Durrak
Portrait
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Name: Durrak
Race: Minotaur Height: 8'1" Gender: Male Durrak was but a whelp when fate first carried him across the mist-veiled seas to Sinfar, a city whispered of in caravan tales. The world beyond his mountain-born clan had been a narrow thing... stone, blood, and ritual... but upon setting hoof upon the salt-worn docks, that world cracked open. No spears met him, no jeering mobs drove him back into the tide. Instead, the city received him with a strange, disarming tolerance, as though Sinfar itself recognized something ancient stirring within the young minotaur. Where once he wore crude armor hammered together from scrap and bone, Durrak often bears a breastplate of darkened steel etched with faint, rune-like filigree, sigils that seem to shift when caught in the corner of the eye. Across his broad back often rest several colossal axes, each one a relic of battles long past. Some hum faintly with dormant enchantments, others carry the weight of old blood-oaths. Yet Durrak tends to them with a reverence more akin to a priest than a warrior, polishing their edges beneath moonlight and whispering to them in a tongue long forgotten. His body is a living tapestry of scars, jagged markings stretching from chest to thigh, spiraling like broken runes carved into flesh. To the untrained eye they are remnants of brutality, but those versed in the arcane see something far stranger: the echoes of sigils once burned into his very being, forcibly stripped away. Whatever magic once claimed him has been sundered, though its ghost lingers, coiling beneath his skin like a sleeping serpent. Around his waist, layered cloths of deep crimson and shadowed cobalt hang like ceremonial garb, bound with purpose and tradition rather than modesty alone. Garments reminiscent of ancient rites from a culture now lost to time. When he walks, they sway like banners of a forgotten war. Most striking of all is the adornment upon his right horn, a ring forged of gold and silver intertwined, gleaming with an otherworldly luster untouched by tarnish or age. To the trained eye it is no mere ornament, but a focus? or a seal. For Durrak is no longer the simple brute who first wandered Sinfar's streets. Something has awakened behind his ember-lit gaze. His eyes now burn with a steady arcane glow, not wild but measured thinking, calculating. His speech, once broken and sparse, now carries weight and understanding, laced with knowledge of languages he was never taught. It is as though the very essence of magic has taken root within him, reshaping mind and soul alike. And so he walks the winding streets of Sinfar and distant Durakiss, not merely as a beast of muscle and horn, but as something far more dangerous: A relic of forgotten magic, reborn in flesh. Lights: I'm going to keep this open and as things shape him, what he will find acceptable will change. The obvious reds are those listed in the server rules. If you're unsure what those are, I suggest you re-read the server's rules. Barbarian - Tommee Profitt x Stephen Stanley https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yCl-7icxcI |
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| Player: | Labyrinth |
| Gender (Visually): | Male |
| Race (Visually): | Half-Orc |