Country Affiliation: Kou
Race: Human
Tier: D [Novice]
Class: Warrior
Age + Birthdate: 26 + 3/25
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heteroromantic/Pansexual
Personality: A certified dude-bro, whose jockular and sociable demeanor make him an apex extrovert. Torvald is a simple man who doesn't fret over little things and happily goes with the flow wherever it's possible. He's met many people in his life and knows all sorts, holding his own in many subjects despite not appearing to be the brightest. Of course, when he's actually dim it's no surprise, but he's prone to accidentally having interesting and innovative insight into subjects bogged down by formality and tradition. This same insight gets him into trouble as often as it helps other people, sometimes at the exact same time.
He's the sort of guy who doesn't really stress over ethics unless it promises to lead to an interesting evening — he's not one to step in where a lord abuses his people unless that lord happens to be a notable warrior. When it comes down to it, he's very fight-brained; Not a terrible trait to have for an ex mercenary. On the subject, the fact that his troupe abandoned him is a sore subject that bubbles its way to the surface when he's lost in thought. He's a sensitive guy, and isn't afraid to ugly cry in front of strangers.
He's a very supportive person who wants to help others. This is in part due to the pent-up boredom, which has manifested as desperation to serve a purpose, or really just do anything with meaning at all. However, in his heart of hearts, Torvald's the sort of guy who wants to be challenged, and thrives in the heat of the moment. Due to a unique genetic condition, his eyes change color with his emotional state, so his personal friends can read him like a mood ring, most of the time.
Likes:
+Introverts and Tsunderes: There is nothing like cracking open the cold demeanor of a quiet and reserved person and finding the warmth they've hidden from others. Torvald likes to feel trusted, even if they're prickly and dismissive more often than not.
+Booze: If there were to be a single universal currency which would be able to buy anything, even friendship and loyalty, he believes it would be alcohol. Everything from wine to liquor to lager, there's no going wrong! Sit and have a drink and let the conversation flow forth!
Dislikes:
-Bullies: Not expressly people who abuse what little power they have to exploit others, but people who are strong yet choose to make the weak miserable. These are the people he's grown to despise in his journeys, all thanks to a certain man...
-Boredom: Boring people, boring tasks, boring fights, boring meals, boring days, boring nights. Life is too short, too fragile, to spend it feeling basically nothing. Time should be spent making memories worth having, getting pissed-off, falling in love, having worthwhile conversations. Life needs to be dynamic or it's not worth living!
Aspirations:
+Respect: He was abandoned in a country he had nothing to do with, with an injury that ensured he couldn't ply his trade. This blatant lack of concern for his happiness left a gaping void, that can only be filled by realizing his destiny: Becoming one of the most respected and powerful persons in the Nation of Kou
+Recovery: He's lost a lot due to an injury that's left him bedridden and hobbled for years. Where once was a feared and powerful mercenary now hobbles a rusty soldier who can barely remember his spearplay. Having lost so much brings him shame, yet it's all he can do to fight through his own weakness and become himself again, or even better.
+Dedication: He wants to feel like he's fighting for a cause worth fighting for. As a fairly simple man, it's one matter to fight just because his foe is strong, yet there's many matters which simply feel more worthwhile. Fighting to protect a beautiful maiden, fighting to back his friend and what they hold dear, fighting to assert and reinforce his beliefs. The trouble is finding something, or somebody worth fighting for.
Phobias/fears:
Isolation: A man shouldn't die alone. Being by himself isn't what he fears, it's the idea of being cut off, of possibly never seeing anybody again – never being found or mourned – being forgotten. Be it by exile, or by magic, or something stranger still, he fears being truly alone in the world.
Face-Claim: Nihongou from Touken Ranbu
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Brown/Sapphire Blue/Hazel/Green/Thistle/Red/Ice Blue
Height: 190 cm (~6'3")
Weight: 104 kg (~230 lbs)
Appearance: A tall muscular man with light tan skin; messy, tied back, black hair and a stubbly five o' clock shadow. His eyes change color with his mood, ensuring that his bluffs have trouble working without some means of obscuring his eye color. To accomodate this need, he keeps orange-tinted goggles on-hand to ensure his eyes generally tend to look brown. This is a fairly rare trait even within his tribe's genetics. In terms of attire, he believes that simpler is better, typically sticking to a janitorial-looking jumpsuit with a high collar and an insignia on the back and stretching across and around his arms and legs – the uniform of the mercenary company that abandoned him, with a pair of han kote to protect his forearms and leather boots.
Rukh Alignment: White
Special Features: Eye color changes sporadically with his mood. Brown indicates a neutral mood; sapphire blue indicates sadness; hazel indicates calm and focus; red indicates rage; green and thistle both indicate happiness the latter appearing in amorous situations; and ice blue indicates fear.
History: Born into a northern islander tribe, Torvald's early days were spent taking advantage of his gifted genes. A strong body, a strong will, a strong mind, and the rare eyes which conveyed his will to onlookers – all things which made him a prime candidate to become the chief.
However, when a ship of slavers rolled in with the tide, his people lost their future chief in an ensuing conflict. While he was a feisty prisoner, it was no huge matter to shackle him down. The issue was breaking him. Even when he was being sold as a slave, Torvald barked like a mad animal, cursing in his strange tongue. So only one sort of buyer had need of a strong slave who had some fight in him.
Torvald was sold to a band of mercenaries, who worked him to the bone and made him fight in their battles. However, they weren't the sort of mercenaries who forced children to fight alone. Side-by-side, though against his will at first, they fought many enemies. Bandits, soldiers, whoever the coin fell on the table for. He grew to like combat, it felt social, even if it was brutal, and he was so good at it.
One day, he saved the life of the Mercenary Troupe leader, and as a reward was given his freedom. Despite the fact that he was no longer a slave, he decided to stick with the mercenaries, officially on the payroll. And the pay did roll. Women, booze, fine dining, fancy clothes and jewels, all were at his fingertips with the kind of money he was making. The sorts of luxuries his tribe couldn't imagine let alone have showed him. Through his travels and adventures with the troupe, he learned many fighting forms with his spear, powerful techniques, even beyond the realm of mere physical combat. Even among the troupe, his skills were prized highly.
After over a decade of traveling with the troupe, Torvald longed to return home. He decided to announce his retirement after the next job, which took them to the Kou Empire to bolster the ranks for an upcoming war. Nothing new, asides the country. He was impressed by their dense culture and vivid traditions which set them apart from the rest of the world. However, in exploring this culture, he'd grown attached, and in the ensuing civil war, he hesitated to strike and took an injury to the leg.
Despite getting injured, he continued to fight on the leg, exacerbating the injury the whole time. By the time he got medical attention for it, the doctors said it was too far gone, it would be a miracle if he could walk again, let alone fight. So his troupe just left him there. All by himself, in the care of some doctors, practicing their medicine. He was something of a charity case, a foreigner allowed to stay because he would be hard-pressed to leave. While many begrudged him taking up a bed at the clinic, it wasn't as though he could simply leave on his own. So he sat there, and he wasted away in part due to negligence, and the rest due to depression. Any time he tried to get away his leg gave him a painful reminder of his limits.
Until one day, a traveling magician passed through. The clinic was small and humble establishment, but the magician was curious to see who needed healing, a random act of generosity. Just as easily, an injury, which years of medicine wasn't able to fix disappeared - a miracle of miracles. However, what didn't disappear was the memories, the atrophy, and neither did the time he lost reappear. Even still he cannot help but hobble, as though a phantom pain makes it difficult for his soul to bear weight, much to his chagrin.
Yet the act itself had a profound effect on his mind. The idea that such strife could be relieved with as little as a single act of whimsy, truly opened his eyes to the potential he possessed. So despite just barely making out of the bed, he picked up his spear once more for whatever cause might suit his fancy.
Heavens know this crippled nation needs the help.
Role-Play Sample:
"Now, now! Come on, man. Cheer up! That was totally out of your hands, bro!"
While it was fairly blatant that Torvald was attempting to placate his friend, the matter was a little unclear to bystanders. All that was wholly visible was a cheery muscle man, rubbing the back of the emperor himself, who was weeping at a bar in town. The sheer audacity mixed with the citizens' disbelief and reverence resulted in awed silence.
"Listen, buddy, I have the perfect cure for the collapsing negotations blues. Let's get you some action man. There's gotta be smokin-hot ladies lining up to be your concubines, and even if there isn't — with me as your wingman – we can change that tonight!"
