1.)Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? –
No
2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in?
None
3.)Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan?
The Green Dragon
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NAME:Wazkûl
AGE: Unknown
RACE: Orc
GENDER: Male
WEAPONS: Wazkûl carries a dwarf axe and a scimitar
APPEARANCE: Wazkûl is a large orc with a shaved head and sharp black teeth. He wears old cracked armor that shows all the blows he has been dealt in battle and bears a large white jagged scar on his shoulder that he was given many years before. He also only has one eye.
PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Wazkûl is an extememly prideful orc and fancies himself the leader in any situation. In short, hes snobby and bossy. Like many orcs, he lusts for blood, but when his own life is in peril, hes a coward. Hes very selfish as well and dislikes those who try to show authority over him for he feels he is the ultimate leader. He craves power.
HISTORY: Wazkûl comes from deep inside the mines and has lived there for most of his life. He used to have a fellow orc he considered his brother, but killed him in a fight over the shiny dwarf axe that he bears. Yet also that is how he lost his eye when the orc gouged it out before he died.
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Mercy of the Valar's post
“Why we have to sit ‘ere all day? It’s not like anyone’s going to come down ‘ere anyways. No fool would dare enter Moria now!” Said Nazklâsh turning to his companions with a look that Wazkûl knew well, for he felt it himself.
Blood lust was a funny thing. Craving the feel of blade to armor or even better, to bare skin. To smirk as your victim collapses in pain as you finish him off, miserable creature. It made Wazkûl shiver with pleasure at the thought as he felt his way into a crotch in the wall, running his blackened finger down the side of his dwarf blade.
“Ah, something’ll come Nazklâsh, one of these days, then we’ll fight, and have our way with ‘em.” Wazkûl said. Have our way with them. Wazkûl smiled, the bloodstains on his teeth reflected the strained rays of light from the sickly mountain sun that somehow had squirmed into the cool, dark, dankness of Moria,“The chief said we take no prisoners, if anything comes in here, they’re ours.”
"If." Nazklâsh said in a skeptical tone, "If anything comes in 'ere,"
Wazkûl snarled and gnashed his teeth. The worm Nazklâsh was getting on his nerves. The smaller orc, glared at him through narrowed eyes. Nazklâsh knew that Wazkûl's hulking body could crush him in an instant, and his hands could strangle the life out of him. But Wazkûl knew, himself, that Nazklâsh could slip away into the dark, nimble as sunlight, and come down upon him and slit his throat with a silent blade. They both were at each other's mercies.
The other orcs grunted about them. One called Kârtuz slammed his scimitar against one of the old crumbling walls in boredom.
"Be quiet, slug," Spit Wazkûl, "We dont't want the Cheif to hear any of that. You don't you head on a pike, do you? Or find yourself at the mercy of his whip?"
Those were the two ulitmate things that he feared. Though he refused to admit it, Wazkûl was terrified of the Chief. But the one thing that scared him more was the great darkness that lay in the deepest pits of Moria. The firey being. Him.
<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:32 PM January 02, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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