History/Story
History:
The North: a white wasteland of nothing but mountains and valleys. The land where the sun shines only once every four years and the raging blizzards never stop. And it is this desolate place that has become home to the Northman. For centuries they have braved the harsh conditions of the north and built their civilization around the unforgiving cold. Their land is not big and they only have one city…that encompasses its entire territory. And it is here where Asgeirr Frostwardt was born under a full moon – his mother giving her life to bring a new one into the world.
Since the age of six Asgeirr was taught the ways and traditions of the Northman. The first lesson he ever learned was the art of the forge. What most people are not aware of about the north is that it sits on the richest mineral deposit in the world. From precious jewels to rare ores, all could be found there in abundance. With this vast amount of resources the first art the Northman perfected was smelting. Their Steel is unmatched by any nation, not to mention the refined forms of more valuable metals such as Adamantine and Orihalcum. Not long after the Northman perfected the smithing and soon moved on to the war forge. Until this day weapons and war machines made in the great northern city surpassed any of the rival nations. And the same way his ancestors toiled for this perfection, so did Asgeirr.
Once he was of age (13 years) the true training began. It was time to leave the comfort of the city and join the Northguard – the undefeated army of frost. Training with the Northguard is no simple military training camp – it is survival of the fittest. In groups of 30 men and women they are sent out into the wild with a leader. Asgeirr was left with a group of random people with whom he was forced to train with in the raging snow storms and subzero temperatures. And if one did not meet up with expectations you would have to hunt your own meal…and the creatures living were not exactly the cute and cuddly kind. Throughout the course of this two year training he was mauled by Frost-toothed Tigers 17 times, hunted by ice trolls for weeks at a time and had his abdomen torn open by a frost wyvern. And he was one of the lucky ones. In the end of the 30 in his group, only 9 made it back alive (3 of which were severely mutilated). What returned from the frozen wilds was not the child that had left, but a hardened, merciless survivalist. It was on this day that he was, by rite, a grown man. He has slain both man and creature, feasted on the flesh of both and lead the few that remained to survive.
_______________________________________________________________________________
On yet another cold night in the country of ice and snow, he stood atop the icy terrace. A crown of Everfrost atop his head, the Blade of the Frost King resting in his hand and a deep blue cape waving ever softly in the wind. Asgeirr watched him intently, waiting for him to state the reason for his summons.
“Come forth, my son” the man finally said “behold our humble home. The place the people have entrusted our family with. I wish for you to know one thing. The reason why I left you to be raised outside the castle.”
Asgeirr still stared at his father. He harbored no hate, nor love for him. He was a stranger to the prince. All his life he was raised by mentors, only seeing the man who gave him life every once in a while.
“We Northman believe in equality. No man stands above another. We simply harbor respect for one another. Our role as nobility is a mere political formality. But humans are easily influenced by their surroundings. Had you been raised within these castle walls, your body and will would have grown weak and your ego ever greater. That is not a Northman!”
“Yes father” Asgeirr nodded obediently.
“To prevent this, I sent you to live amongst the people. To be raised according to our ancient traditions. And now, after the Trials of the Great Frost, you have matured. You are now ready to take on the responsibilities of our house.” He paused momentarily, gazing out at the city “This crown, in time, will be yours. This throne and sword as well. And thus from this day forward you shall learn the ways of poli-“
“No, father” Asgeirr said calmly “I thank you for your words and this great honor you have granted me. However I wish to serve a different way.”
“Is that so? And what would you do if not stand at my side?”
“I would serve our nation outside of the city walls. Far beyond our borders…”
“And what would you strive to achieve?”
“I would strive towards forming alliances. Our nation, though small, possesses a strong economy due to its export of valuable ores. Yet we have no allies. Esgrad forbid, most nations even don’t know we exist. All around us we see only enemies who have, over the past seven centuries, attempted to invade us 197 times. We still stand undefeated…but how long will this last. We are masters of the forge and the art of combat, yet we are far behind in the field of magic. If this continues we will eventually succumb. Not to mention our enemies have, in part, joined forces. We need an ally! We need a nation to make up for our flaws.”
“And so you have decided to venture to Fiore…” laughed the king.
“Exactly. The country hailed for its advances in magic. I have learned to control the power of our people. But there is evidently something we lack. Something that sets us apart from them. And to determine what this difference is I will join their ranks and learn their ways.”
“Your ambition is to be admired, my son. And I will approve of your quest. Experience is needed to rule. How could one, in this day and age, rule without knowledge of the outside world? Without experiencing, first hand, the difference between captivity and freedom? The time of old hound such as myself has passed. We are born soldiers, isolated and imprisoned here by ourselves. Our minds to stubbornly set in the old ways. But you who are young and free of mind, have a chance. Which is why you must replace me.”
“I shall do so with pride, father.”
“Good. Now swear an oath. An oath underneath the sky’s full moon, atop the Frozen Keep, above the unbreakable city. You shall swear to return when you are truly needed. When I fall to age, sickness or war. You must return without a hassle and lead the people to a better future than I ever could.”
“Under the great goddess Luna, the watcher Esgard and the guardian Velkyrian I make this oath bound by fate and shackled by the pride of the Northman. When the time comes, I shall return.”
Northman have never been a people to show much affection towards one another, but just this once the king embraced his only son. Praying to the gods for his safety and glory. Two more years would pass as the frost prince ventured on foot towards his new future.
RP Sample:
All fell silent as the heavy rattle of steel plates resounded throughout the room. All attention shifted to the large, burly figure in the doorway. With heavy, thumping steps it moved towards the bar counter, an icy chilled filled the room as he did so.
“Not from around here are ya, big guy?” The bartender turned towards the shelves filled with a large assortment of alcohols behind him “So what’ll it be? Beer? Whiskey? Gin?”
With a deep, thundering voice the man replied sternly “The poison of my people...Northguard Ale…”
As soon as those words left his mouth he could feel the hateful gazes set upon him. This far away from his homeland there were few who took a liking to his people. And this particular local was visited by veterans of wars gone by in the last century. The door slammed shut, the bartender retreated to his panic room and the men and women had begun to surround him.
“I’ve heard Northman to be a brave people, even heroic at times. But I’d never have thought you people were suicidal and moronic.”
The man sighed. This was not his first encounter with disdainful veterans and he knew it wasn’t the last. There was only one way this situation would end. It was a result that somewhere deep down he disliked, but his northern blood boiled with excitement. He smirked with delight.
“Oh?! You find it funny do ya, punk? Well let’s see if you’re still smilin’ when we carve ya alive!” The ex-soldiers drew their blades, some of them shaking with pent up rage.
“In my culture it is customary to introduce oneself before engaging in combat” said the large man calmly “I am Asgeirr Frostwardt. First of my name and only son to the great King of the North. Legion commander of the 7th vanguard division. Berserk Guardian of the city of snow” he swirled around on his barstool “And you poor excuses for watch guards would be?”
Needless to say that taunt triggered a full on assault against him. All 37 men and women charged with their thundering war cries towards Asgeirr. With revenge in mind and fury in their hearts, they hacked and slashed at the prince of the Frost with all their might. None of them lived through the night. All that remained of the establishment was a mountain of Everfrost shards, broken wood panels and disfigured corpses in unnatural positions. Snow began to fall, the ground began to freeze and the air grew cold. As Asgeirr exhaled his breath formed a small misty cloud. He turned around one last time to see the result of his deeds and grinned. The blood in his mouth tasted like the sweetest nectar in the world, the smell of corpses in the air exhilarated him. It was rare for him to get this excited…although it has been a long time since he last had a good fight. This one simply got a bit…out of hand. Of course he knew that if he wished to join the ranks of the Fioren elite, this would have to stop. He was not at war, nor did he come to start one. One last marvel at his work, one last sigh of sadness and Asgeirr went on his way to continue his journey to strengthen his nation.
Face Claim: N/a
History:
The North: a white wasteland of nothing but mountains and valleys. The land where the sun shines only once every four years and the raging blizzards never stop. And it is this desolate place that has become home to the Northman. For centuries they have braved the harsh conditions of the north and built their civilization around the unforgiving cold. Their land is not big and they only have one city…that encompasses its entire territory. And it is here where Asgeirr Frostwardt was born under a full moon – his mother giving her life to bring a new one into the world.
Since the age of six Asgeirr was taught the ways and traditions of the Northman. The first lesson he ever learned was the art of the forge. What most people are not aware of about the north is that it sits on the richest mineral deposit in the world. From precious jewels to rare ores, all could be found there in abundance. With this vast amount of resources the first art the Northman perfected was smelting. Their Steel is unmatched by any nation, not to mention the refined forms of more valuable metals such as Adamantine and Orihalcum. Not long after the Northman perfected the smithing and soon moved on to the war forge. Until this day weapons and war machines made in the great northern city surpassed any of the rival nations. And the same way his ancestors toiled for this perfection, so did Asgeirr.
Once he was of age (13 years) the true training began. It was time to leave the comfort of the city and join the Northguard – the undefeated army of frost. Training with the Northguard is no simple military training camp – it is survival of the fittest. In groups of 30 men and women they are sent out into the wild with a leader. Asgeirr was left with a group of random people with whom he was forced to train with in the raging snow storms and subzero temperatures. And if one did not meet up with expectations you would have to hunt your own meal…and the creatures living were not exactly the cute and cuddly kind. Throughout the course of this two year training he was mauled by Frost-toothed Tigers 17 times, hunted by ice trolls for weeks at a time and had his abdomen torn open by a frost wyvern. And he was one of the lucky ones. In the end of the 30 in his group, only 9 made it back alive (3 of which were severely mutilated). What returned from the frozen wilds was not the child that had left, but a hardened, merciless survivalist. It was on this day that he was, by rite, a grown man. He has slain both man and creature, feasted on the flesh of both and lead the few that remained to survive.
_______________________________________________________________________________
On yet another cold night in the country of ice and snow, he stood atop the icy terrace. A crown of Everfrost atop his head, the Blade of the Frost King resting in his hand and a deep blue cape waving ever softly in the wind. Asgeirr watched him intently, waiting for him to state the reason for his summons.
“Come forth, my son” the man finally said “behold our humble home. The place the people have entrusted our family with. I wish for you to know one thing. The reason why I left you to be raised outside the castle.”
Asgeirr still stared at his father. He harbored no hate, nor love for him. He was a stranger to the prince. All his life he was raised by mentors, only seeing the man who gave him life every once in a while.
“We Northman believe in equality. No man stands above another. We simply harbor respect for one another. Our role as nobility is a mere political formality. But humans are easily influenced by their surroundings. Had you been raised within these castle walls, your body and will would have grown weak and your ego ever greater. That is not a Northman!”
“Yes father” Asgeirr nodded obediently.
“To prevent this, I sent you to live amongst the people. To be raised according to our ancient traditions. And now, after the Trials of the Great Frost, you have matured. You are now ready to take on the responsibilities of our house.” He paused momentarily, gazing out at the city “This crown, in time, will be yours. This throne and sword as well. And thus from this day forward you shall learn the ways of poli-“
“No, father” Asgeirr said calmly “I thank you for your words and this great honor you have granted me. However I wish to serve a different way.”
“Is that so? And what would you do if not stand at my side?”
“I would serve our nation outside of the city walls. Far beyond our borders…”
“And what would you strive to achieve?”
“I would strive towards forming alliances. Our nation, though small, possesses a strong economy due to its export of valuable ores. Yet we have no allies. Esgrad forbid, most nations even don’t know we exist. All around us we see only enemies who have, over the past seven centuries, attempted to invade us 197 times. We still stand undefeated…but how long will this last. We are masters of the forge and the art of combat, yet we are far behind in the field of magic. If this continues we will eventually succumb. Not to mention our enemies have, in part, joined forces. We need an ally! We need a nation to make up for our flaws.”
“And so you have decided to venture to Fiore…” laughed the king.
“Exactly. The country hailed for its advances in magic. I have learned to control the power of our people. But there is evidently something we lack. Something that sets us apart from them. And to determine what this difference is I will join their ranks and learn their ways.”
“Your ambition is to be admired, my son. And I will approve of your quest. Experience is needed to rule. How could one, in this day and age, rule without knowledge of the outside world? Without experiencing, first hand, the difference between captivity and freedom? The time of old hound such as myself has passed. We are born soldiers, isolated and imprisoned here by ourselves. Our minds to stubbornly set in the old ways. But you who are young and free of mind, have a chance. Which is why you must replace me.”
“I shall do so with pride, father.”
“Good. Now swear an oath. An oath underneath the sky’s full moon, atop the Frozen Keep, above the unbreakable city. You shall swear to return when you are truly needed. When I fall to age, sickness or war. You must return without a hassle and lead the people to a better future than I ever could.”
“Under the great goddess Luna, the watcher Esgard and the guardian Velkyrian I make this oath bound by fate and shackled by the pride of the Northman. When the time comes, I shall return.”
Northman have never been a people to show much affection towards one another, but just this once the king embraced his only son. Praying to the gods for his safety and glory. Two more years would pass as the frost prince ventured on foot towards his new future.
RP Sample:
All fell silent as the heavy rattle of steel plates resounded throughout the room. All attention shifted to the large, burly figure in the doorway. With heavy, thumping steps it moved towards the bar counter, an icy chilled filled the room as he did so.
“Not from around here are ya, big guy?” The bartender turned towards the shelves filled with a large assortment of alcohols behind him “So what’ll it be? Beer? Whiskey? Gin?”
With a deep, thundering voice the man replied sternly “The poison of my people...Northguard Ale…”
As soon as those words left his mouth he could feel the hateful gazes set upon him. This far away from his homeland there were few who took a liking to his people. And this particular local was visited by veterans of wars gone by in the last century. The door slammed shut, the bartender retreated to his panic room and the men and women had begun to surround him.
“I’ve heard Northman to be a brave people, even heroic at times. But I’d never have thought you people were suicidal and moronic.”
The man sighed. This was not his first encounter with disdainful veterans and he knew it wasn’t the last. There was only one way this situation would end. It was a result that somewhere deep down he disliked, but his northern blood boiled with excitement. He smirked with delight.
“Oh?! You find it funny do ya, punk? Well let’s see if you’re still smilin’ when we carve ya alive!” The ex-soldiers drew their blades, some of them shaking with pent up rage.
“In my culture it is customary to introduce oneself before engaging in combat” said the large man calmly “I am Asgeirr Frostwardt. First of my name and only son to the great King of the North. Legion commander of the 7th vanguard division. Berserk Guardian of the city of snow” he swirled around on his barstool “And you poor excuses for watch guards would be?”
Needless to say that taunt triggered a full on assault against him. All 37 men and women charged with their thundering war cries towards Asgeirr. With revenge in mind and fury in their hearts, they hacked and slashed at the prince of the Frost with all their might. None of them lived through the night. All that remained of the establishment was a mountain of Everfrost shards, broken wood panels and disfigured corpses in unnatural positions. Snow began to fall, the ground began to freeze and the air grew cold. As Asgeirr exhaled his breath formed a small misty cloud. He turned around one last time to see the result of his deeds and grinned. The blood in his mouth tasted like the sweetest nectar in the world, the smell of corpses in the air exhilarated him. It was rare for him to get this excited…although it has been a long time since he last had a good fight. This one simply got a bit…out of hand. Of course he knew that if he wished to join the ranks of the Fioren elite, this would have to stop. He was not at war, nor did he come to start one. One last marvel at his work, one last sigh of sadness and Asgeirr went on his way to continue his journey to strengthen his nation.
Face Claim: N/a
