Post by Jakodi on Sept 4, 2007 17:06:45 GMT
Name: Jakodi Tyr (Jak -oh- dee T-ear)
I'm gonna do the history first as Jakodi is a cursed man. Born in the 6th century, around the time of King Arthur, of Nordic origin. He was part of a tribe called the Gododdin (God-oth-in) who dwelled in the North East of England. A tall man, roughly 6'3, with very dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes. He is 31 summers old. Jakodi was a proud and successful man, he had the most beautiful woman of the tribe as his wife, Bethonry, and two daughters, Almae and Caith. He was once a General for the Gododdin, his younger brother Aneirin at his side. Due to his well-stratedgised order, his army had never lost a battle and eventually had become feared in the North.
Then the time came of his downfall. The last battle fought by Jakodi was never written down in the history books of the Gododdin, Aneirin was the scribe, and this was his last battle.
It was an overcast day, scouts had seen an army marching toward their town. Messengers from the oppostition had been sent many a time to try and negotiate with the Gododdin about maybe, having their land. Of course, the answer was no, messengers mocked and sent away with insulting words to take back to their masters.
This time, messengers came with back up. A 10,000 man army. The Gododdin were 2000 strong but had never fought an army of this calibre.
The word was to meet them on top of the hill two miles from town. Jakodi and his men were ruthless fighters, he was looking forward to the challenge. He turned and winked at his brother and charged at the opposition. His stratedgy was flawless, his men must have taken out 3 flanks of a thousand within an hour. But then something happened that he did not expect. Battlemages. He had never seen such magic at work before. These magicians were unworldly. They tore the clouds from the sky, opening cracks of which the blinding summer sun struck through. His men were blinded. He saw a silhouette of his brother fall. Jakodi cried his name. He cursed the Sun, he cursed Mother Earth, he cursed the army infront of him. He took his sword and charged, in a complete frenzy, thirsty for the blood of murderers. Blinded by his rage, he was struck by a bolt of magic. He could hear a womans voice in the distance, shouting an incantation at him, he yelled over her, every ounce of hatred and evil in him was shouted upon her, still she carried on. He felt his skin and bones contorting. He was getting weak. He looked at his hands, aging rapidly. Was this it? Nothing.
Jakodi woke. He could hardly move. The weight of his armour was keeping him down, never a case before... He looked around, bodies all round him. His brother. The adrenalin helped him lift himself up and he hobbled over to him, Aneirins eyes, lifeless. Jakodi closed them and dragged his sword upon his chest. He wept. He tried to say a prayer. 'Why can't I speak?'
He stripped down to the rags underneath his armour and limped back into town. He couldn't stand up straight, he was having a hard time breathing.
Eventually he got there, but it was not the welcome he was expecting. His home had been torn down, burnt to the ground. He made some sounds in his throat of sheer horror. His wife and daughters. 'where are you my love?' he could see her face in his mind, the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine. Waist length, wavy brunette hair and the deepest brown eyes. Perfect. His eyes watered as he feared the worst. He tripped as he ran to his house, nothing could stop him. His house. Now a pile of hot embers. Jakodi cried. He scrambled through what was once the door. Nothing. No bodies anywhere. 'What does this mean?' There were bodies of other villagers around the streets.. where was his wife? He could hear marching in the distance. Getting louder. He tried to run and tripped again, knocked his head on a fallen timber. Nothing.
200 years have passed and the world has changed. Jakodi has realised the extent of his curse. An old haggard man. He prays every day that he would fall asleep and never wake up. Or maybe at least find a cure for is broken body. A day never goes by where he doesnt think of his love Bethonry, his children.
He keeps having dreams of a place of permenant midnight. Come to think of it... He hasnt seen the sun for days...
Age: Over 200 years old now. Looks around 70-80. Hard to tell.
Species: Human.
Profile: Jakodi is now around 4'6, but thats only because he is hunched over. Whats left of his hair is long and grey. His skin is blotchy and pale. He is still wearing the same rags that he was wearing underneath his armour. His mouth is leant towrds one side as if he had had a stroke. He has little possesions, except whats in a pouch tied round his waist which contains a few silver, a small dagger and his wife's tiny terracotta pot which she used to keep an oil in that she used to perfume her hair.
Other Forms (Optional): It is belived that if the curse is lifted then he would turn back into the Jakodi before. This has never been proven.
Weapons (Optional): A small dagger. Not really much of a fighting weapon, more of a tool.
Magic (Optional): None.
Personality: Jakodi, was once a successful and proud man. Happy, witty, well loved and respected by all in his community. As all of that was taken away from him, its not surprising that he is bitter and cold. Depressed. He has lost everything. Including the ability to speak his frustrations. He is sound in mind but not in body. His curse has made him immortal, he is tired. The only thing he wants is to have his own body back. So he can move on.
It's a long one people, and I apologise for that, but I wanted to get the whole histiory in just so you know. The Gododdin were actually a tribe in the 6th century and Aneirin was a poet of that time. The rest is from my head ^_^
I'm gonna do the history first as Jakodi is a cursed man. Born in the 6th century, around the time of King Arthur, of Nordic origin. He was part of a tribe called the Gododdin (God-oth-in) who dwelled in the North East of England. A tall man, roughly 6'3, with very dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes. He is 31 summers old. Jakodi was a proud and successful man, he had the most beautiful woman of the tribe as his wife, Bethonry, and two daughters, Almae and Caith. He was once a General for the Gododdin, his younger brother Aneirin at his side. Due to his well-stratedgised order, his army had never lost a battle and eventually had become feared in the North.
Then the time came of his downfall. The last battle fought by Jakodi was never written down in the history books of the Gododdin, Aneirin was the scribe, and this was his last battle.
It was an overcast day, scouts had seen an army marching toward their town. Messengers from the oppostition had been sent many a time to try and negotiate with the Gododdin about maybe, having their land. Of course, the answer was no, messengers mocked and sent away with insulting words to take back to their masters.
This time, messengers came with back up. A 10,000 man army. The Gododdin were 2000 strong but had never fought an army of this calibre.
The word was to meet them on top of the hill two miles from town. Jakodi and his men were ruthless fighters, he was looking forward to the challenge. He turned and winked at his brother and charged at the opposition. His stratedgy was flawless, his men must have taken out 3 flanks of a thousand within an hour. But then something happened that he did not expect. Battlemages. He had never seen such magic at work before. These magicians were unworldly. They tore the clouds from the sky, opening cracks of which the blinding summer sun struck through. His men were blinded. He saw a silhouette of his brother fall. Jakodi cried his name. He cursed the Sun, he cursed Mother Earth, he cursed the army infront of him. He took his sword and charged, in a complete frenzy, thirsty for the blood of murderers. Blinded by his rage, he was struck by a bolt of magic. He could hear a womans voice in the distance, shouting an incantation at him, he yelled over her, every ounce of hatred and evil in him was shouted upon her, still she carried on. He felt his skin and bones contorting. He was getting weak. He looked at his hands, aging rapidly. Was this it? Nothing.
Jakodi woke. He could hardly move. The weight of his armour was keeping him down, never a case before... He looked around, bodies all round him. His brother. The adrenalin helped him lift himself up and he hobbled over to him, Aneirins eyes, lifeless. Jakodi closed them and dragged his sword upon his chest. He wept. He tried to say a prayer. 'Why can't I speak?'
He stripped down to the rags underneath his armour and limped back into town. He couldn't stand up straight, he was having a hard time breathing.
Eventually he got there, but it was not the welcome he was expecting. His home had been torn down, burnt to the ground. He made some sounds in his throat of sheer horror. His wife and daughters. 'where are you my love?' he could see her face in his mind, the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine. Waist length, wavy brunette hair and the deepest brown eyes. Perfect. His eyes watered as he feared the worst. He tripped as he ran to his house, nothing could stop him. His house. Now a pile of hot embers. Jakodi cried. He scrambled through what was once the door. Nothing. No bodies anywhere. 'What does this mean?' There were bodies of other villagers around the streets.. where was his wife? He could hear marching in the distance. Getting louder. He tried to run and tripped again, knocked his head on a fallen timber. Nothing.
200 years have passed and the world has changed. Jakodi has realised the extent of his curse. An old haggard man. He prays every day that he would fall asleep and never wake up. Or maybe at least find a cure for is broken body. A day never goes by where he doesnt think of his love Bethonry, his children.
He keeps having dreams of a place of permenant midnight. Come to think of it... He hasnt seen the sun for days...
Age: Over 200 years old now. Looks around 70-80. Hard to tell.
Species: Human.
Profile: Jakodi is now around 4'6, but thats only because he is hunched over. Whats left of his hair is long and grey. His skin is blotchy and pale. He is still wearing the same rags that he was wearing underneath his armour. His mouth is leant towrds one side as if he had had a stroke. He has little possesions, except whats in a pouch tied round his waist which contains a few silver, a small dagger and his wife's tiny terracotta pot which she used to keep an oil in that she used to perfume her hair.
Other Forms (Optional): It is belived that if the curse is lifted then he would turn back into the Jakodi before. This has never been proven.
Weapons (Optional): A small dagger. Not really much of a fighting weapon, more of a tool.
Magic (Optional): None.
Personality: Jakodi, was once a successful and proud man. Happy, witty, well loved and respected by all in his community. As all of that was taken away from him, its not surprising that he is bitter and cold. Depressed. He has lost everything. Including the ability to speak his frustrations. He is sound in mind but not in body. His curse has made him immortal, he is tired. The only thing he wants is to have his own body back. So he can move on.
It's a long one people, and I apologise for that, but I wanted to get the whole histiory in just so you know. The Gododdin were actually a tribe in the 6th century and Aneirin was a poet of that time. The rest is from my head ^_^