(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)
In this forum, all the character sheets are kept for player characters. Feel free to come on in, browse the forum, look at what sort of characters others have created, and then begin your very own!
With smooth, pale skin, Dare could be called a beauty. Soft yet hard features, he looks exactly the way he acts. His face is always covered in a calm, serene expression, though oft times also one of intense boredom, but always not for long. Always with a seemingly grin on his face, his eyes betray his true mischievous intentions. His lips, small and peak, hide his still white teeth and tongue. Freakishly, his tongue is longer than most; he's able to put the tip and then some into his nostril, but he has yet to show anybody. He wears his short, raven black hair in any way that tickles his fancy; it always looks good, no matter how he combs it. His small ears and nose account for his younger appearance; which, at times, can be useful, or times not.
Standing above average of the human male, Dare possesses hard muscles, though they aren't very big. He's lean and hard, slim and perfectly balanced. His weight slightly matches his height, though all of it, or the lack of it, is mostly pure muscle from his time in the wild. His stance is that of nature; rugged and wild, yet strangely and beautifully graceful.
Carrying not any sort of accent, Dare's voice is smooth and poetic. Rarely raising it, it sounds of soft velvet brushing against one another.. His lips move rarely to form speech; he lets his actions speak. If he were to grace anyone with an articulate expression, he keeps it low enough to only be directed at one person, yet loud enough to be understood. He's not one to yell.
Tattoos :
Dare possesses few tattoos, though he plans on getting more in the future. On the left side of his neck is a sparrow in flight, the tail trailing over his shoulder and going a pinch down his back. On his face, underneath his left crystal blue eye, is a tiny cross, hard to see unless close, though not many people have gotten close enough to see.
"Personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures."
002. Personality
Likes: For me to know. Dislikes: Figure it out. Ethics: I don't explain myself.
Following that of Akajia's worshipers, Dare is a quiet, stealthy figure. Always the one that enters without notice, and leaving just so, he seemingly slips through life just as quietly, though only to those who don't know him, or those he feels unworthy to know his ways.
Dare can be called one still stuck in his childhood, yet has grown far beyond that. Still quite curious, he knows much of what he shouldn't, though he isn't one to spread information. Known only by his close friends and the rare interesting stranger, Dare's also childish, mischievous one, as ready to horse play as he is to shoot one with his bow. While he can still be labeled as a child, Dare can be grown when he wants to.
He's also known as a cocky one; he relies on his abilities and his abilities alone, letting no one do anything for him, except especially mundane tasks. His living alone allows him much time to think, much time to figure things out on his own, and he willingly boasts to any of those that would hear, though he does so sparingly. His cockiness also leads him to be a slight womanizer; he cares not the race of a woman, except those he deems especially queer, he finds pleasure in flirting with them all, and making them blush makes him flirt all the harder, and act all the cockier.
"Names come and names go."
003. History
Born in Syliras to a rather normal couple, Dare was rarely at home. While being quite small for his age, he was always the first to help his friends in a fight, and the last to leave, though most of it was broken up by the Knights and Squires alike. He was always turning up with bruises from jumping and falling from stupidly high places, and always uncaring of any injury, unless they were especially severe.
Nearing the beginning of his teenage years, when one would start thinking of their career, Dare's parents were contacted by an old colleague. A quiet man, always in the shadows and always with his bow, Dare took an instant liking to the man. He'd always follow him around, when he could, and would always ask him a multitude of questions, positively obsessed with the mysterious man. Once he found out the stranger was a mercenary, his liking of the fellow grew all the more.
When he was around 16, when one finally decided on career based on their skills, Dare asked the mercenary to mentor him. At first, he was cruelly denied, though it didn't deter the youngster. Following him around wherever he went, Dare finally persuaded the man to teach him, under one circumstance; wherever he went or whatever he did, Dare would follow or do. This was how he became a worshiper of Akajia, Goddess of the Night, and also how he came to Sunberth.
Training with him for almost 2 years, the man was hit by an illness. Slowly getting weaker, he couldn't teach Dare anymore, though the boy was nearly as good as he. When his mentor died, Dare still followed his master's teachings, and has finally entered the mercenary business to the slight pleasure and displeasure of his parents, if they had known about it.
Night Stalking Gnosis Story (Pending) :
A loud, obnoxious burp was heard through the tavern. The man it came from was rather big, thick in neck and head. His curly hair bounced as he roared with unrelenting laughter, which was added to the other patron's laughter at it. He had just finished off a mug brimming with beer, and he probably smelled of the stuff, too. His bubbly face was red with heat from the alcohol, the back of his neck the same. His clothing held stains all over the chest, stomach, and especially the armpits. His eyes were a muffled green color; probably would be brighter if he were not mad drunk.
Dare's gaze lingered on the man's figure, his piercing stare sharp as speeding arrows from his bow. His face was expressionless, a blank slate; he did not find the burp amusing, unlike everyone else in the Rearing Stallion did. He couldn't understand what was so funny; the burp was rather weak, in his opinion. But, that could be accounted to just his sullenness. He was rather off today, the day he turned 19. Yes, it was his birthday, and he hated it. His mind was especially vicious to anyone that looked at him, worse to those that spoke. Today, he just wanted to wallow in his own self-pity, which he despised. He couldn't help remembering his last birthday, where the woman he had loved gave him one of the worst possible gifts: an invitation to her wedding. He had declined this invitation, obviously; he wouldn't be all that mad nor sad this day if he had. Weddings were usually joyous events, occasions full of love and happiness. His small frowned deepened as his musings went ever deeper, deeper than his hurt at the little white letter, deeper than his small, miniscule sorrow. He was never a thoughtful person; just rash and reckless, caring not for the law or his health. There were rare instances where he would think about his life, about his past; which he also hated. He loved to live in the present; the future was for tomorrow, the past yesterday. Everything mattered here and now, at least to him.
He brought his necklace to his lips, holding it there. His grey eyes grew all the more fiercer for seemingly no apparent reason. He was just about to get up, letting the piece of jewelry fall to his neck when Carmen Mistra, the tavern barmaid, said something near him. At first, he didn't know if she was talking to him; the corner deep into shadows pretty much hid his slim form. When she said something again, repeating herself, he knew he was the target. He removed his hood slowly, letting the faint light was upon his face. He gave a small smirk; he wasn't going to let her see him angry, not when he was trying to get into her pants. One of the first mistakes he ever made when trying to get a woman was letting her see him angry; it made them back away, at least those who didn't like seeing an angry Dare. And those who knew what he was capable of usually shied away when his face became contorted with his usual unrelenting anger.
"Do you want some ale?" He blinked, moving his body slightly so that it didn't look like he had ever been getting up. He nodded, also voicing his movement. "Yes, lovely. That would be wonderful." He gave her a wink as she started to turn, which earned him a slightly lustful smile. He watched her walk away, his eyes glued to her form. As if she knew he was watching, her hips picked up a more pronounced sway. He sat back into his chair when a wall obscured his vision of her, his smirk slowly fading back into its previous blank form. He wondered if she would let him bed her; it was his birthday after all. He had never used this excuse before, and he wondered idly if it would work. His face grew into a contemplative frown; he might try it.... But not on Carmen. No, one someone who he didn't actually want. It would allow him to test this new theory.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw Carmen come back into the main part of the business. She had a mug in her hand, a smile on her face, bounce in her step. His smirk was back in an instant, as if it had never gone. He was sitting up, in the middle of thanking her when the door burst open, admitting a ragged woman into the building. Carmen dropped his drink, and he felt a few bits of ale splash his leg; it probably would smell of ale for awhile, now. And he hated smelling like anything other than himself, which was usually an earthy, nature smell of leaves and morning dew, the smell he picked up from living in the forests. All of this was forgotten though, as the woman cried out with a sob. The tavern went quiet, which might have been what the woman wanted.
"They took everything! They.... they killed him! They killed them all! It was so horrible..." With another few sobs, the next words were incomprehensible, but Dare got the gist of it; she and her group were probably attacked. And probably in his home, the Bronze Woods, too. The tavern was dead silent, even the rowdy drunkards quiet. The woman sobbed once more, her eyes pleading, until she spoke more, aiming her words at everyone, though he felt they were exclusively for him. "Can someone, anyone, please help me get my best friend back? They... they took her captive, they didn't kill her! I know it.... They're in the Bronze Woods! That's where it happened." This was met with a few more stares, and no words, until a man in the corner spoke up. "Bronze Woods, aye? I don't think anyone will help you, then. Your own fault for going without protection, you stupid wench." This brought on some agreeing murmurs from pretty much everyone except him, but a bad sob wrecked the woman's form. She collapsed onto the ground, slowly giving up. Everyone went back to what they were doing; all except Carmen and he, Dare. Carmen had to clean up the spilled mess, her face now red with embarrassment as she wiped the floor and got the mug. Dare got up, grabbing his bow and quiver from the side of the chair; he never went anywhere without it.
Strapping the quiver to his waist with practiced movements and stringing his black beauty, as he liked to call his longbow, he knelt next to the woman, gripping her arm. His eyes told her to do as he said, or didn't say, rather; he was quiet the entire time. Her eyes were pleading, as if she hoped he would help, which he had decided he would. He might get a few coins from it, but what was better than ridding the world of a few bandits? He walked out of the tavern, his grip never leaving the woman's arm.
Dare crept through the woods, bow in hand. It was dark out, barely enough light to see; it was a new moon. He was on his way to the abandoned Bronze Watchtower, where the bandits were at. He had just taken the ragged woman to the tent, getting the details from her; she had been traveling with her husband, her best friend and her husband, on their way back from catching fish. She said they passed the old place, laughing and joking around, before she and her group were confronted by men who had hidden the first time around. In almost the blink of an eye, the two men were dead, and she was running, hearing the screams of her friend as she was dragged away to have Akajia knows what done to her.
Having gotten the entire story in only a few chimes, he had given her food, telling her to eat. He had gone outside to remove his outer clothing and don his armor, putting the cloak back on over it. Bringing his hood up, her told her he would be back, telling her to just wait. She had nodded, taking a bite from his offered food and laying down in the tent. He checked his equipment all over again, making sure he had all his arrows, his kopis was strapped properly to his chest, his quiver was strapped properly to his waist, armor carefully adjusted. He took extra care with his bow, double checking then checking it over again. He kept it ready, two arrows held in his hand right next to the hilt of the bow, so that he could easily reach forward after release and nock it again to draw back. This would allow him to rapid fire, depending on how many arrows he held in his hand.
Moving from shadow to shadow, his inky leather cloak making him virtually disappear in the darkness, he crept silently through the woods, the Watchtower growing every bigger as he got closer. Soon enough, after quiet a few chimes but felt like only ticks to the rogue-turned-mercenary, he came upon the tower, a roaring inferno set onto the ground. Seated around it were the three men the woman had described; each wearing the same armor, swords strapped to their sides. They were sitting around, conversing, talking in loud voices and laughing the night away. Laughing as they didn't have a women held captive, as if they didn't kill two innocent men.
Under the hood, Dare's face contorted with pure, unrelenting rage. These guys didn't deserve to live; they were scum, not worthy enough to lick the shyke from a horse's arse. He couldn't believe that they would be so careless; they were the worse bandits he had ever seen. As if they didn't think they would be caught, as if there weren't Knights relatively close. These guys were.... Not worth Dare's time, nor his arrows. But he had to save that woman, and his wasn't as good with his kopis as his bow.
Standing straighter, eyes locked onto the biggest of the three, Dare placed the three regular longbow arrows back into his quiver; he probed a few of them, grabbing four, in case he missed. His arrows were individually notched. Two notches meant arrow piercing, no notch meant regular arrows. The arrows he had in his hand were armor piercing. He was sure he could hit them in the face, but in the case that he had to fire on the move, which he couldn't do all that well, this gave him chance to penetrate their armor and send them to early graves. He brought the bowstring back, his two padded fingers touching his lips. His eyes still locked on target, he inhaled, keeping the bow steady all the while. He let his mind go peaceful, shoving the rage into the background. If he didn't, he'd miss. He learned this the hard way.
On his exhale, he smoothly let go, feeling the string hit his covered forearm almost instantly. He didn't see nor hear the arrow, but new it was on its path. His arm had held, keeping the bow steady and ready for a near perfect fire.
At the fire, he saw the biggest one get hit straight in the forehead, the armor piercing rounds going all the more deeper. If he could see the back of the bandit's head, he'd see a few inches of the arrow sticking out; death was instantaneous. The warm body now gone corpse fell back with a thud, which made the laughs stop entirely. The two bandits stood quickly, looking at each other then at the fallen man. They didn't know he was dead; his head was hidden in the shadows, just as Dare was.
Dare slipped silently from his spot, moving back into the shadows a few yards from where he was, another arrow already nocked. He was rushed, as one of them were pulling the body from behind the big log he had previously been sitting on; not long before they saw his head.
Pulling the bowstring back, he inhaled at the same time, aiming at the biggest of the three fallen to two. He was smaller than the first, but bigger than the other guy. He aimed right for the head, his eyes radiating with pure fury.
Exhale, release.
The arrow flew true; the man was dispatched the same as the first, falling forward limply, now dead. Dare nocked the last arrow, the one with the last bandit's name written on it, when he paused. Where the petch is he?!!?
The last man was gone, disappeared; Dare felt an inkling of fear crawl down his spine. His eyes had lost their rage; they were frantic as he searched the area, trying to find the missing guy. He had to find him, be-
Dare was tackled to the ground, his bow falling from his hands and arrows spilling from his quiver. Here was the man, on top of him. He was beating at him frantically, as if he were only trying to knock him unconscious. Dare could hear the man's yells as he beat on his head, his fists slamming into his face. Rolling over to the side, Dare knocked the man off balance before he could do anymore damage, though they were still close. The man was scrambling, screaming obscenities at his assailant; Dare was busy trying to find something to stab him with. He was reaching for his kopis, had grasped the black handle, before he was tackled once more, hand still on the weapon. Being beat on more by the bandit, Dare was busy trying to get his weapon free; he needed to end this now. He just needed the right chance, the right lull in attack...
The man reached back for his sword, abandoning his earlier plan of knocking him out, and wanted to go for the kill. The bandit wanted to make this littler petcher pay, pay horrible. He felt his fingers grasp the hilt of his longsword.
Instead of finding his sword, the man had reached for his own death.
Dare drew his kopis in a flash, his position allowing him to keep the motion going. With all the strength he could muster, Dare's weapon rammed into his opponents face, spattering the mercenary with blood. The man went deathly still; dead, unable to do a thing. Dare's chest was pounding, his heart running a sprint. His head felt like it would split, and one of his eyes were going to be black and swollen. His nose was already broken.
Dare waited until he gained enough strength back to shove the corpse from him, relishing the feeling of losing sudden weight. He could breathe better now, which he was thankful for. It was then he realized it was the dead of night; the new moon at the highest point of the sky. Dare's arm flopped onto his neck, patting down until he could feel his necklace. Like the religious fanatic he was, he sent a long, thought out prayer to Akajia, Goddess of the Night, thanking her for his life.
When he was finished worshipping his Goddess, Dare struggled up, grasping a branch on the tree to steady himself. When his equilibrium returned, he limped to the Watchtower, but never made it. The door swung open on oddly quiet hinges; he doubted anyone had oiled them in quite some time. Standing in the door way was none other than her, the Goddess herself.
As she walked to him, he could only stare, his mouth slightly agape. He'd never believe she'd manifest to him, out of the many people out there. Once he realized his mouth was open, though, he closed it.
"You have done well, Dare Novak. I am proud of you." She smiled slightly, the shadows intensifying and swirling around her. She raised a hand, and almost instantaneously, he felt a warm sensation on his back. The effects were immediate; he could see as if it were bright as day, and the shadows.... Oh, the shadows. Lovely in and of themselves, it seemed to him. He heard their talk of Akajia, about the new marked. The new marked.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came from his mouth was an odd strangling sound. Her smiled widened; she reached a hand up to his cheek, whispering softly "Remember, my new Marked. Nothing is truly hidden.." With that she was gone, the feeling of her hand slowly fading from his cheek.
His pain gone, Dare looked at the shadows: they were incredible. He couldn't believe he could see them. Actually, truly see them. It was a wonder; nothing he had ever experienced. He realized they were still talking. Talking to him!
He doubted they would know Common, but he tried responding. After a few words, he unknowingly slipped into a different language. A language he spoke well, but never knew about!
Speaking softly to the shadows, still in wonder, Dare collected his bow, gathering his arrows without a trouble. He could get used to this.
Last edited by Dare Novak on May 13th, 2015, 9:47 pm, edited 6 times in total.
Dare's heirloom is that of a Cold Iron Kopis, given to him by his deceased master. Being over 15 years old, it is still in good condition, thanks to the caring of Dare ad its previous owner.
The hilt is the only thing unique about the weapon. Made of ebony wood, shined to a polish. Part of it is covered in a thin layer of gold, and has yet to need be to redone. At the very bottom is a figure of a lion's head; Dare's master's calling card. The young mercenary has yet to decide his own way of recognition, but he will probably adopt his late master's legacy.
Ledger
Name
Addition
Deduction
Total
SP
100GM
-
100GM
Housing Trade-In
500GM
-
600GM
Hood [Leather]
-
10CM
599GM 99SM 90CM
Cloak [Leather]
-
10SM
599 GM 89SM 90CM
Region Map [Syliras]
-
10GM
589GM 89SM 90CM
Camouflage Tarp
-
12GM
577GM 89SM 90CM
Hunting Horn
-
15GM
562GM 89SM 90CM
Quiver
-
20GM
542GM 89SM 90CM
Bedroll
-
1SM
542GM 88SM 90CM
Tent, One-Person
-
2GM
540GM 88SM 90CM
Mask
-
3SM
540GM 85SM 90CM
Composite Longbow
-
100GM
440GM 85SM 90CM
Longbow Arrows (200)
-
10GM
430GM 85SM 90CM
Armor Piercing Arrows (100)
-
100GM
330GM 85SM 90CM
Leather, Night
-
60GM
270GM 85SM 90CM
Vambrace
-
50GM
220GM 85SM 90CM
Archery Glove
-
1GM
219GM 85SM 90CM
Archer's Arm Guard
-
1GM
218GM 85SM 90CM
Torch [4]
-
8CM
218GM 85SM 82CM
Scabbard|4GM|214GM 85SM 82CM
"Not much to you, but home for me."
007. Housing
Location: [Pending]
[Pending]
Last edited by Dare Novak on May 13th, 2015, 11:27 pm, edited 5 times in total.
![[Verified by Crosspatch]](./images/checkmark.png "[Verified by Crosspatch]")
Dare Novak 
by Dare Novak on May 12th, 2015, 5:24 am 
Dare's heirloom is that of a Cold Iron Kopis, given to him by his deceased master. Being over 15 years old, it is still in good condition, thanks to the caring of Dare ad its previous owner.