Post by Giant Brother on Nov 26, 2007 7:53:24 GMT -5
Name: Quinten Law
Age: Appears to be 35
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Timeline: Medieval (Fire Emblem)
Power Level: High-Tier Medium
Allignment: Lawful Neutral
FE Class: Swordmaster
Appearance: Quinten has brash, vivid orange hair, which goes down his back in a tangled mess, just barely kept back in check by various ties, each one managing to group it all together for only an inch, at which point it returns to its wild state. He wears a lightweight, white shirt of what seems to be a far eastern (specifically Chinese) design, with gold trim. The shirt goes down the right side of his body into a sort of half-skirt, leaving the rest of his lower body to be covered in black pants, also with a gold trim. He has a beautifully ornate white and gold sword sheath slung to his side on a gold sash. He also has several scars on his face and body.
Personality: While his appearance seems to depict that of a seasoned, peerless warrior with noble - almost saintly - origin, Quinten's personality makes him come across as a lazy, eccentric washout. He is a very mellow person, never panicing about anything. Instead, he merely lies back and watches as the events unfold. He has many bizarre quirks that seem to destroy any credibility his sloth-like behaviour may have left intact. He has a penchant for cracking wise, and has an overall cheery demeanor, though he still doesn't act like he cares bout anything. Underneath this is actually a very serious person, much more like the warrior he appears to be. However, this inner warrior rarely muscles his way past the napping, cloud watching burnout on the outside.
History (In his own words): Once, there was a myrimdon by the name of Wes Telnorth. He hailed from Lycia, Ostia, specifically. He was a retainer to the Marquis, very high up on the ladder, and led small armies against nearly impossible odds and won. And he was a damn fine looking young fellow, too. Not to mention, he was the finest swordsman of Lycia, maybe even Elibe.
Alright... That's a lie.
Wes Telnorth was not a retainer to royalty, he was little more than a bandit swordsman, and he probably couldn't lead all of Bern's legions against a rabbit. Not to mention, his swordsplay at the time was... poor. On the other hand, I wasn't lying, he was a handsome lad.
But, a swordsman he was, and a swordsman he is.
"But what does some lowlife bandit have to do with your story?" You may ask. Huh? You don't? Oh... Uh, anyways, assuming you DID ask, since you're supposed to, I'll tell you. Wes Telnorth was a lost soul, if you could even say he was a soul at all. Improving his strength was his only goal. He didn't live for today or tommorow, he only lived to see more blood drip off the edge of his blade. As deplorable as he sounds, that's how he was. Lost in his own ambition, drowning with no way to escape. The only thing he knew from then on... was progress. But it would be that drive for improvement that would unravel his entire outlook on life.
Razing villages and sacking towns had lost their appeal to him. Civillians were to easy to cut down, you see. He needed something more, something that would fight back when he sliced into them. So, Wes and his band of cutthroats sought out more exciting targets, towns with more millitary prowess, actual camps for the army, and the like. The more they stepped up, the more Wes sank into his dark, dank hole.
Eventually he started working on his own, seeking out new enemies, the type of warriors whose names you hear whispered with awe and fear in the taverns. However, his very first target taught him a lesson he wouldn't soon forget.
A noble swordmaster, said to have slain countless thousands on the battlefield. A man told to have torn through battallions like a comet, hacking down all those who oppose him. A man whose presence was foretold by a flash of steel and a rainstorm of blood. THAT was Wes's first goal.
That man was also my mentor. A man who taught me the beauty of peace, a man who taught me he importance of going to bed early and sleeping in late. A man who convinced me to not perfect swordsmanship for the sake of death, but to protect the beauty around us. He taught me the values of family, of friendship, of love and of nature. He convinced me to put my identity, all I knew behind me, and to set up hemitage with him in the mountains. He was a man whose presence was not indicated by the sight of gore and corpses, but of the laughter of his beloved daughter, who I had grown to love.
That man was my mentor. My name used to be Wes Telnorth, a myrimdon focused solely on his sword, so focused he had no skill with it whatsoever. I am no longer that man, I was reborn a new one. My name is Quinten Law, a better man, and a better sordsman because of it.
Powers: Quinten can access blindingly fast speeds, moving at the blink of an eye to execute lightning quick strikes. He has far greater access to the "critical hit" than most others, creating five illusionary doubles, each one moving in as a blur to strike a blow, finishing with the real Quinten striking an attack himself. He also has access to amazing acrobatic skill and agility, making him very hard to hit and almost harder to dodge.
Weapons: His sword, beautifully crafted for maximum cutting power. It is lightweight, but still unweildly unless in the hands of an expert. It is long, and in the design of a Middle Eastern sword, such as a shamshir.
Weaknesses: While he's fast and his sword is sharp, he's not very strong physically. It's really his sword that makes him very dangerous, though he can fight without it, and has fought in several awkward positions with it, other warrior can over power him easily. He has no distance attacks, so that leaves him vulnerable to things like mages until he can get close enough to strike.
Age: Appears to be 35
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Timeline: Medieval (Fire Emblem)
Power Level: High-Tier Medium
Allignment: Lawful Neutral
FE Class: Swordmaster
Appearance: Quinten has brash, vivid orange hair, which goes down his back in a tangled mess, just barely kept back in check by various ties, each one managing to group it all together for only an inch, at which point it returns to its wild state. He wears a lightweight, white shirt of what seems to be a far eastern (specifically Chinese) design, with gold trim. The shirt goes down the right side of his body into a sort of half-skirt, leaving the rest of his lower body to be covered in black pants, also with a gold trim. He has a beautifully ornate white and gold sword sheath slung to his side on a gold sash. He also has several scars on his face and body.
Personality: While his appearance seems to depict that of a seasoned, peerless warrior with noble - almost saintly - origin, Quinten's personality makes him come across as a lazy, eccentric washout. He is a very mellow person, never panicing about anything. Instead, he merely lies back and watches as the events unfold. He has many bizarre quirks that seem to destroy any credibility his sloth-like behaviour may have left intact. He has a penchant for cracking wise, and has an overall cheery demeanor, though he still doesn't act like he cares bout anything. Underneath this is actually a very serious person, much more like the warrior he appears to be. However, this inner warrior rarely muscles his way past the napping, cloud watching burnout on the outside.
History (In his own words): Once, there was a myrimdon by the name of Wes Telnorth. He hailed from Lycia, Ostia, specifically. He was a retainer to the Marquis, very high up on the ladder, and led small armies against nearly impossible odds and won. And he was a damn fine looking young fellow, too. Not to mention, he was the finest swordsman of Lycia, maybe even Elibe.
Alright... That's a lie.
Wes Telnorth was not a retainer to royalty, he was little more than a bandit swordsman, and he probably couldn't lead all of Bern's legions against a rabbit. Not to mention, his swordsplay at the time was... poor. On the other hand, I wasn't lying, he was a handsome lad.
But, a swordsman he was, and a swordsman he is.
"But what does some lowlife bandit have to do with your story?" You may ask. Huh? You don't? Oh... Uh, anyways, assuming you DID ask, since you're supposed to, I'll tell you. Wes Telnorth was a lost soul, if you could even say he was a soul at all. Improving his strength was his only goal. He didn't live for today or tommorow, he only lived to see more blood drip off the edge of his blade. As deplorable as he sounds, that's how he was. Lost in his own ambition, drowning with no way to escape. The only thing he knew from then on... was progress. But it would be that drive for improvement that would unravel his entire outlook on life.
Razing villages and sacking towns had lost their appeal to him. Civillians were to easy to cut down, you see. He needed something more, something that would fight back when he sliced into them. So, Wes and his band of cutthroats sought out more exciting targets, towns with more millitary prowess, actual camps for the army, and the like. The more they stepped up, the more Wes sank into his dark, dank hole.
Eventually he started working on his own, seeking out new enemies, the type of warriors whose names you hear whispered with awe and fear in the taverns. However, his very first target taught him a lesson he wouldn't soon forget.
A noble swordmaster, said to have slain countless thousands on the battlefield. A man told to have torn through battallions like a comet, hacking down all those who oppose him. A man whose presence was foretold by a flash of steel and a rainstorm of blood. THAT was Wes's first goal.
That man was also my mentor. A man who taught me the beauty of peace, a man who taught me he importance of going to bed early and sleeping in late. A man who convinced me to not perfect swordsmanship for the sake of death, but to protect the beauty around us. He taught me the values of family, of friendship, of love and of nature. He convinced me to put my identity, all I knew behind me, and to set up hemitage with him in the mountains. He was a man whose presence was not indicated by the sight of gore and corpses, but of the laughter of his beloved daughter, who I had grown to love.
That man was my mentor. My name used to be Wes Telnorth, a myrimdon focused solely on his sword, so focused he had no skill with it whatsoever. I am no longer that man, I was reborn a new one. My name is Quinten Law, a better man, and a better sordsman because of it.
Powers: Quinten can access blindingly fast speeds, moving at the blink of an eye to execute lightning quick strikes. He has far greater access to the "critical hit" than most others, creating five illusionary doubles, each one moving in as a blur to strike a blow, finishing with the real Quinten striking an attack himself. He also has access to amazing acrobatic skill and agility, making him very hard to hit and almost harder to dodge.
Weapons: His sword, beautifully crafted for maximum cutting power. It is lightweight, but still unweildly unless in the hands of an expert. It is long, and in the design of a Middle Eastern sword, such as a shamshir.
Weaknesses: While he's fast and his sword is sharp, he's not very strong physically. It's really his sword that makes him very dangerous, though he can fight without it, and has fought in several awkward positions with it, other warrior can over power him easily. He has no distance attacks, so that leaves him vulnerable to things like mages until he can get close enough to strike.
