Alright then. Would his centuries of combat experience and training still be a factor?
Also while he died semi-young (30) im gonna make him act like somewhat of a grumpy old man. As well as an alcoholic and well, sexist and crude. But thats just his culture.
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Yes, his combat experience would be a factor, but modern weaponry would still be a new concept.
How you make his personality is entirely up to you, so long as he can (kinda) jive with the others.
He can. He might make some vulgar comments or jokes (like telling the story of the time he had sex with a bear, it didn't happen, but he tells it anyway), but he IS still a professional soldier, and understands the value of teamwork (doesn't mean he won't be all 'blah blah in my day when we wanted to kill a man, we did it with our bare hands like REAL men').
well, I'm going under the assumption that more and more people get coming to Valhalla, the Einherjar didn't just cap with the end of Norse culture, so modern soldiers would have come in too, and would have talked of what they did. And that's why he made the bet. In his mind, the exploits of the newer Einherjar were not as...heroic as the past ones, so the drunken bet he made was 'If this (the newer ones) passes for what the Gods call heroes, I wager I could do it a second time." Thor, being drunk as well and not realizing the implications (fate decrees that the gods will need EVERY Einherjar) agrees and has a valkyrie bring him back to earth.
When Thor sobered up he realised just how bad he screwed up and got an earful from his mother and father.
Last edited by Cfavano; 09-16-2016 at 07:13 PM.
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I look at it this way, Cf - only warriors who actively follow the Norse gods will get into Valhalla. Joan d'Arc wouldn't have gone to Valhalla. It would have been a slap to the face of her faith. With so few devoutly believing in the Aesir in so long, there would be few modern warriors in Odin's Hall, if any.
Does that make sense?
His wager could still be valid, as they could still perceive the various realities through the World Tree, but his modern firearms skills would be considerable less than his physical skills. Consider it a balance since he is basically superhuman with relic weapons.
Also...
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
I will be making an addendum to character sheets active immediately. When you submit your character sheet, be sure to PM to me their "Breaking Point(s)".
What is a Breaking Point? Pretty simple.
What is their Achilles heel? The crack in their armor? The vulnerable gap in their iron hide? Everyone has them, some are physical, some of psychological. I want at least one for each, but you are more than welcome to give me more. Make them interesting, honest, and real. When a Breaking Point is reached, a character may have some adverse effects and conditions thrust upon them. This doesn't mean madness, (though it can happen) but with every Breaking Point, characters will begin to get worn down and burned out. I expect the Players to reflect this in their writing if/when it happens.
Remember, Limitations > Power
Last edited by StormWolf; 09-16-2016 at 07:42 PM.
Oh he refuses entirely to use guns. He sees them as the weapons of cowards. The most advanced ranged weapon hed ever use is an arbalest, and he didnt even do that.
Spoiler: Things I like
Not really. Nathan is a Saxon, remember?
My guy was at the battle of Stamford he was the Viking on the bridge.
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Name: Thrangeir the Giant
Gender: Male
[b]Race/Species:[b] Einherjar, Human, Scandanavian, from modern day Norway
Age (Real and apparent, if applicable): His biological age is 30, however, having died in the Battle of Stamford, in 1066, he is 980 years old.
Appearance:
Tharangeir is large, Giant, even. Topping Seven and a half feet, and well over two-hundred pounds of muscle and hate, in life, he inspired fear and awe, and in death, even more so. In Valhalla, he retained his lively, useful appearance, but on returning to earth, his skin has partially turned a corpse-like grey, His sea-green eyes constantly blood-shot, his teeth broken and yellow, and his fingernails blue. He is also gifted down south, and he calls it his 'longboat'.
He has blood-red hair, kept long and wild with several braids. His long beard is also braided. His hair and body is typically greasy and smells like sour beer, sweat, and other bodily excretions as he does not bathe often, only several times a month.
Personality: Bawdy, brawly, and bold are three adjectives to describe him. He is a proud and violent warrior, quick to anger, and always ready and willing to fight, drink, or fuck. He is loyal to his own whims, to gold, and to glory. Death holds no fear or mystery to him (having died once already). While he has no sense of honor, he does despise those who would resort to outright trickery or deceit in order to win a fight. Might makes right in his mind and the strong deserve to rule the weak.
Powers, Traits, and Abilities: As an Einherjar, he has physical capabilities beyond that of a normal human. His centuries of combat in the fields outside of the Great hall of Valhalla has honed his combat skills to a razor edge, mastering every weapon known to the Norsemen. Like other Einherjar, in this manner, he is the ultimate Warrior.
Outside of combat, it is said he has the hardest-working liver in the world, especially since he spent his nights in Valhalla drinking and feasting. To his disdain, the mead and beer of the modern world is far weaker than the sweet nectar he drank in Valhalla (in his own words 'My piss could get men drunker') Because of this, he can, and does, drink beer and mead by the quart, out of a large drinking horn, and rarely ever gets more than slightly buzzed.
He can also read and write.
His strength is that he can crush a man's skull in his hands, or rip someone's head off, as well as live heavy and cumbersome items by himself. One time, he wanted to sneak out of the castle to bed a few whores in the nearby town, however the iron portcullis had been lowered. With his bare hands he lifted the portcullis enough for him to walk through, breaking the locks with his strength.
His endurance is such that he can basically fight and run all day, like he did every single day in Valhalla for centuries, in full armor. The temperature of the environment around him plays little factor, and he can go for days on little water and food. He can shrug off the pain of most non-lethal blows (getting beat about the head for centuries will do that to you)
He is quite good with a bow, befitting his training. He can hit a rabbit in the eye at 100 yards
Standard Loadout:
His gear on earth is not his own, he having plundered it from the barrows of fallen warriors. he had been given leave to do so by Decree of the God Odin himself. All are old, yet shine like new, and are rune-inscribed to never rust or break.
He has a Langseax
From the tomb of Lorfir the relentless, a swift raider, d. 980
A leaf-bladed spear of black steel, from the tomb of Hrundir the shield-maid, d.1045.
A round-shield of iron and black oak, from the tomb of Thendour the flatulent, d. 1005
A bow of dragon-bone, with a quiver of troll-hide, from the tomb of Sigismund the swift, d. 978
A special suit of armor made of tanned giant hide, with plates made from giant-bone, a material stronger than any iron, yet much lighter. This full suit from helm to boots, was pilfered from the tomb of a nameless warrior, and lends to its bearer a frightening appearance.
Background: Tharangeir was the fifth-born son of Heimdall, a Thegn of King Magnus I, and then later Harald Hardrada. Large even at birth, Tharangeir's mother died after childbirt due to being basically split open (she was a rather small woman, and Tharangeir was roughly the size of a six-month old at birth). Tharangeir had a taste for violence, even at a young age, torturing small animals, and tales of servants and smallfolk disappearing from the lands around his family's keep spread, as well as other tales of cruelty and violence such as when he nearly burned his brother's face off for stealing his toy.
Taught in the various arts of war, Tharangeir participated in many raids, and brought back much wealth in gold and slaves. He also had a taste for women, and it was never known how many bastards he sired among the commoners and female slaves of his household, but there were many.
Tharangeir later met his death during the battle of Stamford, fighting gallantly and gloriously on the only bridge across the river, and while his name was lost to history (perhaps to cover up how much of a horrible person he was), he was remembered as 'The Viking of Stamford Bridge'.
After death he was brought up to Valhalla, where he was greeted by his ancestors and kinsmen, and for centuries he fought, fucked, and feasted with them, ever growing more and more disgusted with the state of the world. To the point that, one night, he and Thor got alarmingly drunk, and he made a wager that the new crop of Einherjar (as the worship of the Norse Gods had not completely gone away, just diminished) was so poor, that if these cowards could get into Valhalla, he could do so a second time. Thor, being delightfully soused, agreed, and had a Valkyrie carry him back to earth, and dumped him in the Courtyard of the castle the Valkyries used.
When Tharangeir woke up...he was not happy. Three doctors died, as well as four guards, and it took several lorge darts filled with Ketamine to finally take him down. He eventually calmed down after seven months, and is now using his position to win himself enough personal glory to get back into Valhalla, not caring one iota about the ACTUAL conflicts of earth.
RP Sample:
This was the end, Tharangeir knew it. He saw his life flash before his eyes, and he knew death awaited him. He heard the raven's song as a wall of Saxons and their gleaming weapons, still wet with the blood of his compariots advanced towards him. There would be no escape, no surrender, and no quarter would be given. This day would be his last day, and no one would be there to bury him, he would never see his family ever again. He faced his doom...and he smiled.
Taking his axe in both hands and unleashing a mighty warcry, Tharangeir, son of Heimdall, laid about himself on both sides with mighty blows upon his enemies. Dozens fell to his mighty strikes, while none of their blades could do more than scratch him. Bodies and limbs piled up on the bridge, forcing the Saxons to climb over their own dead to get to him, only to die on unsteady feet as the axe came down upon them. For an hour this went, and the river ran red with blood.
But this story would not end in victory. There were too many, and as all know, Saxons have no honor. So it was by trickery that Tharangeir fell, a nameless coward, who was forever tormented in Hel for his cowardice, floated on a barrel underneath the bridge, and thrust upward with his spear, piercing Tharangeir's manhood. Tharangeir fell to his knees as his foes rushed over him and across the bridge. His world went silent, he no longer noticed the pain, the blood flowing from his pierced body. He felt a touch on his shoulder, a beautiful woman with golden eyes and red hair, wearing a coat of swan feathers. She looked upon him and smiled, fiercely and fondly, and spoke his name in a voice full of light. She cradled his head in her arms, as the last of his heartsblood spilled, staining her Swan-coat. When he awoke, he was in the Hall of Valhalla, and was welcomed as a hero.
Last edited by Cfavano; 09-20-2016 at 06:22 PM.
Spoiler: Things I like
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