Aliases: The Orc Warrior-Poet, The Wolvenhammer
Sex: Male
Race: Half-Orc Werewolf
Class: Berserker
Skills: Two-Handed, Heavy Armor, Enchanting, Smithing
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Title(s): (Former)Grand Champion of the Arena, (Former)First Mate of The Brinehammer, Honorary Member of The Orsimer House of Glories, Thane of The Pale, Captain of The Imperial Legion, Honorary Member of The East Empire Company, Member of the Bards College
Age: 23
Skin Tone: A mix of light green and flesh tones
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 220 lbs
Build: Somewhat stocky, smaller than your average orc but larger than your average man or mer
Eyes: Blue(No doubt due to his mixed heritage)
Hair: He keeps his black hair trimmed very short to his scalp, and keeps his beard full but clean and styled
Armor/Equipment: He prefers the thickest of armor, preferrably crafted by master orc smiths. He also is quite fond of emerald jewelry(due to his favorite color being green)
War Paint: Only during times of battle or war or upcoming conflict, he will paint his face with the signature red orcish war paint
Weapon(s): His signature weapon is the ebony battleaxe Baelchamp"The Cruel Hook", forged ages ago by the orc smiths of the late second era, in the wicked flames of Uthrogaht(an ancient forge long lost now, whose flames were said to be fueled by Oblivion itself). As such, he is never seen without it. EVER!!
"Don't touch my axe....seriously!!"
Riitu gro-Hiik, formerly Riitu of Leyyawin, was orphaned at the age of ten, when his mother died of sickness. Six years later, he ended up in the outskirts of the Imperial City, begging for food, until one day he was so hungry he stole food from the market, was caught, and locked in the city prison. One day the guard came to his cell with a visitor, who called himself the Blademaster. The Blademaster asked him if he wanted to get out, to which he nodded his head. The Blademaster asked him what he'd be willing to do, to which he replied, anything! The man smiled and said to the guard, send him to the arena, we have a new contender! He arrived in the arena, and they told him to choose a weapon from the table, to which he looked down at, but didn't like his options. Something then caught his eye sitting in the corner, an old rusty battleaxe, not worth the heft to try and lift. He inquired of it and the blademaster told him it was just a piece of junk that had been lying around the bloodworks seemingly forever. Supposedly a trophy of Gaiden Shinji from the sack of orsinium, but now it was just a useless relic. But for some reason he couldn't help but look at it, and think more of it than that. He asked if he could use it instead, to which the blademaster replied, fine but it's your funeral. He hefted the old axe over his shoulder, noticing it wasn't nearly as heavy as it looked, it was rather light for its size. He walked into the arena, and stood behind his gate. The announcer then said "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, to the arena! We've got a warm-up match today, fighting the yellow team's champion, for his freedom, here he is, the terrifying, the deadly, the fearsome orc!" One year later, after somehow getting a lucky swing on the yellow team's champion, Riitu was ready to leave the arena. He had some coin in his pocket, his axe on his shoulder, and the experience to use it. He wandered out to the docks, and saw a boat, the crew, all nords scurrying about. He walked over, and asked if he could join up. An older nord walked out of the cabin and said, "Well I'll be a half-septim son of a sea-skeever, the grand champ wants to join my crew, but I got one question for ya, can ya handle some adventure?"
"It's been six years since I left the Imperial City to become a pirate, five years since I became the first mate of the crew, four years since the EEC hunted us halfway around the Padomaic, three years since we split up and the rest of the crew died off the coast of Dawnstar, two years since I became a werewolf,and this day, one year ago, since I decided not to let that stop me from seeking honor in battle, as a true champion of Malacath. As a half-orc, I'm not fully accepted amongst the strongholds, but also not fully trusted amongst the city-folk. I am, an outcast amongst outcasts, and my beast blood doesn't help matters. I am moonborn, I accept that, and I wouldn't trade it for nothing, except maybe my axe. As a hound of Hircine, it only helps in my reverence to Malacath, to be an outcast. I often times wonder who I revere more, but it's a pointless debate, neither really care for worship, only adherence to honor, honor in battle, and honor in the hunt, and so honor is what I seek. This past year has been rough, I've joined the College of the Bards, I aided the EEC in return for a full pardon, and I became a captain in the Imperial Legion, and helped to "suppress" this pointless rebellion. But now, I know I'm still young, but, I'm tired. I no longer crave battle, nor blood, and I've turned to works of scholarship, namely the collection of books, and the compilation of my previous adventures into my own poetic magnum opus. However, I'm not the greatest scribe, and so I've teamed up with the House of Orsimer Glories in a joint effort to collect books for their libraries, and in the process, I hope to learn more of the art of writing. I'll scour this frozen land, with my axe in hand, finding the great books, and recording what I learn about great writing, and great poetry.
"For Malacath!!"
Aliases: The Orc Warrior-Poet, The Wolvenhammer
Sex: Male
Race: Half-Orc Werewolf
Class: Berserker
Skills: Two-Handed, Heavy Armor, Enchanting, Smithing
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Title(s): (Former)Grand Champion of the Arena, (Former)First Mate of The Brinehammer, Honorary Member of The Orsimer House of Glories, Thane of The Pale, Captain of The Imperial Legion, Honorary Member of The East Empire Company, Member of the Bards College
Age: 23
Skin Tone: A mix of light green and flesh tones
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 220 lbs
Build: Somewhat stocky, smaller than your average orc but larger than your average man or mer
Eyes: Blue(No doubt due to his mixed heritage)
Hair: He keeps his black hair trimmed very short to his scalp, and keeps his beard full but clean and styled
Armor/Equipment: He prefers the thickest of armor, preferrably crafted by master orc smiths. He also is quite fond of emerald jewelry(due to his favorite color being green)
War Paint: Only during times of battle or war or upcoming conflict, he will paint his face with the signature red orcish war paint
Weapon(s): His signature weapon is the ebony battleaxe Baelchamp"The Cruel Hook", forged ages ago by the orc smiths of the late second era, in the wicked flames of Uthrogaht(an ancient forge long lost now, whose flames were said to be fueled by Oblivion itself). As such, he is never seen without it. EVER!!
"Don't touch my axe....seriously!!"
Riitu gro-Hiik, formerly Riitu of Leyyawin, was orphaned at the age of ten, when his mother died of sickness. Six years later, he ended up in the outskirts of the Imperial City, begging for food, until one day he was so hungry he stole food from the market, was caught, and locked in the city prison. One day the guard came to his cell with a visitor, who called himself the Blademaster. The Blademaster asked him if he wanted to get out, to which he nodded his head. The Blademaster asked him what he'd be willing to do, to which he replied, anything! The man smiled and said to the guard, send him to the arena, we have a new contender! He arrived in the arena, and they told him to choose a weapon from the table, to which he looked down at, but didn't like his options. Something then caught his eye sitting in the corner, an old rusty battleaxe, not worth the heft to try and lift. He inquired of it and the blademaster told him it was just a piece of junk that had been lying around the bloodworks seemingly forever. Supposedly a trophy of Gaiden Shinji from the sack of orsinium, but now it was just a useless relic. But for some reason he couldn't help but look at it, and think more of it than that. He asked if he could use it instead, to which the blademaster replied, fine but it's your funeral. He hefted the old axe over his shoulder, noticing it wasn't nearly as heavy as it looked, it was rather light for its size. He walked into the arena, and stood behind his gate. The announcer then said "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, to the arena! We've got a warm-up match today, fighting the yellow team's champion, for his freedom, here he is, the terrifying, the deadly, the fearsome orc!" One year later, after somehow getting a lucky swing on the yellow team's champion, Riitu was ready to leave the arena. He had some coin in his pocket, his axe on his shoulder, and the experience to use it. He wandered out to the docks, and saw a boat, the crew, all nords scurrying about. He walked over, and asked if he could join up. An older nord walked out of the cabin and said, "Well I'll be a half-septim son of a sea-skeever, the grand champ wants to join my crew, but I got one question for ya, can ya handle some adventure?"
"It's been six years since I left the Imperial City to become a pirate, five years since I became the first mate of the crew, four years since the EEC hunted us halfway around the Padomaic, three years since we split up and the rest of the crew died off the coast of Dawnstar, two years since I became a werewolf,and this day, one year ago, since I decided not to let that stop me from seeking honor in battle, as a true champion of Malacath. As a half-orc, I'm not fully accepted amongst the strongholds, but also not fully trusted amongst the city-folk. I am, an outcast amongst outcasts, and my beast blood doesn't help matters. I am moonborn, I accept that, and I wouldn't trade it for nothing, except maybe my axe. As a hound of Hircine, it only helps in my reverence to Malacath, to be an outcast. I often times wonder who I revere more, but it's a pointless debate, neither really care for worship, only adherence to honor, honor in battle, and honor in the hunt, and so honor is what I seek. This past year has been rough, I've joined the College of the Bards, I aided the EEC in return for a full pardon, and I became a captain in the Imperial Legion, and helped to "suppress" this pointless rebellion. But now, I know I'm still young, but, I'm tired. I no longer crave battle, nor blood, and I've turned to works of scholarship, namely the collection of books, and the compilation of my previous adventures into my own poetic magnum opus. However, I'm not the greatest scribe, and so I've teamed up with the House of Orsimer Glories in a joint effort to collect books for their libraries, and in the process, I hope to learn more of the art of writing. I'll scour this frozen land, with my axe in hand, finding the great books, and recording what I learn about great writing, and great poetry."For Malacath!!"
