|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Jul 17, 2011 9:49 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 8:54 am
 |
|
|
 |
 Name: Herryk
Nicknames: Uhh, we'll see what happens.
Gender: All man, baby.
Age: Gosh. Uhh, 18?
Faction/Race Undead! Draugr, specifically~
Natural Ability: Changing his size at will.
Personality: Herryk is a Draugr.
He's not one of those sissy corpse-pale Draugr, either. No, Herryk is all manry man and that means he's death black, literally. How metal is that? Wanna see his muscles? He can even make his pecs twitch independently. One at a time, yeaaaah. Would you like to touch Herryk's long black hair? Perhaps brush your hand against Herryk's hairy chest (ladies only)? Oogle the runestone necklace Herryk wears.
Is nice, yes?
Herryk really isn't the brightest crayon in the box and mostly excells at things like Bruteball (or any other contact sport) or even hard manual labor. The fact that he can change his size at will means that he can change his physique to better match whatever duties are in store for him. Herryk isn't a bully, he isn't a brute. He's borderline meathead jock, but Herryk is... well, Herryk is a bro. A real bro. You need a big hole dug? As long as Herryk can talk about Bruteball or weightlifting, well, you have a bro for life. Need something really heavy carried for you? Herryk is your Draugr as long as you don't mind listening to Herryk talk about various sports, which is something he enjoys doing. He doesn't really even know why he enjoys physical activity much -- he just knows that it's somehow familiar to him.
Herryk isn't really smart enough for ulterior motives and considers everyone a friend -- unfortunately this means that sometimes Herryk is easily conned into doing things that he wouldn't normally otherwise do. He's always frustrated with himself when something like this happens once he realizes its happened. Well, if he realizes it. Usually he's so devoted to his 'friends' that he doesn't understand when he's been used despite what others might say and merely brushes it off as a 'mistake' or a 'misunderstanding'. Everyone is as loyal as Herryk is, yes? Nobody would hurt Herryk!
He loves the physical contact sports because it feels right - sure it isn't cleaving heads in twain or spraying blood hither and yon but Herryk doesn't really remember all of that anyway. His downfall in life might've been his trusting personality, but I think it works for Herryk in undeath.
Why are they enrolled in Amityville Academy? Halloween Town is all about FEAR, and Herryk wishes to master his FEAR. This is why he has come to Amityville Academy, after all. Well, mostly. Okay, not really. Herryk came to Amityville Academy because it's -- this is embarassing, okay? -- it's hard to control his own strength sometimes. Herryk believes that through rigorous training he'll be able to better control himself and in doing that he'll be capable of better controlling his FEAR. Sadface. As far as classes go, Herryk has no mind for math or english, but he's totally down for some wrasslin' or anything else that has to do with P.E.
FEAR: Wrecking Ball: Herryk can use FEAR to alter his body weight in a way that does not affect his ability to move. For example, Herryk soaks up FEAR until he's as heavy as a few cars, and yet still remains agile and deft on his toes. He can use this crushing weight to his advantage when he plows into his enemies -- like being hit by a freight train! Then again, this is the ideal situation. Sometimes Herryk makes himself too heavy and cannot move, or makes himself light enough to be blown about like a plastic bag on the breeze. Silly Herryk. Eventually he'll be able to direct this weight-change to singular body parts (his fists for example) and he'll gain smaller margins for error. |
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 8:55 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 9:00 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 9:02 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Aug 10, 2011 8:02 pm
|
|
|
|
SOLO -- Herryk
WC: 948
One miniscule moment in time, so tiny and yet so powerful. All-encompassing, the moment where life is granted to one who had been dead for so, so long.
Inhale. Musty, sodden, earthy.
The muscular form lifted with a powerful jolt, shoulders and heels both digging into the ground as an almost tangible sense of life was forced into the inanimate body. Blue eyes shot open, sightlessly skyward, bulging. Gaping mouth gave way to gnashing teeth before a low, slow keening cry slipped past parted lips. Clenched fists balled against the earth beneath his back. Every muscle, every fiber rippled with a sort of almost... electric energy. Almost as fast as it began it was over. However, there was one difference. Where once was nothing.. there now was something. Life? It shimmered around the dark body in pulsating waves.
Exhale. Death, decay, rot.
Stillness prevailed as the muscular form went slack, eyes closed. A soft and jerky breath lifted his chest at regular intervals. Muscles tensed now and again, fingers making jerky clutching movements. Slowly he opened his eyes, lashes flickering as the world careened out of control around him. Each movement was so strange, so alien, and it took all of his energy and strength to lift a hand to his forehead. Cool to the touch. Rasping his hand down his face, he held his hand out in front of his eyes. Staring at his palm for a long moment, he slowly turned it over to gaze at the back of his hand before he balled it into a fist. His skin was dark and callouses littered his fingers. Relaxing his fist, he dropped his hand back to his side and dug his fingers into the rich earth.
Herryk.
The word thundered in his brain. He wasn't sure what it meant. A name? It had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. It was the only thing that felt like an almost-memory. He wasn't sure where he was, what he was doing here or how he came to be. This moment was the start of his memory. Nothing before... this. Nothing but an endless black darkness that saturated his mind like a thick and choking smoke. All consuming and utterly intangible.
Using his hands to leverage himself off of the ground, Herryk came to a seated position. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he crossed his arms over them and pillowed his head on his forearms. It was unbelievable how fast his strength seemed to be returning. It was almost like he was a sponge, soaking in the energy that pulsed around him. He no longer felt shaky. In one quick and powerful movement he was on his feet, though he swerved when the world spun around him. It didn't take him long to collect himself, but there was a disjointed sense of bewilderment.
Herryk lifted both hands palms up and stared at the callouses. Along his thumb they were thick and rough. Along the upper curve of his palm, they were flatter. His eyes slipped from his hands to his wrists, adorned with leather bracers. Placing his hands on his chest, Herryk next caught sight of the runestones that clasped one side of his furred cape to the other. He ran his fingers over the engravings that were crudely set into the stones. The sight of them sent a jolt of familiarity through his brain. What did they mean? He didn't know. With that snap of familiarity also came something ...different.
Fear. It crept up his spine. Unsettling.
Who was he? What was he? Where was he? Where had he come from? Why was he dressed the way he was? The questions were endless, the possibilities even more so. Trying to think of anything except the here and now was impossible. There was nothing else to try and remember. This was all there was. He would have to come to terms with that. Herryk couldn't do anything other than what he was doing now at this moment in time. He was stuck.
Herryk dropped to his knees, falling forward to brace himself on his hands. Blue eyes stared at the ground as if searching there for all of the answers to his questions. Silence, but then again Herryk hadn't really expected to find anything except the sound of his own thoughts knocking around in his head. There were no answers there, only endless questions.
"Hva skjer?" What is going on? Herryk shook his head, pinching his eyes shut stubbornly. Even the words, familiar in his brain, felt ...alien on his tongue. "Grhhgh. Dette kan ikke være riktig." This can't be right, no. But it was. There was no denying that this was his new reality. It had to be. He remembered nothing else.
"Ingenting annet." He spoke the words that echoed in his mind. Nothing more.
Herryk lifted his head. He was on some kind of mountainside. In the valley below there was a small town. Perhaps there he could find some kind of purpose. Sitting here in the dank leaves of a dark and spindly mountainside forest didn't accomplish much. The town, though... in the town there could be answers. In the town there could be others like him.
"Herryk," he whispered, as if reassuring himself that all would be well.
"To the town," he ground out. This dialect felt much more familiar to speak, for some reason, despite feeling out of place in his mind.
Rising to his feet, Herryk dusted off the dirt from his clothing. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he knew that there was nothing for him here in this forest.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2011 9:39 pm
|
|
|
|
SOLO -- Herryk
WC: 966
Herryk gazed down the main street that would carry him into town. He'd spent almost three days debating on how he wanted to go about this. It was, embarassingly enough, absolutely terrifying. The boil barely spoke a lick of the common tongue and while he could read short words, he wasn't well-schooled. It was frustrating to feel so uneducated. Exhaling loudly, Herryk made his way into the small shantytown.
It must have been his lucky day.
On a small, rag-tag sign made of some type of wood the words 'Svella er Reagenser were carved. Svella's Reagents. Herryk could understand that. It was home. Familiar. The language felt like the one thing that kept him grounded. Without hesitation, the dark-skinned boil shoved open the door and entered the small cottage. It was small and cozy enough despite his huge size.
"Be right there!" came a cheerful voice, and Herryk gently closed the door behind him. When he turned around there was a short, impossibly rotund female standing before him. She was old, her face lined like a well-loved map. A smile was on her face, though it faltered slightly when she saw his face.
"Ahh, jeg beklager. Du stakkar."
Herryk's brow drew down. Why was she sorry? His curiousity demanded that he ask.
"Beklager? Hvorfor? Forklar Herryk."
The elder waved him closer with a gnarled hand, gesturing for him to sit. Once Herryk had carefully arranged himself into a seat, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched her expectantly. The crone busied herself pouring him a small rustic mug filled with a fragrant drink before she too sat.
"Can ye understand me?"
At Herryk's confused nod, she continued.
"How old are ye? Ye look fresh, boil. Did ye wake recently?"
Herryk's blue eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure how to answer that. Could what he'd gone through even be considered waking up? He gave a slow, curt nod in the affirmative.
"Ahh.Kjære. Let me introduce meself. I'm Svella. I'm what ye'd call... ach." She waved her hand as she searched for the proper term. "Heks. A witch. This place is Halloween Town. It's... yer new home. Yer name must be Herryk," she smiled softly, her yellowed teeth gleaming in the soft light of the small room. Her eyes were warm and brown as she continued, the smile never leaving her face.
"I've lived here since I was a wee babe. Raised here by my mam." She turned thoughtful, tapping her chin with a crooked index finger. "Do ye speak the common tongue, Herryk?"
"Nei Herryk bare våknet to dager tidligere. Hva har skjedd med Herryk? Han kan ikke huske noe som har skjedd med ham. Han bare våknet opp i skogen - det var ubehagelig. Herryk vet ingen, ikke engang selv. Vet du hvem Herryk er? Kan du fortelle Herryk hvor han kom fra? Kan du --"
"Ach, ach, ach." Svella interrupted him with a flap of her hand. "It's been too long since Svella has spoken this language." She hopped to her feet, surprisingly spry for a woman of her age. "I have just the thing, gutt." She moved to a tall set of shelves, rummaging around for a moment before procuring a small pouch of powder. She immediately chanted a few words -- words that Herryk did not understand -- before dumping the powder into his drink. She briskly stirred it with a small spoon before wrapping his broad hands around the cup.
"Drikke. Drink."
Herryk did as she ordered. He had no reason not to trust her. She spoke the same tongue he did. If that was not cause enough for trust, Herryk did not know what was.
Svella made a clucking sound as his throat worked in long swallowing motions. It was bitter of taste, and Herryk grimaced as he set the mug back down on the wooden tabletop. Swiping the back of his hand against his mouth, he braced his hand on the table. Thick eyebrows lifted ceilingward as if asking a simple 'what now?'
With a pleased smile, Svella moved back to her seat.
"Tis a simple potion, Herryk. T'will quicken your learning capacity for a short, short time. I'm going to teach you as much as I can -- you will learn faster, retain the information better, and if all goes well, Herryk, you will learn the common tongue by the time the effect wears off."
That seemed to please Herryk. Clearing his throat, he sat in silence as if debating the best way to ask the most important question he could think of.
Lifting a broad hand, he placed it against his chest. Brows gathered, he leaned forward and slowly stuttered, "Herryk... what is?"
Svella's expression darkened for a moment. He wouldn't like the answer, of that she was certain... it would be best to sugar-coat it as best she could.
"Ach. To my best guess, Herryk, ye are a draugr. Ye were a warrior in life. Ye were -- ye are -- norse." She waved an age-spotted hand dismissively. "Now, we've got more important things to speak of. I've got to teach ye how to speak so that others can understand. Once that's done, ye'll be set."
At his nod, Svella exhaled quietly. She didn't want to be the one to tell him that he was a draugr because the valkyrie that had reaped his soul had made a mistake somehow. She could only hope that someday he'd find someone willing to explain it to him.
After hours of discussion, Herryk could speak the most basic of the common language that Halloweeners spoke. Svella set him up with a cot to rest on until morning.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
