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Crowley's Characters
02.13.04, 06:45:10
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Post #1 (permalink) |
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Name: Edgar “Wolf” Crowe
Age Thirty
Height: 6’5 Feet
Weight: 75 Kilograms
Gender: Male
Race: Edarian
Class: Warrior King of Edar
Facial Appearance: A bald head, cold, claret eyes, and a dark brown goatee. This is the face of Wolf; a face feared and respected everywhere. Small scars run down the sides of his face, with a prominent gash laced across his left eye, in diagonal motion starting from the right of his forehead all the way down to the left cheek.
On special occasions, he wears the crown of Edar, but is usually found without it, for Wolf hates broadening the gap between him and his people. The crown itself is impressed with ten rubies that circle around the golden crown, which itself lacks the spikes popular with crowns, making it more like a golden circlet.
In battle, Wolf makes it known to his enemies that no cheap hits to his head will be taken, namely by placing a zishagge upon his skull. This helmet is a favourite with him simply because it not only protects the top of his head, but all the area along the backside of his neck as well. Although he is highly ranked, the zishagge he uses does not possess the nose guard the officer’s zishagge usually does. The zishagge, while providing more than adequate protection, also allows for his enemy a final glimpse of the entirety of his face before they die.
Body Armour: Though he should, Edgar never wears the aristocratic regal garments of the Edar court, which consist of a feminine robe lined with cotton. Instead, on civil occasions, he simply wears a grubby, yet comfortable, cotton shirt with its short sleeves and button-up middle. When he wears this shirt, he sports, along with it, a simple, auburn, buffalo hide set of trousers.
His battle gear however, is anything but minimal. A glossy, steel, pointed gorget is the first item visible as a man viewing Wolf scrolls from head downward, followed by silver tinted, seven-piece spaulders, protecting their designated area, the shoulders, which continues from where the gorget leaves off.
To sidetrack to the arms means the mentioning of a pair of polished steel bracers which protect a fair portion of the area between Wolf’s elbow and wrist, but it just falls short of the hand itself because from there hourglass finger gauntlets protect the hands.
Turning back to the main frame of Edgar’s body however, reveals that it is no less armoured than the mere arms of the fellow. A coat of plates intricately winded together to form a vest protects the main frame of Edgar, surrounding both the back and front, and coloured like to the other pieces of protective covering mentioned already. Though it doesn’t seem much compared to plate armour, it can take a fair share of blows from the meanest of weapons, even war hammers, without catastrophe. Note that the armour above is only layered atop the cotton shirt usually worn by Wolf.
The following, which proceed down from his waist, is layered atop a grubby pair of black, cotton pants. First of all there is the belt from which the blackened wood sheath of Wolf’s sword hangs. The antique decorated scabbard hangs on the right side of the belt and reaches for forty-one inches, an inch longer than the actual sword span. Following this is a pair of articulated leg harnesses, straddling a good area of Wolf’s thighs down to an area only a centimetre below the knee. From there, a second piece of leg armour continues, namely a pair of plain steel greaves, not made for finery, but fortification. As these end at his ankles, one last piece of equipment is needed. Round-toe sabatons, to be exact, and these metal shoes are his choice of footwear whether in battle, or not. All this together creates both a silver vision of magnificence, or one of ominous dread, depending on whose side you’re on.
Weapon: A forty inch katana-like sword, made up of a thirty two inch blade, leaving the hilt the remaining eight inches.
The wooden grip is wrapped in cord wrap, which provides more hold for Wolf, ensuring he never looses his hold of it, and features antique hilt styling. As the blade as a whole is, the hilt is made for a two-handed stance when holding it.
The well-tempered, shiny, carbon blade is more than capable of slicing through bone, with a design that is beyond aerodynamic, and that has both a sharp side and a blunt one, depending on what exactly Edgar plans to do to his enemy, such as knock out and then slice, or just sliver straight.
A noticeable trait of this weapon is that it isn’t just straight; and is actually curved on both handle and blade. The hilt bends outwards from the wielder’s body and straightens as it gets closer to the blade, whilst the blade bends inwards, towards the user, in the middle, only slightly though, and straightens itself out as it reaches the tip.
This may seem eccentric, but it creates an amazing sense of equilibrium within the sword as a whole, and provides first-rate poise in skirmish.
Maraz Di Silo: Maraz Di Silo is a sword stance developed and practiced by Wolf. It involves the use of two hands, a curved sword such as the one he possesses, and a scabbard. It incorporates the sword style of the old Edar army, with their big strong weapons, with the former Limahari style of sword, a light weight composite sword capable of slicing fast. The concept of Maraz Di Silo is that one should never let an attack go wasted, not wasting an ounce of energy on an attack that has less then a 70 percent chance of working. When it comes to defence, the sword may only be used if the incoming blow could kill, but if not, the attack must be taken or dodged without help of the blade. To take the strike, and gain power from the pain, that is Maraz Di Silo. To use the blade only too attack, giving it only one defining purpose, that too is Maraz Di Silo. This indeed takes an unheeded amount of patience, and only the most regimented and heroic of soldiers can replicate a serviceable variety of Maraz Di Silo. Currently, all knights of Edar are trained in the art of Maraz Di Silo. Although the knights only make up for two hundred men, these men are the most trained in all the lands, and are able to take down much larger numbers of enemies than the normal trooper.
Prologue- A Brief History: Edgar Crowe was born in the region of Edar, and was the son of a powerful aristocrat father, and a strikingly beautiful, yet horrid, mother. With his father never around to care for him, and his mother blatantly abusing him in the most ghastly of ways, he grew up alone, not knowing the meaning of love at all. Although his father was never around, the man sent the best of tutors to teach Edgar what he needed to be acquainted with, but all quit their job when they were met with more than just dislike on Edgar’s part. He seemed a rabid animal, unable to be tamed, and with his mother constantly lashing him when nobody was looking, he only grew fiercer and fiercer. When his father heard news of his son’s madness, he locked him away in a secluded chateau, far away so that news of the boy would not spread very far. Despite this somewhat uncaring act, Edgar’s dad loved his son, and did deliver food every so often, disguising his visits to the estate as inspections of his property. But this did nothing for Edgar, now called Wolf by his ***** mother, due to his untamed, loner attitude.
By the age of ten, Wolf had not learnt to speak a single syllable, and didn’t have anybody visiting his secluded abode at all, for his father had been killed in a peasant revolution, simply for being rich. Yet Edgar didn’t know this, and only thought more that nobody cared for him. The lack of food available started Edgar going out in the night, and practically stealing chickens and eating them uncooked. This carried on for a fair period of time, but eventually farmers became worried about a man beast roaming around the place, and started guarding their livestock even harsher than before, setting out bear traps and the like. But the son of Crowe didn’t know this, and fell deep into a pitfall trap, in which he was discovered the very next day by the community.
It had now been years since they had last seen Edgar, and not one soul recognized him, and so the villagers took him in, and because Wolf had been crippled, he could not fight back when they cared for him. It was in this time period that Edgar grew to love the people around him, who seemed devoted to caring for him, and slowly, but surely, he began to sew small threads of trust. In four years, these threads had become garments, and over that time he had learnt to verbalize the simplest of terms and read the most straightforward of books. But he was becoming a man, and though puberty had kicked in two years prior, he was only now realizing what stimulated him. There was a particular village girl, slightly younger than him, who had the finest of bosoms, and the prettiest of faces. It was she who had personally cared for Edgar in his wounds, and it was she who’s company he had enjoyed the most. It was almost agonizing how she came to visit, and talk to him, but yet never reach across and grace him with her lips.
But it was one night; now Edgar aged sixteen that she came to visit him, after they had both done their duties around the village, that Edgar made his move. Overcome by his impulses, he raped her face with his kisses, and tried making a move on her clothes. She violently struck back, sending Wolf’s face into a state of stinging pain. This altogether too familiar feeling of his childhood sent him whirling into a maddened frenzy, and he violently bit into her neck, ripping into it with his canine teeth. Her screams filled the entire village, and it was only too soon that the hamlet dwellers rushed into Edgar’s room, to find the beauty of the town lying dead in a puddle of blood, with Wolf standing over her, blood staining his mouth and clothes, howling tears.
Edgar Crowe was thrown out soon after, banished from ever returning. In build he seemed a giant compared to most other people he met, and he was constantly being awed by those he passed by. He wandered many weeks, often hungry for days, until he finally collapsed in a state of under nourishment. When he awoke, he was in the main headquarters of the Royal Edarian Army. He was quickly brought water and food, and both he took down fast without thought. As soon as he had gotten this task done, he was dragged unwillingly by the guards towards the royal throne room. He was brought to kneel down to the king, and to swear a pledge of allegiance, something Edgar refused to do multiple times until finally he hadn’t the energy to say no any longer. It was his stature that had interested everybody, and the gear that was passed to him was specially adjusted to fit his physique.
In the beginning of his career, it seemed he would not make the warrior all hoped him to be. He failed to respond to instructions, he often threatened those who dared wield their weapons against him, and was, in general, on a horizon far beyond everybody else. But as training progressed, Edgar seemed to start enjoying what he did, to the point where he actually started studying on the arts of war to the point of strategy. Soon, his higher officers could do nothing but applaud the diligence, to which Wolf practiced and studied, but were at heart, fearful that he take over their jobs. It was, conveniently enough, a time of war, and Edgar’s officers quickly sent him away to the battlefield, hoping him to be killed in battle.
At age eighteen, Wolf stormed the battlefield for the first time, against a group of barbarian tribes that were trying to invade the Edarian territories. The particular assemblage to which Wolf was assigned to defend the Edarian border with was outnumbered at least two to one. The outlook of this battle looked grim, for the captain of Wolf’s team was an utter coward, as was the superior commander. When the advantage of the battle could have been gained, they stayed in their little wooden outpost, refusing to move, despite Wolf’s desperate pleas. And so, when the barbarians attacked, the while battalion of troops was slaughtered, save Wolf. Edgar managed to fight off the invaders, repelling each one, taking on the next, until they retreated. With his first battle one, and no friends to help him should the raiders return, he marched on back to Edar.
Awarded for valour in battle, Edgar was given a position in the Royal Knight regiment, knighted by the king who he had so denied only years ago. Life continued this way for a while, Wolf now a respected member of Edar, known for being wise beyond his years, and yet astonishingly well-built. It seemed life, at twenty, was finally coming together for the wild child. He gained a wife of unsurpassed beauty and benevolence, named Laura, and became affluent beyond anything his father had accomplished.
But his former superior officers had not forgotten him, and were now envious of him. After months of planning, they sent an assassin to kill off his wife, planning to make it look like an attack from the savages to the north that had been the enemy in Wolf’s first mêlée. When Wolf found her dead, there seemed no longer a reason for living, but to defend his ruler. And so he began to fall into a deep trance over his work, spending days in the imperial library, and when not there, practicing his sword work over at the training grounds. But the envious bureaucrats had not finished their work with Wolf, but waited four years, not to make it too palpable, before breaking down the last barrier of Wolf’s mentality. During this time he had fought in more wars than anybody else, and had become a figure of excellence in everybody’s eyes, an idol of their time. A statue of him was erected in the royal courtyard, he had poems written about him by the bards of the court, but Edgar didn’t pay heed, but continued his pledge of allegiance to only the king, and nothing else in life.
Then the day came when the officers pulled their trick. They placed counterfeit documents in Wolf’s manor, claiming a plan to eliminate the king. The one man Edgar had vowed to protect was now against him, leaving him with nothing. Quicker than the bereavement of the village girl at Wolf’s hands, everything in his life shattered. His residence was taken from him, his wealth was given back to the king, and he was stripped off all honours. But because Wolf had served the country royally, he wasn’t executed, but instead exiled. Edgar knew who was behind it, but there was nothing he could do, and so he left the fatherland, a former champion, now a desperado, not even worthy of being spat on.
It was too his former rival’s lands to which he fled, for it was the only place left for him. When he got there, he was attacked. When he didn’t hold his sword against them, the brought him to his knees, and chained him, then brought him to their tribal warlord, the man who ruled all the barbarian tribes. He wasn’t accepted easily however, for this was a man who had slaughtered many of their men. But when Edgar explained what had happened, the chieftain overlooked it, knowing Wolf to be a true fighter, one who gloried in combat, and who served loyally.
The way of life was simple here, lacking the city life that Edgar had come to know, but there was something there that hadn’t been in Edar. These people had shamans, men who knew magic, something Edar didn’t have. It was under these very people that Wolf studied, for he could learn nothing more of weapons. He was an adept practitioner, and in no time he learnt how to concentrate his libido into a deviant force as strong as Wolf’s brute force. But although he tried living a life of peace with the people, known as the Limahari, he was blown out from a life of peace. Only after a few years, and Wolf being twenty eight, the Edarian Royal Corps stormed into the Limahari land, in full force, massacring every man, woman, and child they came into contact with. And Edgar was helpless, not able to be of assistance the people that had accepted him with open arms; he fled, for the very first time.
For a year he remained in isolation, in a small cave located at the border of Edar and the former Limahari kingdom, practicing his new skills, along with the old, contemplating on a way he could get back on his former allies, and not die in the process. Something was maturing him other than magic; it was something that he had lacked before, a sense of morals, but not holiness.
By thirty, he had devised a means of bringing his material form, not just his spiritual, into a different area of space, after much means of meditation. He could now open mystical doorway which, when he passed through, brought him to where he envisioned himself to wanting to be. He could envision people, and immediately the doorway would locate them, and bring him to an enclosure near towards the individual he wished to be with.
It was with this skill that he travelled to the very royal throne, which was unguarded, save the outside which was the only known way into the throne room. With nobody to save him, the king was helpless, and Wolf slaughtered him in the most disturbing way, by ripping open his eyes with his hands, and then forcing them into the man’s mouth, forcing him to swallow them. Then, when sure it had been accomplished, Wolf slit open his former emperor’s throat, leaving him for dead. He then pictured his former commanding officers, and brought himself towards them, cutting their heads off with little care for their pleas. And now, he had done what he had set out to do, he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. But it came to him in an onslaught of thoughts, not quite his own, that he should care for this realm and extend it, and it was this that brought him to become sovereign. It is under his iron fist now, that Edar is ruled. The former allegations were dropped, and he was once more revered. With his hands on approach to battle, and his general acumen, Edgar “Wolf” Crowe is the glory of the empire. What still lays in store for Edgar Crowe? Continued Brilliance? Downfall? It will all be seen as his story unfolds.
Chapter One- The Dawn of New War: It had been only nine months since his flight to power, and already Edar was in a better state than it had ever been. Edgar had taken it upon himself to instate his former mentor Zadar, of the Limahari tribe, as a member of the Royal Court. It had all seemed to be going well for the new king, until he had foolishly attempted a try at the conquest of Silophile. The country had been renowned for their advances in science. And Thomas had told him science was the way of the future. Wolf had known science once; Laura had taught him simple things about it. Eager to know more, as if to continue his wife’s wishes, he set out at once to bring the neighbouring county under his rule. In his haste, he had only taken the imperial knights. He had done rashly, on emotions, and not thoughts. He hadn’t consulted with Zadar, as he usually would have done.
The results were horrid. The Silophile army had employed the use of new weapons, called guns. Such things were known of by Wolf, but he had only known of the flintlock, which he deemed inferior to even a common bow. The ones employed by the Silophile army spat out bullets without stopping, and the barrels on these guns seemed to never stop. The bullets went at such speeds that they pierced the armour of Edgar’s comrades, and soon only half of his army remained. With no chance to prevail, he turned back towards Edar, humiliated.
The response from his people, his councillors, it was all negative. He had expected it, but he thought it would have been clouded over had they won. But they hadn’t, and so the feelings were harsh. A hundred men had been lost; give or take, and that meant a lot of grieving parents. Wolf had given a speech shortly afterwards, commemorating the dead soldiers for their valour, but it hadn’t meant anything to the ears of the people.
A month later, King Crowe was ready to move out against Silophile, this time planning to bring the entire army. No defenders to the realm, because no other enemies remained around. He had prayed, out of advice given by Thomas, and it had been while he was praying, thinking to be more honest, that he had suddenly been transported to the peak of a mountain, an arena of sorts in fact. And it was there he faced Naraku, a samurai of great skill. Their methods of fight varied greatly, but both were men of honour, and so the fight was as admirable. But it was Edgar who laid the death blow to Naraku, sending him down the mountain to his demise. |
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Last edited by Maldar the Incompetent : 02.28.04 at 08:56:57.
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