[IGN: Slizzered]
[I think I just googled Minecraft Fantasy RP or something to find you.]
Hi!
About me:
I used to roleplay quite a bit back in the day. Some of you might know me, although I doubt I was infamous enough to garner that much attention - well, I hope so, anyway. I'm in university, studying Animation.
About the Character:
Name: Barnabus
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Appearance: From the distance, and with extremely poor eyesight, it is possible to mistake Barnabus for a mobile hillock. Six foot nine and seventeen stone of roiling muscle, angled jaw and singular purpose, Barnabus possesses a permanent lopsided grin and eyebrows (or, perhaps, eyebrow) resembling two mating catterpillars, locked in permanent tilting scowl. These features are nestled under a broad forehead, topped by a quiff of well-maintained hair. His nose is broad and his cheeks are high, drawing the mind to images of spears and arrows rather than contempary visage. His chin is adorned with a beard that covers half a short scar lining his cheek.
Personality: Barnabus is a lone wolf - not by virtue of character or upbringing, but thanks to a boisterous exuberance that alienates human contact with its sheer mindless depravity. This has made Barnabus somewhat cynical - a man of mirthless humour, a sarcastic and uncaring exterior that, in reality, conceals an even more heartless interior. He is mononym personified - singular of purpose and mind: not particularly clever, but dogged enough to pursue a thought until it is completely and utterly wrung out in the vestiges of his mind. Barnabus considers it upon himself to approach a problem from all angles. Preferably with hammers. He would be completely and utterly loyal to his friends, had he any friends.
Backstory: There is little desire for an ox like Barnabus in the Northern Mainlands. Born to unremarkable parents who - lacking in both the imaginitive and mental capacity normally expected of guardians - named their son after their own surname. (This same absent mindedness probably led to their deaths during a hunting trip - whereupon they got lost four miles from the village.) Barnabus Barnabus came, later in life, to simplify his name much as he does his actions. There was no business for him in the sparse farming lands of his home, close communities shielded and unwelcoming for Barnabus, even as he reached maturity. His younger years were spent alone in the nearby forests, climbing them and eventually, as he began to earn his keep, felling them. He did this without the guidance of his father, who remained distant from Barnabus, but by the friendly old logger that provided for the village. It was this man that acted closest to a father figure for Barnabus - his parents were distant figures in his childhood, barely registering on his emotional development. His father, the village blacksmith, attempted to teach his trade to his son, but found Barnabus obtuse in his boredom. He managed to instil a love of basic smithing - essentially, the act of warming, hitting and cooling the metal - but could never instil his own fascination with the finer craftsmanship needed to be anything greater than merely competent at it. Soon, both his parents and his tutor faded from life, and amidst the complexity of the wars enveloping the south and the looming threat of celestial tyranny, Barnabus found himself exhausted and alone.
One morning he packed his belongings - and also a fair few belonging to others - picked a direction, and walked. He acted much like a mercenary, but only in one direction: if a task lay on his path, he would complete it. If not, it would be discarded, much to the chagrin of many he encountered - but Barnabus would not be stopped. He wasn't entirely sure what exactly he was searching for, but he was damned if he wasn't going to find it. Whatever it was.
In these years of his life, it would be more appropriate to compare Barnabus to a force of nature rather than a human being; stopped not by trivial things like bandits, lawmakers, rain, snow, or the sea. He had no time for the concerns of others, not the celestials in their Aether and Nether, nor any other pagan gods to which so many he met (and subsequently alienated) devoted themselves to. Barnabus treats gods much in the same way he would treat, say, the sky. He acknowledges its presence, but does not feel the need to fall to his knees and worship the clouds. Inwardly, he likes to think part of the world acknowledges him back, even just through the eyes of a villager, saying "Honey, is that hill moving?".
Barnabus was no stranger to conflict, but he has always found something about his character charms his way inexorably through dilemma:
"You can't take this boat!", they would exclaim.
"Yes, I can." He would respond. And thus the conflict would be resolved, simply, effectively, and mandated by biceps with their own orbital pull.
Barnabus never found himself on the end of the draft or embroiled in war - a nomadic and lonesome lifestyle skirting human interaction meant he never drew the attention nor the ire of any notable military officials. Barnabus had no time for petty scuffling, and remained devoted to his direction. It's true the civil wars did put a brief but recurring thorn in his side - often he would find himself drafted into an army, only to leave by morning. When calls came for his arrest, or even his execution, it would come to light that nobody quite knew exactly who he was, nor where he was headed. Barnabus' tactics in the few fights he had founds himself in - tavern brawls and unavoidable skirmishes of war - would always be to put something between him and his assailant, and then swing downwards at them with the axe he kept ready. He was hailed for his ability with a longsword - not because of any finesse, which he lacked to a remarkable extent, but thanks to his ability to use the length of the blade and his incredible strength to crowbar enemies to the ground and let others finish them off. It was never a technique lauded for long, however; Barnabus may have enjoyed displaying his strength, but he was not well enamoured with the conniving politics and backstabbing tactics employed during war, and left at the earliest opportunity. Nor, in fact, did he agree with the Lucins and their strained efforts to keep the peace (or their condemnable Purges, and even more condemnable kindness to the Mesalians), simply because he considered them slightly ponsy. He didn't mind war, it was his own place in it that bothered him.
As time went on, most of his memories of his past life faded, and his skills in blacksmithing fell into disuse. His frequent drafts into the army kept his fighting edge sharp enough for at least a baseline competence, and Barnabus would more than likely pay his way through towns with a more stringent approach to the law by lumbering and logging his way to payment.
It was this way that Barnabus found the Forbidden Lands, sailing on a boat built with his lumber (his payment being passage) - not by chance nor by purposeful direction, but a curious bastard of the two. The lands somehow satiated Barnabus' rampant soul-searching curiosity, and now he strides out of the wilderness in search of people who would help him find what he has been looking for.
As soon as he knows what that is.
Capabilities:Barnabus's blunt approach to life, the universe, and everything hasn't left him with a particularly in-depth grasp of the finer aspects of life. His shrewd negotiation skills consist almost entirely of staring at people until they walk away. He reads, but only what he can find - for example, books that people leave on their tables - attended or otherwise. He reads with speaking words under his breath. Basic numeracy is almost beyond him, lack of practice and tuition mean anything beyond twenty enters the realm of - 'many', or, at a push, 'lots.'
He has, however, developed an acute mastery of hitting things - people, iron, wood. Barnabus' blacksmithing skill is functional but obtuse, but his ability to fell a tree is rivalled only by angry bears and certain natural disasters. Barnabus has always gained a cathartic feeling of accomplishment of turning half a tonne of wood from a beautiful vertical accomplishment of nature into a horizontal trip hazard. Felling people is, curiously, not a speciality of his. Although conflict that can't be resolved with words or stern glances has arisen in Barnabus' past, he's never had much chance to land more than one punch before the person either retreats, is knocked unconscious, or is dead. Picking a brawl with Barnabus can almost be considered natural selection. A skilled, fast, or even remotely competent fighter would, assuming they can break his constitution, have an easy time of running rings around him in a true fight. That is a big conditional, however - Barnabus does not tire easily, and will more likely stand his ground and consider his position than foolishly chase a more nimble enemy.
(Just realised I should probably quantify these:
Lumbering - Competent
Longswordsmanship - Novice [a skill developed during his months in the war]
The rest of the skills are likely not developed enough to note.)
What Barnabus enters the setting with: His personaly amenities are sparse - axe fastened to the hip, leather pack (containing little but a short knife, a small whetstone, food and miscellaneous accessories, as well as the long strip of leather and buckle he uses for lumbering), and his simple yet functional clothes.
[I think I just googled Minecraft Fantasy RP or something to find you.]
Hi!
About me:
I used to roleplay quite a bit back in the day. Some of you might know me, although I doubt I was infamous enough to garner that much attention - well, I hope so, anyway. I'm in university, studying Animation.
About the Character:
Name: Barnabus
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Appearance: From the distance, and with extremely poor eyesight, it is possible to mistake Barnabus for a mobile hillock. Six foot nine and seventeen stone of roiling muscle, angled jaw and singular purpose, Barnabus possesses a permanent lopsided grin and eyebrows (or, perhaps, eyebrow) resembling two mating catterpillars, locked in permanent tilting scowl. These features are nestled under a broad forehead, topped by a quiff of well-maintained hair. His nose is broad and his cheeks are high, drawing the mind to images of spears and arrows rather than contempary visage. His chin is adorned with a beard that covers half a short scar lining his cheek.
Personality: Barnabus is a lone wolf - not by virtue of character or upbringing, but thanks to a boisterous exuberance that alienates human contact with its sheer mindless depravity. This has made Barnabus somewhat cynical - a man of mirthless humour, a sarcastic and uncaring exterior that, in reality, conceals an even more heartless interior. He is mononym personified - singular of purpose and mind: not particularly clever, but dogged enough to pursue a thought until it is completely and utterly wrung out in the vestiges of his mind. Barnabus considers it upon himself to approach a problem from all angles. Preferably with hammers. He would be completely and utterly loyal to his friends, had he any friends.
Backstory: There is little desire for an ox like Barnabus in the Northern Mainlands. Born to unremarkable parents who - lacking in both the imaginitive and mental capacity normally expected of guardians - named their son after their own surname. (This same absent mindedness probably led to their deaths during a hunting trip - whereupon they got lost four miles from the village.) Barnabus Barnabus came, later in life, to simplify his name much as he does his actions. There was no business for him in the sparse farming lands of his home, close communities shielded and unwelcoming for Barnabus, even as he reached maturity. His younger years were spent alone in the nearby forests, climbing them and eventually, as he began to earn his keep, felling them. He did this without the guidance of his father, who remained distant from Barnabus, but by the friendly old logger that provided for the village. It was this man that acted closest to a father figure for Barnabus - his parents were distant figures in his childhood, barely registering on his emotional development. His father, the village blacksmith, attempted to teach his trade to his son, but found Barnabus obtuse in his boredom. He managed to instil a love of basic smithing - essentially, the act of warming, hitting and cooling the metal - but could never instil his own fascination with the finer craftsmanship needed to be anything greater than merely competent at it. Soon, both his parents and his tutor faded from life, and amidst the complexity of the wars enveloping the south and the looming threat of celestial tyranny, Barnabus found himself exhausted and alone.
One morning he packed his belongings - and also a fair few belonging to others - picked a direction, and walked. He acted much like a mercenary, but only in one direction: if a task lay on his path, he would complete it. If not, it would be discarded, much to the chagrin of many he encountered - but Barnabus would not be stopped. He wasn't entirely sure what exactly he was searching for, but he was damned if he wasn't going to find it. Whatever it was.
In these years of his life, it would be more appropriate to compare Barnabus to a force of nature rather than a human being; stopped not by trivial things like bandits, lawmakers, rain, snow, or the sea. He had no time for the concerns of others, not the celestials in their Aether and Nether, nor any other pagan gods to which so many he met (and subsequently alienated) devoted themselves to. Barnabus treats gods much in the same way he would treat, say, the sky. He acknowledges its presence, but does not feel the need to fall to his knees and worship the clouds. Inwardly, he likes to think part of the world acknowledges him back, even just through the eyes of a villager, saying "Honey, is that hill moving?".
Barnabus was no stranger to conflict, but he has always found something about his character charms his way inexorably through dilemma:
"You can't take this boat!", they would exclaim.
"Yes, I can." He would respond. And thus the conflict would be resolved, simply, effectively, and mandated by biceps with their own orbital pull.
Barnabus never found himself on the end of the draft or embroiled in war - a nomadic and lonesome lifestyle skirting human interaction meant he never drew the attention nor the ire of any notable military officials. Barnabus had no time for petty scuffling, and remained devoted to his direction. It's true the civil wars did put a brief but recurring thorn in his side - often he would find himself drafted into an army, only to leave by morning. When calls came for his arrest, or even his execution, it would come to light that nobody quite knew exactly who he was, nor where he was headed. Barnabus' tactics in the few fights he had founds himself in - tavern brawls and unavoidable skirmishes of war - would always be to put something between him and his assailant, and then swing downwards at them with the axe he kept ready. He was hailed for his ability with a longsword - not because of any finesse, which he lacked to a remarkable extent, but thanks to his ability to use the length of the blade and his incredible strength to crowbar enemies to the ground and let others finish them off. It was never a technique lauded for long, however; Barnabus may have enjoyed displaying his strength, but he was not well enamoured with the conniving politics and backstabbing tactics employed during war, and left at the earliest opportunity. Nor, in fact, did he agree with the Lucins and their strained efforts to keep the peace (or their condemnable Purges, and even more condemnable kindness to the Mesalians), simply because he considered them slightly ponsy. He didn't mind war, it was his own place in it that bothered him.
As time went on, most of his memories of his past life faded, and his skills in blacksmithing fell into disuse. His frequent drafts into the army kept his fighting edge sharp enough for at least a baseline competence, and Barnabus would more than likely pay his way through towns with a more stringent approach to the law by lumbering and logging his way to payment.
It was this way that Barnabus found the Forbidden Lands, sailing on a boat built with his lumber (his payment being passage) - not by chance nor by purposeful direction, but a curious bastard of the two. The lands somehow satiated Barnabus' rampant soul-searching curiosity, and now he strides out of the wilderness in search of people who would help him find what he has been looking for.
As soon as he knows what that is.
Capabilities:Barnabus's blunt approach to life, the universe, and everything hasn't left him with a particularly in-depth grasp of the finer aspects of life. His shrewd negotiation skills consist almost entirely of staring at people until they walk away. He reads, but only what he can find - for example, books that people leave on their tables - attended or otherwise. He reads with speaking words under his breath. Basic numeracy is almost beyond him, lack of practice and tuition mean anything beyond twenty enters the realm of - 'many', or, at a push, 'lots.'
He has, however, developed an acute mastery of hitting things - people, iron, wood. Barnabus' blacksmithing skill is functional but obtuse, but his ability to fell a tree is rivalled only by angry bears and certain natural disasters. Barnabus has always gained a cathartic feeling of accomplishment of turning half a tonne of wood from a beautiful vertical accomplishment of nature into a horizontal trip hazard. Felling people is, curiously, not a speciality of his. Although conflict that can't be resolved with words or stern glances has arisen in Barnabus' past, he's never had much chance to land more than one punch before the person either retreats, is knocked unconscious, or is dead. Picking a brawl with Barnabus can almost be considered natural selection. A skilled, fast, or even remotely competent fighter would, assuming they can break his constitution, have an easy time of running rings around him in a true fight. That is a big conditional, however - Barnabus does not tire easily, and will more likely stand his ground and consider his position than foolishly chase a more nimble enemy.
(Just realised I should probably quantify these:
Lumbering - Competent
Longswordsmanship - Novice [a skill developed during his months in the war]
The rest of the skills are likely not developed enough to note.)
What Barnabus enters the setting with: His personaly amenities are sparse - axe fastened to the hip, leather pack (containing little but a short knife, a small whetstone, food and miscellaneous accessories, as well as the long strip of leather and buckle he uses for lumbering), and his simple yet functional clothes.
