King Ironye

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Basic Information~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: King Ironye [Iron-eye]

Alias: The Old Dog

Gender: Male

Age: 46

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Rank: Tends to be in control of those around him, even when serving under someone else.

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Family Members(Optional): Adeline Hillock, Mother. Most likely deceased, or so he hopes so.

Birth Date(Optional): 29th September

Extra Information: Never an actual King, his first name stems from a rather cruel joke made by one of his mother’s friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Appearance~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Appearance:

A portrait left unfinished, shortly before the loss of his left eye.

Height: 6’0”

Weight: 160lbs

Body Type: Damaged, but generally muscled; Beginning to gain weight around the midriff though, no matter how hard he trains.

Extra Feature: A countless number of scars and burn marks, all over his body. The biggest wounds are a deep scar on his right leg, a large burn on his right arm which occasionally stiffens his hand, and a missing left eye.

Voice: A deep, growl of a voice most of the time, but it can be broken now and then by a surprising high tone, during moments he is amused.

Extra Clothing/Gear: Extra clothing would slow him down. He only has the shirt and leather pants under his chest plate. Oh, and his lucky, false iron eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Persona~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personality: Ironye has, and always will be a gruff unreasonable man. He is a man of routine, and in his private life he has never changed or wavered on a personal opinion by listening to simple reason; however this iron stubbornness is dropped when it comes to leading men. If an enemy performs some cunning ploy, Ironye will take the trick and add it to his impressive arsenal of tactics. While his personality often gets him into trouble with authoritative figures, he often draws respect from the men around him. He is an honourable man, often fulfilling contracts to the word, but never to a fault. If honour will lead to his death however, he’ll outright refuse. He’s never the most intelligent man in the kingdom, but he does have a clever and cunning head on his shoulders. King does have a secret humour, something that tends to rear its head as a deep, ingrained sarcasm. He enjoys books and music, as well as the simpler joys of life, such as drinking ale and “jousting.”

Likes: Respect, Drinking, Sex, Music, Books, Sleeping off injuries and getting paid for the only thing he knows. War.

Dislikes: Senseless murder, Lords and Ladies, Demons and Paladin’s respectively, religious mumbo jumbo and the fact he’s got one eye.

Goals: Secretly, to build a group of Mercenaries feared by every kingdom. Publicly, however, he seems to be only concerned with putting a smile on his own face.

Fears: Being a forgotten relic and dying a stupid, pointless death. However, beyond that, he tends to be a rather fearless character.

Strength: Generally, a sound tactician and fighter. A heap of stamina and an almost unbreakable will, with a high tolerance for pain.

Weakness: A deep cynic which often stops him from helping those actually in need. Rather bitter and sour when he’s not feeling down and probably suffers from some form of depression. He is practically useless in most things beyond fighting people. Is also probably an alcoholic, dependent on secret drinks now and then to keep going through the day.

Extra Information: Has a deep dislike for his first name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~History~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

History: King Hillock, for that was his name before he (mistakenly) changed it, was born to a woman of loose morals in a small village in the Eastern Kingdom. From an early age, he was known the only offspring to be produced by the towns whore. So he grew up fighting, tooth and nail, everyday of his life. Fighting bullies who fought that he was easy pickings and even grown men who tried to use the boy as a punching bag. After his fifteenth winter of being kicked around, he left the village and walked as far as his legs could carry him, before walking a little more. He found himself washing up on the shore of a little city, where he suffered less trouble at the hands of others but seemed to be completely ignored instead. After weeks of wallowing in a gutter, wasting away, the boy got into a fight with the son of a lord.

The story goes that the son had made a wager with his friends that he could easily end the life of a beggar and get away with it. When he chose the weakest looking, gangly scarecrow of a boy he was soundly thrashed by the lad and thrown from the street into a cess pit. When the Lord learned of this, he was so amused he hunted the boy down and hired him to be his son’s bodyguard, much to King’s displeasure. However, work was work, and he was getting a bed and food for standing around and breaking noses, the only thing he really knew how to do. It here he changed his name to Ironye, a reference to the fact that he very rarely ever got black eyes.

The next few years passed “uneventfully”, with King escorting a rather embarrassed boy. When the old lord took ill, King thought his pleasant gentry days were numbered. However, in an odd twist of fate, it was not so. Instead, when the boy became a lord himself, he instated Ironye as a personal Knight. King, suspicious of the station, only found out later that his new Lord only wished to put him through as much hell as the human body could handle.

His Lord would be the first to offer his Knights in any silly conflict, pushing Ironye out again and again to fight bandits, demons, crooks and soldiers in the hopes that one day he would never come back. For a long, long while, King’s existence simply continued as a way to spite his master. During this time, a sort of local legend grew around the man, often made up by the people under him and passed around the city. King ignored them and focused on his work.

On his 40th birthday, the life turned sour. While quelling a minor invasion of bandits in a little village, a man used a knife to cut out King’s eye. At the time, he simply assumed that his eye had swelled shut and continued to fight, which astounded the men around him. To this day, some claim his eye was still swinging as he chopped his way through the bandits. Others say that the blade only cut the eye, and that King later sat down and purposely yanked it out rather than receive treatment. When his Lord found it, he was sure that the old Knight would retire and give up. However, Ironye returned, grim as usual, just with a fresh scar.

The lord, angry, tried to goad King into leaving. Following the man’s name, the lord had a blacksmith make a small ornate iron eye to replace the one taken by steel, hoping it would be enough of an insult to make the man leave. Instead, King only had one complaint. He would have preferred to have the iris removed and one of his own insignia placed upon it. The eye was smoothed down and placed back into his hand. He took out a knife and carved a little jagged circle in it, before drawing an X over it. Once finished, he slipped it into his head, walked out of the room, collected his things and left the lord’s manor without glancing back over his shoulder.

Within a few years, he turned up steaming drunk in a little village and broke as the day he left home; miserable, poor and eyeless. He had pawned most of his possessions for booze money and was something of a joke amongst the bandits in the surrounding area. They’d slip into the bar and try to goad him into fighting, humiliating him when he sat there and just drank. After three more months of this, he gave up on trying to live a normal life and went on a one man bandit killing spree, claiming bounties for the heads he collected and selling the equipment for more money to sit down and drink with. Around this time, in a fit of a drunken dream, he saw a field of battle where his chest plate rested. Above it stood a banner, bright red, with an eye trailed over it in a metallic, iron paint. It had a jagged iris and an even more jagged X covering it.

When he awoke, he finally had an end ahead that would leave him satisfied.

Approved