Post by rosallora on Mar 6, 2020 5:55:32 GMT -8
FULL NAME Ezekiel Matas Juska
Resolve level: 0
-Appearance
Age: 54
Gender: cis man
Physical Description:
Man at arms. A bit stout about the middle, and standing at about 5'10. Time has taken his height from him, compressing him into a well-meaning mass of experience and forgetfulness. He has wrinkles on his face that indicate laughter, sorrow, worry, and anger: his life has provided him with much of all these. His moustache and beard are a whitish grey, amber eyes deep set in his face. Ezekiel's hairline is far receded, but he does manage a bit of whitish hair that flows down to his mid-neck. He is not a particularly handsome man, but that was never his primary concern. His legs and arms are akin to tree trunks, coarse and able from years on campaign, gristled and knotty.
Attire: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ef/Lithuanian_soldiers_%2814th_c_reconstruction%29.jpg
Ezekiel wears an old but reliable set of armor in traditional Lietuva style. His signature color is red, though the fabric portions of his uniform are also stained with splotches of black and brown from activities of yore. His armor looks like it's been to Hell and back- it is both glorious and fragile in its own way. In order to be restored to its former glory, it takes gold, and gold he does not have. His shield is rectangular, reinforced wood. It is not his first, but he believes it will be his last.
-Biography
Quirks:
Clutch Hitter (+ 5% crit if HP below 50%)
Clumsy (-5 Dodge)
Resilient (+10% stress healing received)
Sickly (-15% disease resist)
Backstory Synopsis:
Once a military orator of Lietuva, a man of the masses has found himself long apart from the lands he served in. Looking for one last campaign, battered by the world and bereft of former company, he comes to the Hamlet for his final hurrah. What is death without glory? And what is glory if not snatched from the darkness?
Full Backstory:
Ezekiel was made for the battlefield. From a young age he knew what he wanted to be - a cavalry spearman, the scourge of enemies and the pride and joy of his people. He found himself as a young man in the infantry, full of enthusiasm and zeal for the future. He fought with passion, spear skewering all who got in his way, shield beating many noses back into their respective skulls.
Practised in oral storytelling but lacking in script skills, Ezekiel found himself telling tales around the campfires of his brethren. He praised their bloodshed and character, shaping their stories as they sat together, casting the shadows of what they would be. He was sought out, then asked to recount battles and enemies fought, both recent and of yore. Displaying an uncanny discipline of mind and a talent for storytelling, he was asked to join the uppers' tent in order to assist with the communal memory of their war. He declined to stay with the leaders in lifestyle, but served them in what they wished when it came to remembrance.
With time he moved to a position of a bloodied orator, inspiring the men within their ranks and calling their names, invoking myth and legend to spur them. He gave great speeches alongside the uppers and battled with the lowers, feeling their passion as his own. He traveled the continent, serving for nearly his whole life. He took no lovers, he had no desire for family - war was his woman and his fellows in arms were both brothers and sons.
As all things do, war came to an end. And when they dispersed, he found himself a stranger in a strange land. No person familiar; no shore his own. Over time, his mind had waned, stories and names mixing together. Whether Bartholomew was the slayer of the well-wyrm of Hollowside or was Matias, he does not know. Was it Tomas or Zakariah who was the legend? Which was his brother, and which was the figure in his mind that was passed to him by his mother's tales? Passion still burned, but was now muddled with frustration, his place and significance lost with the ticking of the clock. He knows only one purpose, and so that purpose he will follow.
He practices Romu (based on the pagan pre-Christian religion of the region, Romuva: polytheistic). He is not overly connected to his faith, but it is a factor for him in some situations.
Misc. Notes: (Special items, notable scars, scents, how they walk, or talk, etc.)
-He has a map of scars stretching all over his body, but his right arm is the most heavily marred
-He has a tendency to be long winded in his speech.
-A sucker for new stories, though his ability to accurately recall them has greatly decreased over the years.
-Ezekiel wears a wool scarf colored a deep, true phoenician purple.
-He walks with a bit of stiffness due to some chronic back pain and general degeneration of knee and hip joints.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons: A well worn spear and rectangular shield (described above)
Armor: As depicted above - some links in the chain broken or missing. A bit tattered but loved.
Other gear: a heavy rucksack of rations, TOO MANY medals and ribbons, letters from comrades that he cannot read but keep with him as a reminder of what once was. A roughly drawn portrait of himself made by a brother in arms.
Strengths:
Strong of will and heart, he will not turn away from battle. Though he is used to taking leadership roles, he is no stranger to playing subordinate as well, and doesn't let his age turn into pride. He speaks of the past with authority, regardless of the actual veracity of his words. He comes off as odd but genuine, with a love for battle brethren and the act of killing itself. It is not an art to him, nor is it cruel. It is an honorable way to go.
Weaknesses:
Ezekiel has facial aphasia, meaning that he cannot identify someone by their face / cannot remember faces. It makes it hard to do some social things, but he is at heart a talker and will yammer on to someone regardless of whether or not he knows them. He is used to seeing soldiers as simultaneously important yet he has always been surrounded by a sea of near-strangers, every face always new. His body, while still able, is starting to strain and yield to the ravages of time. His endurance is not what it once was.
Resolve level: 0
-Appearance
Age: 54
Gender: cis man
Physical Description:
Man at arms. A bit stout about the middle, and standing at about 5'10. Time has taken his height from him, compressing him into a well-meaning mass of experience and forgetfulness. He has wrinkles on his face that indicate laughter, sorrow, worry, and anger: his life has provided him with much of all these. His moustache and beard are a whitish grey, amber eyes deep set in his face. Ezekiel's hairline is far receded, but he does manage a bit of whitish hair that flows down to his mid-neck. He is not a particularly handsome man, but that was never his primary concern. His legs and arms are akin to tree trunks, coarse and able from years on campaign, gristled and knotty.
Attire: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ef/Lithuanian_soldiers_%2814th_c_reconstruction%29.jpg
Ezekiel wears an old but reliable set of armor in traditional Lietuva style. His signature color is red, though the fabric portions of his uniform are also stained with splotches of black and brown from activities of yore. His armor looks like it's been to Hell and back- it is both glorious and fragile in its own way. In order to be restored to its former glory, it takes gold, and gold he does not have. His shield is rectangular, reinforced wood. It is not his first, but he believes it will be his last.
-Biography
Quirks:
Clutch Hitter (+ 5% crit if HP below 50%)
Clumsy (-5 Dodge)
Resilient (+10% stress healing received)
Sickly (-15% disease resist)
Backstory Synopsis:
Once a military orator of Lietuva, a man of the masses has found himself long apart from the lands he served in. Looking for one last campaign, battered by the world and bereft of former company, he comes to the Hamlet for his final hurrah. What is death without glory? And what is glory if not snatched from the darkness?
Full Backstory:
Ezekiel was made for the battlefield. From a young age he knew what he wanted to be - a cavalry spearman, the scourge of enemies and the pride and joy of his people. He found himself as a young man in the infantry, full of enthusiasm and zeal for the future. He fought with passion, spear skewering all who got in his way, shield beating many noses back into their respective skulls.
Practised in oral storytelling but lacking in script skills, Ezekiel found himself telling tales around the campfires of his brethren. He praised their bloodshed and character, shaping their stories as they sat together, casting the shadows of what they would be. He was sought out, then asked to recount battles and enemies fought, both recent and of yore. Displaying an uncanny discipline of mind and a talent for storytelling, he was asked to join the uppers' tent in order to assist with the communal memory of their war. He declined to stay with the leaders in lifestyle, but served them in what they wished when it came to remembrance.
With time he moved to a position of a bloodied orator, inspiring the men within their ranks and calling their names, invoking myth and legend to spur them. He gave great speeches alongside the uppers and battled with the lowers, feeling their passion as his own. He traveled the continent, serving for nearly his whole life. He took no lovers, he had no desire for family - war was his woman and his fellows in arms were both brothers and sons.
As all things do, war came to an end. And when they dispersed, he found himself a stranger in a strange land. No person familiar; no shore his own. Over time, his mind had waned, stories and names mixing together. Whether Bartholomew was the slayer of the well-wyrm of Hollowside or was Matias, he does not know. Was it Tomas or Zakariah who was the legend? Which was his brother, and which was the figure in his mind that was passed to him by his mother's tales? Passion still burned, but was now muddled with frustration, his place and significance lost with the ticking of the clock. He knows only one purpose, and so that purpose he will follow.
He practices Romu (based on the pagan pre-Christian religion of the region, Romuva: polytheistic). He is not overly connected to his faith, but it is a factor for him in some situations.
Misc. Notes: (Special items, notable scars, scents, how they walk, or talk, etc.)
-He has a map of scars stretching all over his body, but his right arm is the most heavily marred
-He has a tendency to be long winded in his speech.
-A sucker for new stories, though his ability to accurately recall them has greatly decreased over the years.
-Ezekiel wears a wool scarf colored a deep, true phoenician purple.
-He walks with a bit of stiffness due to some chronic back pain and general degeneration of knee and hip joints.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons: A well worn spear and rectangular shield (described above)
Armor: As depicted above - some links in the chain broken or missing. A bit tattered but loved.
Other gear: a heavy rucksack of rations, TOO MANY medals and ribbons, letters from comrades that he cannot read but keep with him as a reminder of what once was. A roughly drawn portrait of himself made by a brother in arms.
Strengths:
Strong of will and heart, he will not turn away from battle. Though he is used to taking leadership roles, he is no stranger to playing subordinate as well, and doesn't let his age turn into pride. He speaks of the past with authority, regardless of the actual veracity of his words. He comes off as odd but genuine, with a love for battle brethren and the act of killing itself. It is not an art to him, nor is it cruel. It is an honorable way to go.
Weaknesses:
Ezekiel has facial aphasia, meaning that he cannot identify someone by their face / cannot remember faces. It makes it hard to do some social things, but he is at heart a talker and will yammer on to someone regardless of whether or not he knows them. He is used to seeing soldiers as simultaneously important yet he has always been surrounded by a sea of near-strangers, every face always new. His body, while still able, is starting to strain and yield to the ravages of time. His endurance is not what it once was.
