bad leg, keeping it to the side as much as possible, and learning to fight almost equally with his non-dominant hand. He is strongly devoted to his people and his flag, but he is on a quest more for personal glory than anything else.
Strengths: He is ambidextrous and quite a good swordsmen. Well-motivated when he applies himself to it. A very high tolerance to pain, due to living with a painful injury his whole life. He is also a shrewd tactician, to an extent.
Weaknesses: His quest for glory comes before anything else, and he’ll throw the mission aside if he sees a chance to redeem himself in his family’s eyes and his own. He is a cripple, reducing his ability to move fast and hindering his fighting capability. He is also addicted to strong ale. He is troublesome with young beasts and any with little experience.
History: He was born into a traditional family with a long and upstanding military tradition for all the males. His father had been a decorated naval captain in the war against piracy, so naturally there was quite a heavy burden placed on the young Darshkiva. He went to a military academy when he was twelve to begin his military life.
Majoring in tactics and military history, he graduated when he was eighteen with high honors and departed for the Fort Thoubin to begin training. Doing well throughout basic training and infantry school, he was recommended for Officer School and was soon on his way. Here he courted several she-martens in the local town, and was nearly discharged during a scandal accusing him of harboring affairs and sneaking his conquests into the base. The charges were dropped however, and he entered his third month.
Disaster struck. While taking part in a military exercise to demonstrate his abilities as a commander, he made an awful mistake. Too busy going over several maps of the surrounding area along with issuing orders , he failed to pay attention where he was walking, and slipped off a ledge.
The fall was only ten feet, but it was onto a mass of vicious sharp rocks. His right leg was dashed to pieces, and the doctors said he was lucky not to have it amputated. But a large amount of flesh was removed from his right thigh, crippling him for life and destroying his career in the military.
All his dreams, hopes, and ambitions about gloriously leading soldiers for the motherland came crashing down. He entered a depressed spiral as many of his former friends left him to continue their training. He began drinking, and was soon kicked out of the military for his disorderly behaviour. His family did support him, but his father was clearly displeased with his son for having such a embarrassing and humiliating accident that cost him his future and career.
He eventually left his family, and drifted around the isle for several years, doing odd jobs here and there to support his alcoholism. Eventually he was arrested and thrown in jail for ten years after an attempted murder.
The war with Vara Shvall changed all that. Out of jail of several years at that point, he tried to clean himself up to be let back in, hoping for a chance to earn glory on the battlefield. The military, needing all the good warriors it could for the war effort, reinstated him with the rank of Commissar, and used him for various dead assignments they needed done but didn’t want to spend any good officers on.
He spiralled back down into depression, still clinging to the faint hope of possible glory. His hopes rose slightly when he was put in charge of a mission seeking help from Mossflower. Sent off on the small picket vessel Raquila, he has sailed for about a month, hoping to reach the estern shores before they run out of provisions.
Relationships: None
(Hoping to utilize him when I can get enough support for my plotline)
Gender: Male
Age: (Age in human years) Forty two
Species: Pine marten
Occupation: Commissar of the Infinite Army
Physical Appearance: A taller than usual marten, he is also slenderer than most of his race. He has brown fur all over his body, and a white patch running along his belly. However, tough times have fallen upon him as of late. His ragged fur is crusted with salt. His whiskers droop, and his underside is now a filthy white color. His dark brown eyes are heavy looking, a window into his nearly constant state of depression. His tail is also far from well, ragged and unkempt, and crunchy with clumps of sea salt. He has several scars over his body, but the most obvious wound is the chunk of meat missing from his right leg, forcing him to limp horribly.
Possessions: He wears a ragged brown military overcoat wherever he goes. His head is topped with a beaten officers cap with the barely-visible gold three-pointed star on the front of it. On the rare occasions he goes into battle, he dons a steel chest plate and forearm and thigh guards. Ever-present at his side is the one item he keeps in good condition, a basic saber. Also ever-present with him is a bottle of strong fire ale.
Personality: Darshkiva keeps his mood as light as possible in the presence of his comrades, but he can barely hide his depression. Horribly wounded in a humiliating accident during training, he was shamed immensely and never married. His parents tried to be good to him, but they couldn’t hide their disappointment. He is obsessed with doing something noble for the motherland, anything to regain some sense of self-worth and glory before he dies. But due to his injury, he is kept from the frontlines, instead shuttled around on the missions not calling for good warriors.
He is a drunk, using the alcohol to hide from reality and from the pain in his leg when it grows to intense. He has little patience for insubordination, and once brutally scourged a young soldier for refusing to do some menial task. He doesn’t do well with anyone who hasn’t really suffered anything, and prefers the company of those who can sympathise with his struggles.
He has a remarkable degree of determination though, he learned how to fight with a saber with his bad leg, keeping it to the side as much as possible, and learning to fight almost equally with his non-dominant hand. He is strongly devoted to his people and his flag, but he is on a quest more for personal glory than anything else.
Strengths: He is ambidextrous and quite a good swordsmen. Well-motivated when he applies himself to it. A very high tolerance to pain, due to living with a painful injury his whole life. He is also a shrewd tactician, to an extent.
Weaknesses: His quest for glory comes before anything else, and he’ll throw the mission aside if he sees a chance to redeem himself in his family’s eyes and his own. He is a cripple, reducing his ability to move fast and hindering his fighting capability. He is also addicted to strong ale. He is troublesome with young beasts and any with little experience.
History: He was born into a traditional family with a long and upstanding military tradition for all the males. His father had been a decorated naval captain in the war against piracy, so naturally there was quite a heavy burden placed on the young Darshkiva. He went to a military academy when he was twelve to begin his military life.
Majoring in tactics and military history, he graduated when he was eighteen with high honors and departed for the Fort Thoubin to begin training. Doing well throughout basic training and infantry school, he was recommended for Officer School and was soon on his way. Here he courted several she-martens in the local town, and was nearly discharged during a scandal accusing him of harboring affairs and sneaking his conquests into the base. The charges were dropped however, and he entered his third month.
Disaster struck. While taking part in a military exercise to demonstrate his abilities as a commander, he made an awful mistake. Too busy going over several maps of the surrounding area along with issuing orders , he failed to pay attention where he was walking, and slipped off a ledge.
The fall was only ten feet, but it was onto a mass of vicious sharp rocks. His right leg was dashed to pieces, and the doctors said he was lucky not to have it amputated. But a large amount of flesh was removed from his right thigh, crippling him for life and destroying his career in the military.
All his dreams, hopes, and ambitions about gloriously leading soldiers for the motherland came crashing down. He entered a depressed spiral as many of his former friends left him to continue their training. He began drinking, and was soon kicked out of the military for his disorderly behaviour. His family did support him, but his father was clearly displeased with his son for having such a embarrassing and humiliating accident that cost him his future and career.
He eventually left his family, and drifted around the isle for several years, doing odd jobs here and there to support his alcoholism. Eventually he was arrested and thrown in jail for ten years after an attempted murder.
The war with Vara Shvall changed all that. Out of jail of several years at that point, he tried to clean himself up to be let back in, hoping for a chance to earn glory on the battlefield. The military, needing all the good warriors it could for the war effort, reinstated him with the rank of Commissar, and used him for various dead assignments they needed done but didn’t want to spend any good officers on.
He spiralled back down into depression, still clinging to the faint hope of possible glory. His hopes rose slightly when he was put in charge of a mission seeking help from Mossflower. Sent off on the small picket vessel Raquila, he has sailed for about a month, hoping to reach the estern shores before they run out of provisions.
Relationships: None
(Hoping to utilize him when I can get enough support for my plotline)
