Post by Deleted on Oct 24, 2014 10:00:13 GMT 1
NAME: Sindri Lund
AGE: 21
OCCUPATION: Lumberjack and ex-woodcarver. Used to enjoy leather embossing, but was hardly skilled enough at it to be considered an actual job.
GENDER & SEXUALITY: Male, greyromantic and greysexual. Not really in love with the idea of being in love.
LIKES: Working with his hands, having the time to zone in on a project, plentiful harvests and hearty meals. You could bribe him to do just about anything with the right amount of food.
DISLIKES: Hard winters, not being able to work due to his injuries, feeling particularly vulnerable, gossip, having to speak outside of his usual sparceness, being shown up
STRENGTHS: Good work ethic, determined (if ornery) personality, patient, willing to listen, good physical strength in functional limbs and a competitive nature that ranges from friendly to excessive. If something needs to be done, he's going to figure out a way to do it, come Hel or high water.
WEAKNESSES: Complete loss of motor function in his left leg and hip, numbness and slight ataxia in his left arm, and an inability to sense both pain and temperature in his right leg. Alongside his physical shortcomings, Sindri's determined nature and high personal standards tend to end up getting the best of him, either by letting himself or someone else down.
Disappointment from not being able to do things correctly turns into frustration, and frustration tends to boil into anger. Bottled-up hard feelings are usually taken out on the wrong people, culminating in him speaking even less than he usually does and giving week-long cold shoulders to peers who did nothing to deserve the treatment.
While he knows how an ax works, he's useless with ranged weapons, stealth, and coordination on the field. Asking him to strategize will probably lead to more than a few people getting needlessly hurt. On the home front, he's completely clueless when it comes to behaving socially; with no charisma to speak of and an inability to make small talk that doesn't end after two words and a couple of "um"s.
FEARS: Being deemed useless after flubbing something up one too many times, being deemed unworthy of his current career, being forced to speak, never being able to participate in battle (which is, more likely than not, a confirmed fear).
AMBITIONS: Having some kind of ornament to his name (either by battle or craft), being needed for something, being able to keep a steady career and own his father's mill, improving his physical and mental fortitude
SECRETS: Although he acts like few things bother him – and would very much like for that to be the case – Sindri is easily emotionally overwhelmed. On a similarly personal level, he would like to become a little bit more comfortable around people his age and get conversations flowing more naturally than they do now.
OVERALL PERSONALITY: Sindri is more than stubborn enough for a viking so short. He'll try anything once, and will probably go at it again if he feels like the first time was a fluke. Fond of traditional battle aspirations, he's more than happy to live and die by the sword, and would gladly follow martyrdom into Valhalla if the gods gave him the opportunity to do so.
Despite being true to his heritage in the way of career goals, Sindri lacks his ancestors' love of energetic celebration and hearty conversations. He tends to be more than a little bit quiet – not necessarily out of disinterest or hostility, but more from a lack of any real conversational skill.
Although dishing out monosyllabic replies and quick sentences is his standard, Sindri genuinely enjoys conversations and being around people – he's just more fond of listening than actually contributing. Those who know him can easily figure out when he's interested in something, and can usually tell that he does care about who's speaking and what's being talked about.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Short and small, but stocky in his upper arms, thighs, and core. Pre-fall, it was status quo for his limbs to be wrapped in thick bands of muscle, and the young viking had very little trouble felling small trees or working the two-man with his father.
Post-fall, things are a little bit different. A small pouch of fat rests on his lower abdomen and hips, and his arms are a little bit softer. His endurance has taken a hit, as well as his coordination and, of course, his speed. Despite the lack of function and declination of muscle mass, his body remains mostly the same.
His jaw is square, though it's rounded out ever so slightly with the lack of personal fitness. He's equipped with standard reddish-brown hair, barely reaching his shoulders and parted to slide behind his ears. His eyes are a similar shade, if a good bit less red and a pinch darker.
PLAYBY: Marcel Castenmiller. Marcel's eyes are blue, however, as opposed to Sindri's brown. Here is a shoot that contains several relevant refs of Marcel.
HISTORY: Sindri's birth was as ordinary as any other young viking's, as was the family that he was born to. His mother, Ulla, was a strong and hardy woman, and was affectionately stern more than anything else. His father was a similar case; just as loving as his mother, but not as hardheaded or witty.
Roffe might have had a difficult time bonding with his son due to his inheriting of his mother's stoic personality, but they did manage to get along – something that is still prevalent in their relationship today. Always instilling the morals of a working lifestyle into his only heir, Roffe was quick to get him out on their family-owned lumber field – and Sindri put up very little fuss when it came to learning the tricks of the trade.
Though he dreamt of physical prowess through battle, craft or sport, Sindri fell easily into the rhythm of a lumberman's life. He officially joined his father on the field at fifteen, and much to his mother's apprehension, was scaling and chopping by his lonesome a month before his eighteenth birthday.
The fall happened a good six months after his nineteenth. He didn't know how it'd went down, exactly; only that he'd climbed a high evergreen to survey the area, and had apparently set his foot where it couldn't gain enough traction to stay put. The slip felt inconsequential; the branches on his back and eventual impact did not.
Alongside the pain and the fear, he met her for the first time.
In something like delirium, he didn't understand why this feral animal -- bent on eating him, surely! -- sat as far away from him as she could manage and watched him with tame curiosity until his father came later that night. He couldn't rationalize that she possessed any kind of empathy.
The next morning, he was told two things: one, that he was lucky, and two, that he was anything but. Only one leg was injured, but it had lost all maneuverability and the numbness had spread up to his hip in such a way that no prosthetic replacement could ever help it to function.
To his relief, the other leg could work, despite having lost any real sense of pain or temperature. Both arms could still operate – even if the left one, on the same side as his lame leg, would never be able to complete fine actions like buttoning a tunic or threading a sewing needle. Still, he could operate a crutch with the weak arm, and would be able to walk.
He'd never be able to charge into battle, but he could still walk.
After a good year, the youth found himself next to a familiar tree, in a familiar forest near a familiar mill. But there was no chopping or surveying, or dreams of how the hands that wielded an lumber ax might eventually hold one for battle. Even if the scene was an exact duplicate of the day that he'd fallen, nothing was the same.
A visitor helped to brighten the mood, if only by turning sadness into fear.
But again, she hadn't eaten him. And she didn't eat him the next time that he came to visit, nor the next four. The first few visits were hard – it was something akin to two weeks before he could so much as look at her and take a few steps forward without her scampering off, and at least a month and a half before he was allowed to brush his fingers over her shoulders, let alone her snout or thin wing membranes. Affection came slow, but seemed to be more possible with each day that passed; meeting so frequently had become routine for both of them, and only a handful of days went by when they weren't able to see one another.
On a particularly bad day, she braced him back to his doorstep – and on the next day, they both walked back without being prompted to. It took a little bit of explaining (and more than a little begging) to get his parents used to the idea of a wild dragon joining the family, but once they, too, were convinced that the strange blade-headed creature would not try to eat themselves or their son, Plume was reluctantly welcomed as an official member of the Lund household.
Upon speaking with a few folks who knew dragons infinitely better than he did, he found out that she was born of a species called a “Hackatoo” – dragons that excelled in chopping wood quickly and efficiently, and usually made their homes in forests of healthy trees.
While he still mourned his dreams of becoming a decorated war hero, the idea that there was still something left – something that he enjoyed – filled him with a special kind of hope. Hope that had been gifted to him by an old lizard woman with an ax for a head.
FAMILY: Ulla and Roffe Lund are his mother and father, respectively. Both of his grandmothers and his paternal grandfather are alive. Sindri has no siblings and lacks a significant other.
WEAPON OF CHOICE: Axes or maces; close, armed combat is what he favors the most. Though he'd lost a decent amount of proficiency after the accident, he still jokes that he's “better with an ax now than I was with a bow three years ago.”
FIGHTING STYLE: Get in close and rush the enemy before they get the chance to rush you. This only really works if he's in a group and has long-range weapon users defending from the back – the risk of being sniped or overwhelmed is still high, but it's not as much of a death wish as it'd be if he went storming in alone.
DRAGON:
NAME: Plume (Named after the little dingle on the top of her head; it reminded him of a quail's plume.)
GENDER: Female
TYPE: Hackatoo (Either an elder or in the later years of being middle-aged; no one has come up with an exact number of years, only being able to confirm that she's far beyond adulthood.)
APPEARANCE: Standard, as far as her people go. The scales along her neck, torso and tail are a deep auburn in color, though they've faded and chipped slightly with age. A number of stripes criss-cross her back, and the few dainty bobbles that line her head and neck bounce when she moves. She has six legs – all the better for gripping and swatting and getting into trouble with.
PERSONALITY: If Sindri is stubborn enough for two vikings, Plume has enough pride for twenty. Old, sentimental and proud – as well as nosy, into everything and everyone that her human couldn't care less about. If she feels that someone is being cocky (moreso than herself), she won't hesitate to clip them and chuff until they either apologize or move out of her line of sight.
Sindri is glad that she hasn't seen his grandmother pinch his cheeks, because he's almost completely sure that she'd try to emulate that behavior, too.
Her daily life consists mostly of sleeping, eating, whining, and arguing with her companion. She knows better than him – she knows that she knows – and is more than comfortable with providing a counter-argument whenever he feels the need to get lippy. Neither of them know what the other is saying, of course, but they're both making loud noises and sticking their tongues out and stomping the ground in mock-frustration, and that's all that matters.
Both of them know that their “fights” are never serious, and it warms her old, scaly heart to see her human collapse into laughter and smiles when it all comes to a end.
When he needs her, she's there. On the rare nights when things pile up and the grown human folds himself into something tinier, she's there to let him curl against her neck and croon until the vibrations bring him back down to earth. He is difficult, hard to read, stubborn and stupid – but he is her friend, and being needed by her human gives her a sense of purpose that she hasn't felt in an awfully long time.
STRENGTHS: Speed on the ground, flexibility, and blending into foliage – especially during the fall.
WEAKNESSES: Can't fly very fast, very long or very well, and is very physically brittle. Against any dragon her size or larger, she's sure to lose.
KEYWORD HIDDEN IN RULES: *****************
CBOX NAME: meoln
