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CRP Goon

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About CRP Goon

  • Rank
    Newly Spawned

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Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Oryl Sirame
  • Character Race
    Wood Elf

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  1. A certain Mali'ame warrior wipes Orcish blood from his blade, the dark stains of a hard-won victory now dancing across his battle kilt. The bronze plates adorning his body bore scores from the battle, though shined through in the light of the sun coming out from behind the clouds. The scent of death reached his nose, though none of his kin or their allies had lost their lives. He removed his helm, braids cascading down over his shoulders. The 'ame knelt, and tilted his head towards the sky. "Heya elsul’elemaln elehaelun’ehya ay’divtuvan oradilne." The warrior recites. The Lord of Death had giv
  2. A warrior returns from a bloodless raid. Relief on his face. "I'm not sure I'd have the courage to stand if I knew I was wrong either." The 'ame shook his head as he approached the gates of Elvenesse. He paused for a moment, looking down, over the bridge, and into the water. A faint smile crossed his face as he continued into the city. No lives had been lost. This was a good day.
  3. The declaration of war would reach the bronze-clad hands of a wandering warrior, his keen, emerald eyes glancing over it as he solemnly shook his head. "It has been years since my blade has heard Orcish screams. May their blood run down my pommel once more."
  4. After having read the missive, Oryl furrowed his brows. His jaw set, and he crumpled it up in his fist. He tossed it into the corner of his now barren room. "... She burned my daughter. I reserve a place on my pommel for all who rise to take her side." The warrior paused at his doorway, turning to look back into the dark room. His fingers drifted over the many braids of hair affixed to the pommel of his sword. "To death or dishonor - let all who oppose me know the strength of a father's love." His voice drifted across the once lively room, with naught but cobwebs and old wood shavings to hear
  5. The scarred warrior lay on his dusty floor, surrounded by wood shavings and flecks of cigar ash. I need to clean this place up. He thought to himself with a grin, his lips parting ironically to accept the lit cigar in his left hand, drawing from it and sending the smoke up into the air. "Rest your weary shoulders, Mal'onn, the nation is grateful for all you have given it." He found himself talking to the shapes in the smoke, an expression of reflection came over him as it often did, accompanied by a perpetual look of half amusement as the 'ame spoke to his smoke.
  6. The note finds itself in the hands of the Maribar, and is filed away for later reference, but not before it is graced by a subtle dusting from the ash of Oryl's cigar.
  7. Soon after it had been read, the missive was crumpled up in Oryl's hands and tossed into the corner of his room. There it sat, quite unlike the carvings and sketches adorning his many shelves. The 'ame rose to his feet, wood shavings falling from his lap and across his dusty floor. He paced over towards the barrels full of weapons, and drew a short blade of elven design from its scabbard, rolling it over in his hands. "Never before has such a disgrace been brought down upon the name of that which I draw bow and blade to defend." Oryl crossed the room with his sword in hand, setting it neatly
  8. Oryl looked upon the notice with a curious grin, a silent nod of approval was all that followed.
  9. Somewhere, resting on a cliff above the sea, a scarred warrior finds the face of an old apprentice drifting out across the waves. The amber haze from the oracle wood cigar drifting about him. The 'ame gazed up at the shimmering starlight, the weight of this loss tugging on his spirit, and yet he smiled. "Oerneh nae ito hileia lae myumiera, ciwn'ehya uell." He uttered an all-too familiar phrase, his words nearly drowned out by the churning of the frothy seafoam beating relentlessly against the base of the cliff. "I have never been more proud to call someone my brother." The whisper of hi
  10. Oryl had never seen such a despicable set of creatures. "These chickens need to train more" he thought to himself as he passed by the now obscenely obese and equally clueless, corpulent, posse of positively pungent flightless fowl. Unfortunately, the warrior had only a few cigars on him and no chicken-sized swords, otherwise he would have found himself with twice his current weight in apprentices to train. Had he not been late to a training session, he may have attempted to tie the birds together and curl them.
  11. A Trial of Unrivaled Importance The soft lapping of ocean waves could be heard, gently kissing the fine sandy beaches of Siramenor. Many ‘ame had dueled upon these sands before, including the young Oryl Sirame on many occasions, but none had tested him like the spar he was about to enter. Across from him, blade held at neck level was an ‘ame clad in blue, with his hair tied back behind him. Rhathalas, sporting a fine short sword and a dangerously calm expression was waiting expectantly for Oryl’s first move. The young ranger-to-be donning a green tunic held out his blade, a
  12. The Sharp Whisper’s First Hunt ”I will be sure to let you know how it performs” Oryl assured Rhathalas, a magnificently crafted Ironwood bow slung over his left shoulder as the young ‘ame turned to leave the Okar’ir’s home. As he stepped out into the forest, he took a deep breath of the forest air. Securing his quiver over the fur pelt that covered his back, Oryl set off at a brisk walk- allowed only by the recent healing of his injuries. As the ‘ame migrated towards his favorite hunting grounds he began to observe the land around him. The path was quiet, although he soon strayed f
  13. epicworld123 Oryl Sirame Mali’ame Combat experience/ preferred weapons: Constant sparring matches/training sessions with various other people, preferred weapons are dual short swords or sword/axe combo. Wellens#6846 PST
  14. Minecraft Name: epicworld123 Character Name: Oryl Essan Discord Name: Wellens #6846 Race: Wood Elf Time Zone: PST
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