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Race: Human Gender: Male Age: 21 Birthday: 17, Winter 500 AV Birthplace: Sunberth
Appearance: Mitt has short, thick, brown hair bleaching lighter by the sun. Gray/blue hazel eyes that vary depending on his mood. 6'1 200 lbs. At first, his face seems to be all harsh planes and angles but softens up the moment he smiles. Well muscled and growing more fit with each passing year at his trade. His hands and arms have a few burn scars in different sizes, and Mitt's right forearm is noticeably larger than his left, giving immediate evidence of his blacksmith trade. He's usually scruffy with stubble and/or beard because his hair grows quickly and shaving isn't a main priority for him.
✨Character Concept✨
Apparently he's entirely too serious, especially for such a young guy. Mitt likes to work with his hands and tends to be a quiet man. He works as a Blacksmith at Syka Foundry, *find and put seasonal wage amount here*. Growing up in Sunberth has made him cautious about people at first but once he warms up to you he's pretty friendly. Mitt's a people watcher so he tends to stare. He's incredibly patient and lost himself to temper only twice in his life.
Mit's large and strong and he's very aware of it. In Sunberth, he used his size to purposely intimidate people. In just a few months, the double grief he's going through has left an indelible shift of his personality-for the better.
His eyes are normally shades of gray like the ocean but when a strong emotion is aroused his eyes turn a darker, stronger blue. Mitt's young but his once quick moods have drastically altered to an immense patience. Although grief is never easy, it's vastly improved the quality of his character as nothing else ever could.
✨Character History✨
Brief recent history: Mitt and his father paid some Svefra to sail them out of Sunberth shortly after his mother's death. Neither of them wanted a reminder of her and his father wanted his son to grow up in a place as far from a crowded city as possible. Also lots of violence and secrets that Mitt is desperate to leave behind him.
The season long voyage to Syka started with Mitt and his dad, but a bad storm took his father from him. He's doubly grieving the loss of both mother and now father within three seasons. The coming winter will be his first birthday alone. At just under 22 he's arriving in Syka with nothing but his tools, a strong back and a willing attitude.
Background history At seven, he had an apprenticeship as a Striker with his father at the local Smithy. It was hard work but Mitt enjoyed it and he felt a strong family bond in learning the blacksmith trade.
Mitt grew up an only child and his parents worked far too hard to keep an eye on a growing teen. His parents, Tirlmon and Reineli, always made sure to keep food in their bellies and have a steady shelter. But it didn't leave much room for supervision or guidance. When left too long on his own, Mitt grew up a bit wild, running around the city. He was tall for his age which led to the typical bullying but he took it in stride for the most part. At least til he was fourteen and then the hormones totally kicked in. Chasing girls and conflicts became an everyday occurrence so Tirlmon put a quick end to it by keeping his son very busy at work.
Mitt was good at sums, a quick learner, had a strong back and steady hands that his father put to good use at work. The years passed and all seemed well until the horrible night his mother was murdered. See ]Childhood history in the post below
More detailed history on the next post under this one.
Religion: The young man was brought up with endless tales of his great great great grandsire Burlemen who was a proud Isur. Mitt and his family are devout followers of Izurdin.
✨Language✨
Fluent Language: Common Basic Language: Poor Language: Fratava
✨Skills✨
Skill
EXP
Total
Proficiency
Blacksmithing
15 RB 15 SP
30
Competent
Cooking
15 SP
15
Novice
Intimidation
26 SP
26
Competent
Wilderness Survival
9 SP
9
Novice
✨Gnosis✨
I'm seriously considering an Izurdin one if I can swing it but I need to read more about these. I think it would suit his character nicely and add some rich history to this young blacksmith.
✨Lores✨
Lore of Casting metal Lore of fire building
✨Possessions✨
1 Set of Clothing -Simple Shirt -Simple Pants -Simple Undergarments -Simple Coat -Simple Boots 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack which contains: -Comb (Wood) -Brush (Wood) -Soap -Razor -Balanced Rations (1 Week's worth) -1 eating knife -Flint & Steel -1 large 4 person tent -Leather work Apron covers neck to knees -Gloves pair -Toolkit, Blacksmithing
Heirloom: Sturdy Anvil (called Izzy) from his father. This anvil has obviously seen long use and been handed down through many generations of Stryke blacksmiths.
✨Housing✨
Location: A tent for now on the beach.
House: Currently just a large tent that was originally for both himself and his father along with all their tools. It's very organized if a bit spartan, with no decorations whatsoever. The tent flaps are well worn with a smoky hue from he and his father's years of forging. A constant comforting smell of warm smoke clings to everything within. The only sign of a personal touch is a small corner clearly dedicated to Izurdin.
✨Ledger✨
Purchase
Cost
Total
Starting Package
+100 GM
100 GM
Sold horse
+250 GM
350 GM
Gloves pair
-5 sm
349 GM
Apron
-3 sm
349 GM, 2 sm
Toolkit, Blacksmithing
-65 GM
284 GM, 2 sm
Headwear, cap
-2 sm
284 GM
Belt
-2 sm
283 GM, 2 sm
✨Thread List✨
I moved my threads to the bottom post to make it easier.
"Hey keener, you wanna carry my books." The red haired boy, Raymin taunted, shoving the brown haired boy into the wall.
"You're just jealous because I'm not stupid like you!" ten year old Mittle retorted. "You're gonna be nothin but another stupid hammer slammer just like your old man." "YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" "MAKE ME, SHIT HEAD!"
Mittle shoved him to the ground and started pounding the kid's face with all the anger of a frustrated ten year old boy. One who'd been picked on every single day for the past five years, since his first day of school. The other kids in the alley gathered around, shouting at all the excitement.
"My father's the greatest man that ever lived! You're stupid and dumb and I hate you!" Mittle got pummeled much harder and Raymin caught him squarely in the nose and knocked out a tooth. The bully twisted his hip and shoved back before standing to give him a swift kick. Another one two rabbit punch to Mitt's eye made him put up his hands defensively.
"I give! I give!" Mittle cried.
"Yea you would, keener" Raymin taunted again, finally standing up. "C'mon guys, he's gotta run back to mommy and do dishes like a woman!" He stood up slowly, holding his bloody nose. "You just wait until I grow up. I swear to Izurdin I'm going to get you back Raymin!" the little boy murmured through his split lip.
Mittle stood just outside the expensive Montworth house where his mother worked and paused to wipe his tears before he went in. He hoped if he kept his head down with his chin tucked to his chest, he was too short to notice.
"Once Mittle gets here, we can get the heavier pots done. My boy's growing fast." Reineli said proudly to the scullery maids.
The largest of the cooks caught sight of Mitt in that state and told her "We don't keep bloody nosed little thugs in this kitchen Reineli. If he's growing up so fast, he should learn to fight better. I'll not have that in our clean kitchen! Off with ye!"
"Mittle baby what have you done?" Quickly she moved the dirty, bloody boy out of the immaculate kitchen and got him outside. "I'm not a baby mom!"
"What under Izurdin have you done with your face and hands?! What happened to you? I can't let you in there like that, you know this." she scolded him, worried and wanting to hug him. But she couldn't get a speck on her apron or there'd be hell to pay. "Get home, clean yourself up and do your schoolwork. If this happens again I'll have to let your father know. It's a nail drive so he won't be home until ten." She squeezed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.
"Now go home like a good little boy and I'll sneak you back a piece of the Maple Rum cake I'm making, eh?"
"Yes mom," he said quietly, heading home. ________________________ Unlucky thirteen
In three years, Mitt was taller than the rest of his classmates, standing like a willow in a field of children. All but one of the kids stopped picking on him and that as usual, was Raymin. They squabbled constantly and daily, the fights got worse. Mittle wasn't a fighter, not a brawler and had no taste for weapons. He liked his maths and science and books. His mind was stronger than even his tall growing self but words couldn't express the mounting anger at the feeling of helplessness.
The young teen kept his head down and his nose in his books, trying to ignore it. He was too old to work as a kitchen hand with his mother and father worked twelve bells a day, minimum. But sometimes one ripple in the water flows out farther than anyone would normally expect.
"Mittle come here, I want to speak with you young man." Said the teacher after class. "Your mathematics are excellent and your grades are unmatched. I'm going to recommend you for higher learning and give you my reference. This is where you say thank you." She announced proudly, fully expecting his gratitude.
Mittle frowned and looked upset. He pushed a toe into the floor and put his hands in his pockets. "I can't go to school past fourteen ma'am. I'm apprenticed at the Foundry since I was seven. Next year I'm supposed to join up with my father as a new blacksmith with full pay."
"But you'll get to learn everything you want to instead of wasting your life as a dumb smith!" she insisted, clearly displeased that he wasn't more thankful.
"SMITHS AREN'T DUMB! What is wrong with you people?! You just proved I'm not dumb. I'm going to be a smith like my very smart dad!" He threw the book at her and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Furious, he-- bent double at the punch to the stomach as he passed the threshold. Raymin was at it again and this time with a purpose. The red haired boy fought with all his strength, pelting hits wherever he could land them. Mittle squirmed, bled and yelled. Fury took over and he shoved both his hands into the bully. The kid went flying on his ass and looked stunned at Mittle actually hitting back! Then Raymin's favorite punching bag stood up, a full foot taller and just glared down at him in rage. Yes his face was bloody and he might have a few bruises but he was done. "I've had it with you." his voice broke awkwardly, switching octaves.
Voices from around the corner whispered back and forth, the sounds echoing off the dirty buildings. "He'll never make it in now." "If Ray can't fight, he wont get in."
Raymin quickly stood up and flipped a small sharp knife from his pocket. "I'll kick your ass Mittle you better go now." The red head's voice sounded out with scared bravado.
The brown haired teen had had it with the bullying and stood taller, crossing his arms over his chest. "No. YOU better go now." And took two steps toward Raymin, forcing him backward.
As soon as the voices started up, they died down again and heavier adult footsteps came toward them at a rapid pace. Raymin looked over in recognition, his hand trembling on the knife as he fell back.
A weasely looking greasy guy moved closer to the boys and pointed a finger at Raymin with a scowl.
"You need help little boy?" "But you said if I-" This time Raymin's voice broke. "Now you're a rat? Shut your mouth kid and run back to the docks. I got no use for you. You failed."
While the man looked busy talking to Raymin, Mittle slipped around the corner and ran for home as fast as his anger and fear could carry him.
13 yrs old, Bullied :
Mitt got knocked to the ground again for the third time and he glared at the guy. The greasy haired man, only known as Rat, continued in an impatient voice.
"You're doing it wrong. You're not keeping your feet to your shoulders. Basher hit him again."
The teen spread out his feet more until they were directly under his shoulders. Basher shoved him easily for the third time in 15 chimes.
"Try it again and this time, keep your arms folded to your chest, and that's right over left if you're a righty. Now find your center of balance and exhale slowly."
Looking doubtful, Mitt did as he was told and felt his weight shift and rock back on his heels as he exhaled. Basher shoved at Mitt and it did nothing but move a shoulder!
He wanted to shout in victory but Rat shut him up fast. "It's about damn time. I thought I picked a smart kid. We'll see. Now move back and force Basher to move." Rat commanded as if it were as easy as asking Mitt to breathe.
The lanky five and a half foot teen looked up at the solid six foot tall man and didn't like the feel of this one bit.
"You scared little boy?" Basher growled at him, stepping forward and walking into Mitt with his arms out and gave him a rib breaking shove. Mitt hit the wall hard behind him and exhaled sharply in a gasp.
"Ok I give." he panted
"No. You don't ever give here. You take." Rat snapped. "You said you wanted protection and that ain't free." "Get up and grow up." he waited for Mitt to stand and walk back to the middle of the room to Basher. Rat was only a little over 5 feet but he crossed his arms and stalked toward the teen with long angry strides. The man moved too fast for Mitt to react and he was easily bowled over. The guy hadn't put a hand on him and still kicked his ass! How?
Rat sat down again with a heavy limp, the demonstration costing him more than he'd admit. "It's called taking space. People rarely look down when suddenly confronted. It's just literally a walk in the park. You're not leaving until you knock down Basher. It's the eleventh bell and your dad will be home in one bell. You better use your fuckin head kid. Quickly, or the old man's gonna start askin you shit you're not gonna answer."
Put on the spot like that, Mitt's ears burned red in embarrassment. He didn't quite yet know what he was missing. Not entirely. Basher stood like an iron mountain and glared at him. He dismissed the glare as an obvious cosmetic and took in the man's stance, shoulders and feet.
The teen rushed at the guy with his arms folded and felt foolish and stopped. It wasn't that easy. Physics simply didn't work like that. Mitt felt like an idiot and stopped face to chest with the Basher. The arms were muscled and huge-bigger than dad's arms! And Basher was standing still, expecting him and standing squarely prepared for a run at him.
Mitt slowly stepped in closer, his arms still folded until he was close enough to smell him and stood squarely. He felt himself rock back to settle on his heels, feet squared. Basher was ready for it. There was no way. Unless maybe he was over thinking it? Was it really as easy as monkey see, monkey do"? Something clicked and Mitt nodded to himself. Because Rat mentioned that no one looked at their feet, he had looked at his feet. Basher kept a hard glare without blinking. Keeping the eyes locked to only focus on the face so people didn't see what their hands were doing. It was a controlling power move!
Carefully, he backed up and stared at Basher, matching the brown eyed stare with a blue eyed glare of his own. He folded his arms to his chest, placing, not folding his arms right over left. He kept at the stare noting Basher's right hand was on top of the forearm...
Holding his gaze rigidly, Mitt walked with strong even strides toward the man. A breath before impact, his right shoulder dropped extending his opening hand swiftly and shoving forward with his left hand less than a breath later. Mitt struck square and solidly in the solar plexus, slamming Basher to the ground with a dust raising slam!
"The boy's a fuckin hammer!" From now on, your name's Hammer."
13 yr old's day :
Mitt was exhausted. Right after school, he apprenticed with his dad until the eighth bell. Five more chimes and he'd be sent home for 'supper,' allowing him to slip off for more training until just before midnight.
"Stoke the fire kid instead of standing there dreaming about girls." Dragged out of his lethargy, the teen ran over to stoke the huge blast smelter. Black oily ugly smoke billowed and choked with noxious fumes and the heat was skin searing at even ten paces. He slid down the cap, twirled it to his face and grabbed the shovel with both hands. Swiftly he bent to the coal, with lift, shift, turn and throw. Blinding burning sparks flew higher with each effort. The smell made his eyes redden and tear up and the fire flared high. Blistering heat battered him in waves as the air shimmered black and red as he again lifted, shifted, turned and threw. On the verge of blacking out, he saw the fire finally flare through the dark smoke and he stumbled back swiftly.
Mitt put out a heavily gloved hand to lean on the shovel as a prop, the sweat dripping from his face like rain. He rubbed back the cap with his forearm, struggling to breathe and blinking furiously.
"You can sleep at home. Clean your station, then you can leave."
The young man nodded, not having the breath to answer. He glared hatefully over his shoulder at the filthy hot blast smelter and trotted back to his area. Mitt tapped the long wire block brush and shimmed it over the anvil, sweeping the slag to the floor with a clean finish---Something made the hair stand up on the back of his neck and his head shot up like a startled deer.
He squinted through the smoke and heat wavering dark Foundry until he saw a black cloaked figure directly across the street. All that could be seen clearly was a chin with an evil looking grin. That was the sixth time today!
"Son, you're dragging ass. Go home, eat and do your schoolwork." Tirlmon put a calm hand on Mitt's shoulder and spun the boy toward the door. "Go on now, you're asleep on your feet." he chided gently.
Yanking his eyes away from the figure, he looked up at his father gratefully. "Yessir."
He used the brush on his apron, pants, shirt, gloves, cap and boots last, then replaced it on the welding table. Mitt limped, his boots too tight and both big toes sticking out on each one. The thirteen year old walked heavily to the front and around the side to head for home. Along the way he took off his cap, apron and gloves to tuck them neatly under his left arm. It was turning to autumn and the cool night air felt amazing on his face after the heat and stink of the last five hours.
Footsteps sounded quietly behind him and he paused. So did the sound of another footfall. Bright blue eyes turned to look over his shoulder and he saw the same guy that was stalking him all damn day!
"HSSST!" he hissed through his teeth at Mitt, jerking his head to the left and turned in an about face to walk away stealthily.
"Shit." he breathed. No supper tonight. When the man paused, Mitt picked up his boots to follow behind and they turned into the alley.
"How many times did you see me today?" he demanded in a low pitched voice, not quite a whisper and almost a growl.
"Seven." "You sure?" "How the fuck could I miss it?" "Exactly my point." The man nodded with a pointed smirk and finally showing his face. It was Hunter! Mitt's breath caught, his gut knotting in fear. His blue eyes were almost all pupils with fear.
"You know your exhale, use it. You look like a scared bitch." he scolded in a hard voice. Mitt tried but he was too tired to react decently to anything at the moment. The schedule was brutal and his endurance was sorely tested between school, work, studies, chores and this strange 'training.' What felt like forever was only half a chime and he got his shit together. If he didn't, the Foundry owner would take out Mitt's dad and himself for joining the Smithing guild. Seamus didn't appreciate less hours and more pay for his workers. At all. It would've been cheaper for the pair of them to have an ...accident and replace them. And between father and son, only Mitt knew that.
He exhaled to rock back on his heels, settling in to his weight despite the pain it caused. He needed new boots and had grown almost four inches in just under a year. Mitt was about to carry on with the lesson but Hunter placed a rock hard hand on his shoulder in a tight grip.
"The fuck is wrong wit' you? You forget how to stand up?" Hunter's gaze raked his frame, missing nothing, and stopped to look at his feet. Two big toes popped out on each of boots and it wasn't something he could easily hide. "You gonna add to that tally tonight huh?"
"Fuck." He didn't need to be further in debt to Rat! "Move it kid, before you start growing out of your own damn skin."
14, time to grow up :
People milled about the room, each in their groups waiting for Rat to assign training and new tasks. Basher and his group would stand out to the average person. They were all muscle and did everything Rat told them to but barely had 2 brain cells to rub together between the group.
Mitt stood to the right of the door with the other teens around his age. Although he was the tallest, he clearly lacked the muscle to join Basher's group. Raymin stood with his friends, obviously about to train with the slick thieves standing closely by the front and center of the room. Mitt's former bully hadn't grown as tall and his hair had darkened to almost brown.
A loud, laughing group of people stood confidently near the muscle with not a care in the world. They seemed like the most average, even below average sized people but they all had lithe, tightly controlled movements showing compact muscles and the deadly training that made them assassins. And all of their eyes were as dead and unfeeling as their victims. Mitt looked away in distaste, licking his lips nervously.
The smallest group always drew Mitt's nervous blue eyes the most. 4 cloaked figures stood quiet and unmoving, with not a word between them. He caught the merest flash of that evil grin and knew it was Hunter. They were Watchers sent to make sure people knew they were being watched. Rumors swirled around them but no one could confirm a thing about them. Nightly meetings weren't a thing for the elite group. No one could actually predict when they'd show up. Where there was one, the others were nearby like a relentless pack of hungry wolves. But much quieter.
Rat walked in with his goons and gathered up the gear that each of the training teens would need. He sent around his goons to deliver them to the nervous looking teenagers and handed out quiet orders roaming from group to group. Each boy or girl ran to join their groups guided by what they were given.
Raymin flashed a grin at Mitt, running past when he was given a fake bottom satchel and joined the thieves. One by one, the kids around him went to their groups and didn't miss too many directions while Rat made his rounds.
Mitt looked puzzled at the new pair of boots and some very heavy armor. Unable to hide or ask what he should do, he stood quietly and watched the people around him to see if he could find an answer.
Four huge men entered, clanking noisily in step, taking up the space in the room and squeezing people against the walls. One of them grabbed Mitt's arm and he looked at Rat and planted his feet firmly. He jerked his arm to release it and glared at the armored man. "We need a bull." "Hands off!" Mitt snapped. "Hammer, you're in the most debt because you're a pain in my ass. You get the Sheep Run in half a bell. The Montworth's are returning home so you know the drill. Clear out the fuckin people so the carriage and horses can pass cleanly, no exceptions. I don't care if it's your dying, one legged gods damned grandma." Shit duty. He got shit duty tonight! It paid the best because it sucked the most.
Mitt got dragged reluctantly through the door and he didn't bother resisting this time. Five chimes later he was putting on the ridiculously heavy helmet that covered all but his eyes. The shield weighed as much as an anvil and after a full ten bell shift at work, he could barely keep his eyes open. But he had to. Or else.
The fourteen year old felt ridiculous in the loud armor but he had no idea it made him a solid 6'5 and the head to toe armor hid his age. To anyone who saw them coming, they knew a sheep drive was about to hit. He'd been crushed in those things since he was a kid and it still spiked terror in his heart, despite his height and weight. He knew he might die tonight.
Not even one step out of the alleyway, someone pointed a finger, yelled and took off running. Mitt was the 'bull' so he had to lead, while two flanked and the other two gathered behind. With a scream of rage, the five men rushed forward through the narrow street that only had room for two people running abreast. He pushed a foot ahead of him with the body length shield, yelling and shoving hard. Panic came from the voices in front as the people rushed ahead, but were also driven along by the ever growing crowd racing behind them. The milling crushing crowd of humanity shrieked loudly, kids got trampled and the road turned bottle necked at the corner.
If he let it get choked, they'd pile up and never get through! Mitt moved the shield sideways and pushed with every inch of strength, his shoulders and back straining until they were ready to pop.
"MOVE IT OUT! NOW! GO! WAKE UP!" Mitt yelled, his voice rough with exhaustion, making the words roar out of him like an angry bull. He kicked out a large foot at the people in front to get the corner cleared and raised his hand to the the left and right flanks to fall in support behind him. The five armored men shoved ahead, scooping up the unlucky bodies that fell beneath so many feet and shoving them off their shoulders to carry forward in an unbroken line.
"Just gotta make it till the fuckin' horses show up!" The rear guards' voices barely carrying over the shouts and screams behind him. Someone's head gave with a sickening crunch beneath his boot heel and Mitt nearly stumbled. The panic carried to the Five and they threw the last bodies to the side, dead or unconconscious, young or old, man or woman.
A horse's neigh rang out shrilly cutting the air and the Five cheered and lowered their shields as one. Dozens of men on horseback continued the shove along the main road, clattering on the cobbles, letting their huge horses do the work.
"At least it wasn't day time or the crowds would've been worse. Not bad Hammer." Someone clapped him on the back so hard he almost fell over as he panted behind the heavy iron mask. On the verge of speaking, he stopped.
The men in the Foundry looked on in disgust, glaring and spitting if they met someone's eyes.
"You're a bunch of soulless fucking monsters. Do you have any idea how many you just killed so the rich people can drive through? You better thank Izurdin my boy's home safe asleep or I'd ram that shield up your asses." Tirlmon said in a sinister voice.
General Information :
Mittle Stryke Nickname Mitt 21 6'1 200 lbs
Aesthetics :
1. Describe yourself as you see yourself. A smart strong guy who works a forge like nobody's business. 2. Describe yourself as others typically see you. Not sure? An easy mark? Ask them. 3. What is your favorite body feature? My hands. They're strong and don't let me down. 4. How physically fit are you? Very fit. Work keeps me that way. 5. How do you typically dress and what is your style? Shorts. At work, long brown leather split apron, long sleeve brown shirt, gloves and sturdy boots for work. Syka seems to be Syna's breath incarnate
Family :
1. Who are your parents and what are they like? Tirlmon and Reineli are, um, were the best parents a guy could ask for. Tirlmon was my hero and taught me so much. He was the best blacksmith in western Sunberth and introduced me to Izurdin. He was strict but always fair. Reineli, mom, was a hard worker and the kindest person I'll ever know. She was a great cook for the Montworth family and me and dad are.. were so proud of her skills. They were good people. They even put up with my stunts as a teen. 2. Do you have any brothers or sisters? No, I'm an only child. 3. What is your extended family like? My paternal uncle was a weapon smith but he died when I was very young. My mother was an orphan so we, um, I don't know any of her family. Tirlmon told me that my great great great grandsire Burlemen was an Isur. Even if it's not true, it still makes me proud. 4. Do you consider close friends as important or more/less important than family? I had some friends growing up but none were very close. I don't know really. 5. Do you treat animals like family? I have a gold and red Ixam, Stoker He's a good boy. He's my best friend.
Location :
1. Where were you born? Western Sunberth 2. Where do you live now? Syka 3. If you could live anywhere in Mizahar where would that be? I dunno 4. Do you have a favorite place to vacation or spend leisure time? I'm not good with too much idle time. It makes me fidget. 5. Where do you fear to be? Starting to think Syka...
Traits :
1. Do you have any physical weaknesses (disease, scars, and missing limbs?) Not weaknesses but I have a few burn scars on my hands and arms from learning blacksmithing. Before I learned the right safety techniques. But still it's always a risk of more. 2. Are you right handed or left handed? Right handed 3. What languages do you speak? What do you sound like? Do you have an accent? Common. Sunberth accent. I learned a little Fratava on the ship to Syka but not that much. 4. Do you have any odd mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics? Slouching I guess. When he's prepping for something, he'll exhale, lean back, rock back on his heels. 5. Do you have (or want to get) any tattoos or piercing? Why do you have them (or will get them) ? I'd considered a tattoo when I was fourteen but my dad told me it wasn't happening.
Occupations :
1. What is your occupation? Blacksmith at Syka Foundry 2. Do you like/dislike your work? Why? I love it. It's determination, creativity and drive. I hate the blast smelter. 3. If you could be anything you wanted to, what would you be? I am what I want to be. 4. What occupation do you admire the most? Why? Armor Smithing. Because it's not one size fits all. You really have to know your shit to get it right. That's really heavy work too. [b]5. What occupation do you least like? Why?
Childhood :
1. What sort of child were you? 2. What is your favorite memory from childhood? 3. What is your worst memory from childhood? 4. What sort of relationship did you have with your parents? I love, loved them. 5. Who was your most influential rolemodel? Rat and his father.
Education :
1. What sort of education do you have? Till I was 14 2. Do you like/dislike learning? Loves learning. 3. Where or how did you learn most of your skills/abilities? Reading, watching. 4. How do you learn best? With my brain. 5. What are your educational goals for the future? Learning every aspect of Smithing I can.
Relationships :
1. Do you form close bonds with people? Why? Why not? No. None of your business. 2. Do you trust people easily? If not, why not? No. And I said none of your business. 3. Do you consider yourself straight, gay, bi, or something else? Straight 4. Have you ever been kissed? If so, describe the first time. 5. Have you ever had sex? If so, describe the first time. Really?
Drugs and Alcohol :
1. Have you ever been drunk? If so, describe your first time. 2. Do you like to drink on a regular basis? 3. What sort of alcohol do you prefer? 4. Have you ever tried drugs (mood altering substances)? If so, which kinds and what did you think of them? 5. What do you think of drugs and alcohol? Be specific.
Likes and Dislikes :
1. What are your hobbies? 2. Do you like to read? Yes 3. What annoys you more than anything else? 4. What do you find the most relaxing activity to do? 5. What kinds of things embarrass you? Why?
Favorites :
1. What is your favorite color or colors? 2. What is your favorite time of day? Sunset 3. What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? 4. What do you like to eat? All seafood. What do you hate to eat? Food gone bad? 5. What is your favorite type of weather? Does any kind scare you?
Outlook :
1. Are you optimistic or pessimistic? I don't know anymore. 2. What are your religious views? 3. Would you be able to kill? 4. What are your views on sex? 5. What, in your opinion, makes a successful life? Safety from bullies.
Actions :
1. What is the worst and best thing you’ve ever done? 2. What is your greatest regret? Which one? 3. What is your best/worst memory? 4. If you could change one thing about your past, what would it be and why? 5. What are you the most proud of doing in your life? Joining my father in the Smith's Guild.
Emotions :
1. How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings with others? That depends. 2. Do you have any biases or prejudices? 3. What makes you happy? Blacksmithing, food and sex 4. Who or what, if anything, would you die for? 5. What makes you angry?
Relationships :
1. In general, how do you treat others? I don't know 2. Who is the most important person in your life, and why? 3. Who is the person you respect the most, and why? Dad 4. Do you have a spouse or significant other? If not, describe an ideal lover. 5. Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?
Group Situations :
1. Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict? 2. Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations? 3. Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not? It depends 4. Do you care what others think of you? 5. What do you think of others, in general? That's a broad question. Narrow it down.
Self Image :
1. What is your greatest strength as a person? I'm a hard worker. 2. What is your greatest weakness? 3. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I honestly don't know 4. Are you generally introverted or extroverted? That depends 5. Are you generally organized or messy? Strictly organized
Beliefs :
1. What God or Goddess do you find most appealing, if any? 2. Which God or Goddess do you fear, if any? 3. Do you have any Gnosis Marks? If so, how did you receive them? No 4. What lengths would you go to to please your deity? 5. Where do you draw the line at pleasing your deity? What is too much?
Life & Death :
1. What do you absolutely live for? 2. What is the best part of life? A loving family 3. What is the best part of death? 4. If you could choose, how would you want to die? Not by eating red berries... 5. What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death? For being a good blacksmith.
Last edited by Mittle on December 3rd, 2022, 5:03 pm, edited 22 times in total.
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