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Ozton123

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About Ozton123

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    Villager
  • Birthday 01/08/1995

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    Male
  • Location
    Virginia
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    Tabletop Gaming, Fantast, Sci-Fi, Gaming
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    Ordnance

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    Ozton

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  1. I was delayed posting as well. I don't have as excusable a reason as plumping disasters... New years eve just left me painfully hung over. Back into the upswing now though. let's kill some dragons!
  2. Manse emerged from the tree line into the clearing that had been house to the mass of the conflict. The area had been ravished and the remains and pieces of all manner of creatures had been strewn across as far as the man could see. This had been a slaughter on both sides with no foreseeable victor. No one truly wins in war though. The civilized races here were fighting for their lives, and to Manse that was always a justifiable motive. The ranger had always been a sucker for an underdog. Not far from the dying cries of withering dragon, reinforcements came diving from the skies. This drake possessed an aura far deadlier than his fallen comrade. In scattered clumps around the area housing the dragon's attention, allied forces battled to repel the dragonkin. Neither side showed the possession of advantage making it difficult to plot where Manse was needed most. A hard sprint from his position a woman fought fiercely against an outnumbering group of kapak, and she seemed weathered. Without second thought, Manse charged towards the group his footfalls heavy and the slight slope helping to build his momentum. He brought his off hand to the hilt of his sword assuming a powerful two handed form. As he charged hard towards the conflict, so to did Kapak reinforcements; three of them. A growl formed in the massive man's throat and he pushed his legs harder determined to reach the skirmish first. It was a draw. Manse tried to maneuver himself gently between the injured fighter and the dragonkin, but his size and momentum made the task difficult and only semi successful. The kapak received most of Manse's impact. His shoulder snapping the beast's mouth closed with teeth shattering force. The dazed dragonkin took a clumsy step back and was relieved of his innards as Manse spilled the kapak's stomach like the contents of a wet paper bag. (.25) Manse let momentum carry him a step past the woman and he squared his feet to assume a defensive between her and the trio. Smarter than kobolds, the three expanded their formation to ensure at least one of them would have a flanking position on the man. In a rehearsed manner, two of the kapaks, the left most and most centered, lunged towards Manse. The warrior dropped his off hand from the hilt assuming a relaxed one handed grip. Dipping his blade low and flicking the weapon outward he sent the left most attacker's arm high. He caught the attacker more aligned to his center by the wrist. Cautious due to recent experiences he kept the armed hand well away form his body. He pushed hard with his palm and lifted with his grip. The attackers bones popped as they dislocated and grinded against one another. With no way to keep it's grip, the kapak dropped the dagger. All the while, Manse was directing the kapak in a circle; when he finally released the dragon kin he did so into the jab of the recovered first attacker. It's blade bit deeply into it's ally's stomach. Confused, the kapak gasped difficult breaths as it's infuriated ally messily pried free his dagger and shoved away his ally. The kapak fell away to welcome the thrust of Manse's sword into the angry beast. It's entry point was low, just beneath the dragonkin's sternum, but Manse drove the sword more so up than out and the weapon found it's exit between the shoulder blades and neck of the beast. Manse followed his sword and clenched the shoulder of the dying dragonkin. Drawing his sword and shoving the beast, he freed his weapon. (1.0) The injured kapak clumsily evaded out of reach and struggled to find his footing. All the while, Manse had left his back exposed to the flanking attacker. He hoped the woman still had some fight left in her. @StickyTac
  3. Manse struggled to roll his eyes downward into reality. His ears rang out due to the immense rush of pressure only caused from an explosion. He struggled to focus. He had been blown up before. Old or not, it shouldn't have taken the ranger so damned long to find his wits. His arm pulsed painfully from the lucky swipe of the kobold. That was it! The bloody spear had been poisoned. Old Gods be praised the lizard was a lousy alchemist. He felt the nausea and fatigue beginning to dwindle, but instinctively he reached into a pocket of the underside of his cloak and retrieved a dried leaf. Taking it on his tongue he pressed it to the roof of his mouth and the old ranger found his feet. He was back in the fight. His timing was impeccable or immensely unlucky, and the difference was a mere matter of perception. The Aurak had found his composure after it's encounter with Crow, and it now leered towards the ranger; It's mass inconveniently between the man and his long sword. Blood sputtered from it's snout as it barked harsh draconic incantations towards the ranger. Manse shifted uneasily and his boot clinked against the pole of Mortem. An orange glow began to swell in the throat of the Aurak and his incantation had begun to swell with power. Manse couldn't move fast enough to close the distance. The spear could. Manse kicked the spear up to himself and caught the polearm. The magic weapon was weighted perfectly and needed no adjustment. The warrior heaved the spear with all of his might. The draconian exhaled and flame rushed to consume Manse. He wouldn't clear this unscathed, but that winged bastard would be dead to rights. Manse didn't flinch at the rush of his oncoming doom. He wanted to see the kill; it didn't come. The weapon seemed to consume the fire as it screamed towards the draconian. It parted the flames on impact but either dissolved or swallowed the flames that desperately fought to evade the spear. Manse, much to his disbelief, was unscathed, but the Aurak was not. The thud on impact was thick and wet in the cranium of the dragonkin. He met the spear with his jaws wide open and the weapon carved deeply through his maw and crunched menacingly through the lower parts of the draconian's skull. It's furious screams sounded little more than blood choked gurgles. The Aurak collapsed fighting to no avail to remove the spear. Manse remembered a silhouette charging the Aurak when he was floating on a thread on consciousness. The spear had to belong to him. He would most likely wish the weapon returned. So long as he was not dead. With a compassionless kick from his boot, Manse knocked the dragonkin belly up on the ground, and heaved the spear from the head of the Aurak with a lethal twist. The beast was silent. Manse retrieved his sword, and began to scan the immediate area. It was quiet here (as far as war goes), but the silence was soon perverted with a shrill echo from beyond the patch of forestry before him. His strength returned, Manse charged towards what could only be trouble... @Aves
  4. Thanks for stopping by

  5. Basics Name* Manse Oxivous Tyaraine Age: 47 Gender*: Male Species/Racial Origin*: Human Language*: Common, Elven, Sylvan, Goblin, Orcish, Draconic Physical Description Height*: 6'5" Weight*: 260lbs. Hair*: Black Eyes*: Blue tinted gray Detailed Physical Description*: A wild and thick ink black mane dutifully clings to his head passing his shoulders resting about the middle of his chest. His well trimmed goatee falls short of an inch off of his chin and is speckled with white like the first falling flakes of winter. A testament of the years behind him. A harmonious combination of blue and gray like that of a cloudy sky dances for dominance in the man's irises. Wearisome lines have crept from the corners of his eyes and his naturally grim, slightly scowling, face bares the remnants of a harsh life. The tip of his left ear, though usually hidden by his thick hair, is mourned by a jagged gray scar. The stocky old ranger looms over the average of his race in both height and general size. Though usually covered by the apparel of a northern ranger, his arms are corded with muscle awarded from years of dedicated labor and training and his body bares the scars of countless harshly learned lessons. Typical Clothing/Equipment*: His hair disappears beneath the heavy dire wolf fur of the ranger's cloak. The cloak is fitted from eel skin externally to be resistant to the moisture and the inside offers the comfort of soft cloth. The cloak is stuffed with the wool of sheep. His tunic is affixed of worn dark stained leather. Cracks and creases break in the lines along the muscled indentions of the warriors body from years of toil and use. A silver belt buckle in the fashion of a snarling wolf shines from the blackness of his garments despite splashes of unsalvageable tarnish. His trousers, once black leather as well, have been frequently patched with leather patches of dark browns as closely to black as the woodsman could find at the time. His boots are of black hide from Northern steers treated to be resistant to water and insulated with wool. A maintained but oft-used long sword hangs from the scabbard off of his waist while a cold iron long sword sword rests trustfully off of his back, the hilt protruding proudly from under the cloak. Though the scabbards of the weapons have been worn through the tribulations of time, both blades shine boldly and sharply, a testament of the mans love and devotion to his tools. A small hand axe hangs opposite of the long sword and short bow rests tied tightly to the haversack he carries. Depending on the weather his pack may be carried outside his cloak or safely concealed beneath. Personality/Attributes Personality/Attitude*: Brooding and solemn the warrior can come across to strangers and acquaintances as abrasive, unsympathetic and pessimistic. He is iron willed and unwavering in his obligation and oath to the natural order. He would lay down his life for the perseverance of the realm and the safety of it's inhabitants. He is patient and composed, but his rage is brutal and unsparing. He has a love for nature and the calm of the mountains and forests of the world. Though he would never vocally admit it, he also has a love for his fellow man. He has a hatred for evil in any means it may manifest itself, and will go above and beyond to see it eradicated. Strengths*: + Experience: His know how and occupational knowledge in foliage, forgery and rudimentary alchemy is impressive, and his mind is a bestiary's wealth of monster and beast knowledge. + Survival: His knowledge and experience in getting by + Martial Prowse: He is skilled with a blade against both humanoid and bestial foes Weaknesses*: - Prejudices: He has an inherited distaste and distrust of elves. - Solemn and Brooding Personality: Not the most appealing of companions, Manse is an acquired taste. - Aging: The man is getting old. The cold makes his bones tired and he isn't as fast nor does he have the endurance he once did. - Distrust of Magic: The man is weary of magics in all of its forms.
  6. Manse trudged through the blood soaked mud towards the chaos before him. "Better late than never." The ranger thought to himself. His long sword bobbed with a determined purpose gripped loosely in his dominant hand. He let his peripheral vision absorb what it could from the chaos, but he kept his focus on the gaggle of kobold that had took interests on the approaching giant. The group of ten sought to flank manse, and they made their charge. Sloppily. Five of the small lizard kin made a head-on charge for the waiting warrior. Three broke left of the pack, and two tried to mirror right. Their charge was early, however, and the brief moment it took them to close the ground between them and the waiting man passed for a lifetime. Manse forced his breathing to slow. It didn't matter how many battles the man had faced; his heart always pounded like a war drum when it came the time to take up arms. Adrenaline surged through the ranger. Taverns and small talk were difficult, but this, this was the man's blood and soul. Manse felt alive. He continued forward slowly, confidently. He let the flanking kobolds pass his gaze without the slightest hint of acknowledgement, and as the main troupe had finally closed the distance he brought his long sword up with his dominant hand in a back handed swing. Many of the kobolds hardly surpasses his waist; his blade did not have far to travel. He kept his elbow and wrist lose not fully extending the blade or exerting to much stamina. The sword cleanly crossed the abdomen of the forward most attacker spilling the squealing lizard-kin into the already blood-soaked mud. Two kobolds had been heavy on the point man's tai, and his sudden stop caused them to blunder into his back. Manse had anticipated their accidental shove of their expiring ally. He let the weight of the sword and the light momentum of the first strike carry his weight into a spin. He let his off-foot slide across the mud allowing him to pivot on heel of the other. As inertia kicked in and his momentum began to waver, he shifted his weight hard onto his off foot and finished the spin fiercely letting his wrist and elbow lock-out and relieve the two off balance kobolds of their heads. Manse dashed forward passing through two confused kobolds and completely foiling the laughable tactics of those setting up the flank. The leftmost of the two remaining goons of the initial charge, despite his incomprehension of Manse's change in positioning, reflexively brought his spear into a rudimentary impersonation of a cross guard. The spearhead bit into the ranger's tricep as he passed by. Manse did not grant the grazing a glance, but the rapid tingling of a fresh cut did register on his mind. He was too damned big to be fighting against a swarm of stab-happy lizard kids. He locked his elbow out and brought his off hand to the sword; sliding his strong foot ever so slightly back he assumed a mid-guard. A thin stream of crimson leapt from the flexed muscle. The accidental grazing inspired a sense of confidence in the kobold and he pressed for advantage; his partner mirrored. Meanwhile, the flanking groups had mustered together and had begun to spread out, spears drawn, surrounding Manse in a horseshoe formation. Gods knew how fast it all played out, but to Manse it felt like a century as he baited the kobolds towards the shed. The doors were shut. The ranger prayed that meant it was vacant. The one of the two kobolds inside the formation with the man grew complacent and made a hard lunge at the ranger. The speed of Manse's downswing beat the spear leaving no need for a parry, and parted muscle and bone from the attackers shoulder. Life had left the kobold's eyes before the blade emerged from deep within his stomach, entrails tailing it like streamers. The second kobold saw his opportunity and made his move. His lunge was directed at man's face. Manse swatted the spear with his forearm sending the kobold stumbling off balance. Manse lunged and cleanly pierced the kobold in the chest. With a rehearsed twist and tug he freed his sword. The formation closed and manse backpedalled until his back thudded against the strong wood of the double doors of the structure. He'd keep them in front of him away from his back, and he would slaughter them all. That was when the doors blew off the shed in fiery splendor sending Manse and kobolds sprawling. The aurak stepped from the smoke...
  7. @Prestississimo @Mickey Flash Thank you both for the warm welcome. It always makes me nervous to reach out at first. You guys have really helped me feel welcome. Valucre is a warmer and more inviting place with folks like the two of you around. Again, thank you both so much from the bottom of my heart!
  8. Welcome aboard!

  9. Manse's eyes broadened as he took in the interior of the tavern. It's exterior had been incredibly misleading. The old ranger, who felt nothing would surprise him anymore, found himself surprised yet again. "Of course it's a magic bar." Manse sighed. He grew conscious of his mass blocking the doorframe, and he shuffled off to the side out of the way of the door. The old ranger looked as out of place as he was. His dark mane was wild and tatted and his beard poorly kept. It had been sometime since Manse had slept in a bed just as long since he had showered. He grew conscious of his poor upkeep, and he did his best to creep towards a vacant corner of the tavern. It wasn't graceful and arguably unsuccessful, but little more could be expected from the 6'5" woodsman. He let his haversack fall to the floor with a heavy thud. He glanced apologetically about the area around him, and he unarmed himself more considerately. He had always felt more at home in the wilderness, but sometimes necessity brought him back to civilization, sometimes, it was curiosity that brought him back, but what ever had brought him to the tavern, that was something else. Manse settled at the round table and tried to wave down a server.
  10. Good afternoon! I am not new to RP forums, but Valucre offers a fresh setting with no tangible ends or restrictions, and that I am certainly not accustomed to in any previous community. By no means is that a bad thing and I find it to be a refreshing breath of fresh air, but I must admit it is at least mildly intimidating. I am active duty military which forces me to have to take periodic and extended breaks in my writing at times, but I will do my best to be quick and thoughtful in my responses, and in the times I am forced to be absent, I will try to plan accordingly and give notice of my absence. Thank you for taking notice to my thread and using your time to read it. I look forward to many experiences with you all!
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