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BlueKalis
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PostPosted: Tue Jan 15, 2008 8:32 pm


Everyone has atleast a teensy little backstory that they've thought of.... Here's to hoping you'll post yours here!
PostPosted: Tue Jan 15, 2008 8:50 pm


Mirelle was the oldest daughter of the Great River of Narnia. She lived with her 6 sisters, each of them had different task to keep the river. Mirelle's Task was to watch over the speaking animals who lived in and around it. One day some Calormen came and attacked a family of otters who were under her care. She was able to fight them off but in the process she was badly injured, her sisters came to her and tried to help her. When they found she was dying they called for Aslan and he came with one of the queens of Narnia. She gave Mirelle a drop of Lucy's elixir and she was healed.

Mirelle was so moved by the queens compassion she swore her service to the protection of Narnia, and became a part of the Narnian army.

Mirelle of Narnia
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KojutheQuick
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PostPosted: Tue Jan 15, 2008 9:35 pm


Koju is from a modern day world which is filled with anthromorphic creatures like himself. The avains think of the other, flightless races as beneath them, both literally and figuratively. Long before Koju was born they formed a group and took over most of the world.

Koju was a spy working for a small, mostly crushed rebellion. They sent him to a small hidden base because they had gotten whispers about some sort of secret project. Koju got on site, using tranquilizers to know out all but one of the scientists on duty, he got found out that they were building a portal to jump between worlds based on the quantum theory.

As Koju was examining the portal, the scientist pushed him through. Koju came out the other side in Narnia. He spent sometime in Narnia finding out about the world around him. He saw the innocence of this world compared to his. Thinking his world lost to him anyway, he swore to himself he would do whatever he could to protect this new world from his old enemies.

So, he joined the army thinking it was the best way to do protect this land and the rest, as they say, is history.
PostPosted: Wed Jan 16, 2008 1:28 am


Human
Ku-Kal was borne with the name Drakenblud Under the Rammage/Aitken Scottish clan (clan is still being researched) He was raised by his father, a knight to the king (at the time england) and was taught to be a knight. at an early age his home was ravished by the spanyerds and he was taken into slavery. He eventually found his way into the arena but had it not been for his fathers teachings he wouldn't have even made it that far. by the age of 16 he was already fighting and holding his own in a cruel and twisted fate of entertainment and violence. He managed to escape the arena during a slave revolt by picking up a nobles cape that had been dropped and sneaking out. He wandered around, offering his services for food and travel, until he found his way back home to the highlands where he immediately enlisted under the king hoping to find his parents and meet in a sweet reunion. He soon found out his mother had been killed in the spannish raid and his father died in a war that same year. To make things better the king was beginning to force a heavy tax on the starving people, and refusing to let any of the people have their own freedoms. After having to attend to a tax collector who had assaulted a peasant he snapped and killed the noble of the area and fled. He found his way going south, towards the forests and lands of Greece, Rome, and Italy. From there he offered his services as a mercinary, taking what ever gold he could, and shinies off of his victims both customer and bounty. After leading a hard life style of being stabbed in the back, and having to look over his shoulder, he let word slip that a legion was forming for the misfits of society. And from there, the Shattered legion and the House of the Broken Sword were formed.

Orc

Ku-Kal came from the badlands, in the deserts surrounded by volcanoes and harsh environments. his lungs have developed through the centuries, as has all his kin, to breath and filter smoke and over such inconvenient set backs. The skin is thick and tough because of the constant waring state the tribes are in and the day to day tasks. His armor is made out of hardened skins of animals and their bones. His weapons are made from the bones of his most worthy kills. Exiled from his clan for having a deficient body, he was cast into the world hated and mocked for his kin. He soon heard of others like him, other non accepted members of society and banded with them, creating the shattered legions. They moved their legion into the forests near the volcanoes where they would have more cover and where people were more afraid to travel, from there th households created inside of the legion would set up merc camps in various places to watch over their turf.

Blaze Shadowbane


Sorayne

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PostPosted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 6:29 pm


I'm a writer >.< Srry ~Sorayne

My fate was struck long before I could ever have a hand in it long before I was even more than a thought... When they were about to be men my uncle and Father made a solemn deal, and nothing but the hand of Destiny could change that.
My uncle was first born and was set to inherit Grandfather's pub, this alone was cause for Father to hate him. My uncle knew his duty to our family and yet his heart longed for the unsheltered and mysterious world. Father on the other hand, couldn't help but want what should never have been his, for years this cause spite and hate between two boys that should have been inseparable.
When Father turned 14, my uncle brought him on the winter hunting trip it was to be his “initiation into manhood.” The winter that year was frigid, more so than either of them had planned for and It could have been the end of both of their lives. At night they huddled together wrapped in skins and hide inside a hollowed out tree. And by day they took their bows and knives. Hunting and skinning deer and rabbits the birds they caught they strung up in a nearby tree. Late at night, around a fire they would hold each other and talk to stay conscious. They discussed manhood, love, women, and faith. They became close and then the discussion turned to their father.
“How dare he expect me to just give up my destiny and freedom and take care of that rundown inn? He can’t just tell me to, ‘grow up and be a man.’ How dare he I’ve done so much for that ******** place I don’t want to be trapped there whilst I rot.” My young uncle was so fevered and angry that the boy clung to him was starting to get anxious.
“Well, what can you do? Father would never let you have that kinda freedom. He even said that last moon, before the first frost, and every time you bring it up. What are you going to do?” shivers a visage, much like the older one that raised me.
“I’m glad you asked,” grinned my uncle, “I’m going to escape, and you’re going to help me.”
“Am I now?” teases his younger brother.
“Yes, and you’re going to have the pub to yourself. Only by a few conditions…”
They would leave the forest more than brothers, yet only one would return to their mother’s arms. The deal was that my uncle would not return to Rikka but follow his heart wherever he wanted to go. He would stay away untill Grandfather died as not to shame his brother’s lie. As far as anyone knew my uncle had died in the woods, before he could be a man. In the spring a party was sent to search for his body, but it was never found.
This is where I come in... I was 7 years old when Grandfather died he had lived a long life, so I was told. After his death my world flipped, Father was busy and preoccupied he would be writing letters and talking to travelers. Later I learned he was trying to find his brother.
I was still too young to understand, but the year I turned 11 a man walked into our pub, a muddy, wet, unshaven man who looked like he'd crawled out from a hole. He padded his way into the pub just at the end of a rush of soldiers and their prostitutes. Little did I know but, that night would change my life. This man was greeted most differently than anyone I had seen before. Father took him in his arms and greeted him with more affection than he had ever used even with my mother. Father shaved him and treated him with such honor. I was afraid at first of this man who called himself Lindar he was tall and well traveled. He’d always return in a terrible manor and although I didn’t know what to make of him, I still trusted him and talked to him more closely than I could even to the girls in the village that were my age. Lindar would just show up and bring gifts and trinkets from his travels he would only give them to me and when he came I was allowed to wear nice clothes and I did not have to clean or tend to the men in the pub I could just sit and talk to him by the stone fire pit and tend to his needs. Years passed and my fears were unfounded I learned about Lindar's travels and how he was married once on a far island, secretly and how he traveled alongside orcs and fought with them. I thought not that this was evil but majestic like a fairy tale. Although he told them like truth, I couldn’t believe this man with all of my heart he brought things from far away and taught me mixes and brews of distant lands.
He sparked a desire to be free in my heart that even his death when I was 15 could not kill. A night much like the one he entered my life a man, I thought was Lindar entered the pub much in the same condition he always did walked up to me, took one knee, and spoke. He spoke three words that I almost didn't catch "Lindar is dead" before he passed out I caught him and called for Father. When he got into the room the man in my arms was dead. In the darkness I couldn’t tell the substance that soaked his body was not water and dirt, but blood and tears I held the stranger that brought my fate close and died in my arms. After a few weeks a package came to me by horseback Father almost wouldn’t let me open it, but once I had talked to him about how much Lindar had meant to me, he did. The package revealed a cloth map, a book soaked in blood, and a feather marking a page.
Other than Lindar I don’t remember much of my youth. I remember a boy with a sword, they called him Rin. He was it, and he had left long ago. I’d heard of the crusade, many of its haphazard victims brought themselves into the pub, drowned what they’d seen in cheep ale and whores. Father never saw much in me. He taught me from a young age to never stand up against a paying customer and let them do what the pleased.
Even though I blossomed at 12, I was never forced into bed with anyone, but that was not because I could do anything to stop it. Father would have never let a man hurt me; at least that was what I had thought. At 16 I was well endowed and allowed to wear what I wanted because that was what got men to drink. I’d come over to their tables, lean down to them giving them a great view and ask if I could get them anything. They would be so distracted that I could get them to buy anything I’d take the payment and sway away to another table.
It was a packed night, a group of revelers from a camp set up on the outskirts of town filled most of the tables and locals filled the rest. The revelers had pan flutes harmonicas and guitars; the air was filled with music. My brother, Torin, was sick and my mother had been tending to his needs; Father was at the bar. The revelers were large tippers and had the potent ale and whiskey flowing freely. There were rounds called left and right and I could barely keep up. A local man called me over to his table and I told him to wait till I had time. He said obscene words and hauled his drunk self up and began walking toward me. He pulled a knife and pressed it against my back. He told me to not make a sound and walk back to his table. I did as I was told because I was terrified. Just as I reached the table with this man behind me a young man about a year or two older than me walked up to us, obviously coaxed from his friends and asked me to dance. I was so scared that I had tears in my eyes and he went straight into fight mode. He figured the man had tried to rape me and was protecting me. This started a brawl and it took the help of several other men to stop the fight. I survived with only a few cuts and bruises. Father remained at the bar not worried about his daughter but his precious bar. That was the final straw I had to leave.
PostPosted: Sat Jan 19, 2008 11:34 am


Friar Jason was once a simple warrior of some skill. He fought in several battles, never truly seeking glory, but willing to stand for his beliefs. One day in his wandering, Jason was struck by a vision of power and grace that he simply could not describe. Falling to his knees in wonder, the warrior heard the being of light tell him of many things. Believing his true calling was to follow the light, Jason sought understanding, and found it in the Order of the Martyred Lord, a simple order of monks. Even with blood on his hands, and the stench of the field about him, the monks welcomed Jason into their fold, teaching him of the One Lord, and the many paths of truth. In time, the warrior forgot his troubles and learned the path of righteousness. It would be several years before reality snapped back at him.

While Friar Jason was on a pilgrimage with his brothers, highwaymen stopped the band. The monks were poor, and had no way to pay, their most precious belongings being the knowledge they carried. The leader of the bandits decreed that those who could not pay must be slaughtered. One by one, the monks were cut down, neither able nor willing to fight back. Friar Jason could feel his rage growing by the minuet, seeing the men who had offered him shelter being slain before him. Lashing out, he took one of the bandits by surprise, quickly snatching the man’s sword, and cutting the bandit down. As he finished the swing, the Friar felt a holy fire descend upon him, empowering and protecting him. Gripping the blade tightly, the warrior priest set to the highwaymen, who were so stunned by the sudden change of events that they broke and fled.

The surviving monks thanked the Friar, but Jason once again felt the cry of the warrior ripping through his soul. Quietly, a voice spoke to him, softly, but firmly. “Defender of the faith” it called to him, “You know now the path that you must walk.”

rx79guncannon

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