Application: Shannow

1) Shannow 'Bladebiter' Gromath
2) Cimmerian
3) 21
4) Balance/Wherever I am needed.
5) Shannow is of a medium build, and medium strength and mass. However, the gleam in his eye, and the dark red patches in his Ginger mane betray the mind behind the man. He strides with purpose, with that of one who does justice for whatever cause followed. Justice, by the sword. Dressed in fairly minimal clothing, nothing more than a girdle and boots, and his blade to keep the cold away. On occasion, he may be seen wearing a black cloak, also stained with the blood of his enemies. A scar can be seen on either side of his mouth, if one looks beneath the beard.

6) Shannow Gromath was born into an angry world. His mother gave birth to him aboard a Stygian slave ship, where he was taken instantly by the dusky skinned bastards and raised as a sacrifical beast. The only times his mother was able to hold her babe, was when she suckled him. They channeled their energies into him, fed him, clothed him, gave him weapons with which to fight. He was forced into bloodsports at the amusement of Stygian noblemen, egged on to tear his opponents apart by hand after killing them with an assortment of brutal weapons. The blood from this arena flowed down channels, to a great altar to the Serpent God, Set. Those baleful eyes that blazed from the serpent's portals shadowed the life of Shannow, as he ripped and tore his way through cadavers. At the age of 11, a monstrous moment occured that severed Shannows last ties to sanity and morality forever. Into the death pit was thrust his mother, already beaten to bloody ruin. Left no choice, he did only what he could do. He ended his own mothers life on that arena floor, her blood feeding the altar of the serpent god. From the dessicated corpse, Gromath removed a rib. From the rib of his mother, life was given again to this young man.

Months passed, and Shannow lay mute. Mute, but not idle. Bloodied fingernails scraped at the rib, sharpening it to a point. He fed, he excercised, and became stronger and stronger. Yet more sacrifices were thrown into the pit with him, yet more blood flowed onto the altar. Finally, at the age of 15, Shannows time came. The iron bars of his cell squealed open once again, for him to be taken to the arena. In a gargantuan effort of will and strength, the Cimmerian overpowered the guard, using the rib to penetrate deeply into its chainmail. Again, and again, the links shattered, until a bloody, gaping hole was rent in the chest of the guard. Shannow loped off down the hallway, into the arena floor. The bastard Stygians clapped, and whistled. A frail boy stood before him, the days sacrifice to Set. Whimpering, pleading, the boy was drenched in piss and tears. Shannow spits, and tenses, eyes narrowed. Running towards the corner of the wall, Shannow bounds up, using his massive legs to thrust upwards, and into the arena seating. Screams all around, shouting from guards, whimpering from the boy. The Stygians are no match for Shannows arms, and he smashs them aside with ease, relish even. Cutting a bloody swathe through the confused milling crowd, Gromath finds his target. The Stygian that imprisoned his mother, who laughed as he was forced to kill her, to kill all those men, women and children. Now this man defecates himself, and a foul stench fills Shannows nostrils. The Cimmerian laughs at this display, and jumps from the seats, grasping the Stygian, into the arena floor. He marches, pointedly, towards the statue of Set. Through the dusty arena, and the bloodstained channels leading to the altar. The stygian whimpers, like a newborn goat. They reach the altar, The Barbarian lifts the Stygian high. With a beastial roar, the dusky skinned tyrant is thrust onto the statue, blood and bone erupting forth from his silken garbed chest, where a snakes head now protrudes. Blood drips, gushes from the fatal wound, organs floundering like fish on dry land. With another roar, Shannow takes the rib of his mother, and thrusts it through the Stygians head, shattering the skull in two.

In the chaos, escape was simple. Slipping over a wall, down some alleyways, to the docks, Gromath procured a ship. Not knowing how to sail, the crew were simply scared into submission by his bloodstained, fury maddened bulk. And so they sailed onward, towards Tortage, and a new dawn for Shannow Gromath...

7) Character reasoning to join will be done in game. As you can tell, the above is a sort of prelude to the opening sequence of AoC, and I like to make reasons for my joining guilds from things that happen in-game. (An example is me being recruited into a former guild by their GM, offering me a position in a military when being found drunk and disorderly, which I have since written into that characters biography/history).

Another crazy. The story is awesome, but I do want to know, is he able to function socially?

Welcome
nice story I like how it ends where AOC will start
Dyma will welcome you if you wish to join us

Good descriptive story, however, a 15 year old lifting up a fully grown man and shattering his skull is a tad hard to believe But at least you have imagination. Good luck and welcome.

I liked the background, very bloodthirsty . I do have to agree with Shadoloo Tan though, I couldn't imagine any 15 year old lifting a adult male, unless he was extremely scrawny and frail. Still, I think its a good application and the only thing that I personally would changed is his age at certain events.

I could see you and Presdon Short getting along fine!

Welcome and good luck!

well in his defence he was talking about alot of exersize and magical enhancements.

Gah, good point Rashad. I was thinking logically in RL for a moment there...

All is well then; Hyboria is full of magic and strength so your story is correctly justified.

Thank you for your kind words. Of course, the issue of a 15 year old defeating a full grown man is odd, but yes, the character was trained from birth to be as strong and as bloodthirsty as possible. Coupled with mild sorcery to enhance muscle growth somewhat, shoving a full grown Stygian (A stereotypically thin race) onto a statue of Set, could happen.

Dyma would be ok, as long as I get to mercilessly kill anything and everything!

Shannow wrote:

Dyma would be ok, as long as I get to mercilessly kill anything and everything!

To be honest i dont think any of our clans will allow you to just mercilessly kill anything, except maybe Secrets...cause then no-one will know and youd likely be an assassin...

The House is mercyless.. But not barbaric and very reserved. Sure you don't spare anyone on the battlefield, but you won't be allowed to be going on rampages when you're not told to.

Did anyone accept this fellow into their clan yet?

Damak would love to have a fellah goin on countless killingspree in the name of our lord ^^

then Damak will have him. Unless he protests. In which case we'll gag him and Damak will have him anyway.

Very well, I shall join Damak.

yay! welcome to the gang mate.

Nooo I didnt get a chance to get him into secrets. haha. WQeclome to the new dawn and hope u like Damak *whispers* if not you can join secrets

Rashad wrote:

Did anyone accept this fellow into their clan yet?

Yes, the third post
All well...one day...you will all join Dyma....

*some guttural sounds are emitted from Shannow*
A small mongrel of a man pops out from behind a bush, clears his throat, and says...
'Translation: I know how we can solve this. A brutal (RP-In character) fight to the death, to vie for who obtains the power of the Bladebiter!'
*more sounds from the direction of the barbarian*
The small man clears his throat once more.
'He said, 'REND EACH OTHER IN TWAIN!'
On the edge of your hearing, a faint tune can be heard, dipping in and out of earshot.
(http://www.geocities.com/televisioncity/studio/6546/Wavs/fightm.wav)
The Cimmerian takes a seat upon a large chair that appeared from nowhere, and sits astride it. The ground falls away, leaving a large pit, with dogs running around inside. The bloody minded cimmerian points to the champions of Dyma and Damak, and then to the pit floor.

actually.. I've already put you in Damak.. *puts fingers together repeatedly in that nervous anime-girl sort of way*

The Cimmerian looks sad at this news, picks up his sword, and moves off towards wherever Damak is. The small man sidles up to Rashad, licks his toes three times, then backs off, prostrated, into the undergrowth. From up in the sky, a comet falls to the earth, crushing the pit and throne (Oh, and the dogs...little bastards....). The music fades away into nothingness, until epic battles are afoot again. All is well with the world.