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Fantasy Armsmen (Characters)



Dusty Wanderer


Please do not post your cs here unless it has been approved. Send it to me in a private message first.


: (Optional)

Appearance: [PICTURE] (Optional)

Description: (Height, weight, skin colour, hair colour, etc. in any format you like)





Weapon of Choice:


Approved Characters
Enkerzed Enkerzed ~ Nils
Nessi Nessi ~ Iris Leona
Dovinique Dovinique ~ Yetoire Nysach
Shibbie Shibbie ~ Bryggir Finre
leonhardt231 leonhardt231 ~ Lionel
Soviet Panda Soviet Panda ~ Otrygg of the Ice
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Dusty Wanderer
Name: Nils

Nickname(s): Snake Eyes


Short dark brown hair, light green eyes (hence the nickname), pale complexion, 6'7 tall and built like an ox.

Gender: Male

Age: 23

Quiet, simple and eager to put his strength to use. Bit of a show off in that regard, but always willing to lend a helping hand no matter how big or small the task. Uneasy in crowds, gets along well with children, dislikes loud people, hates needless cruelty and absolutely despises criminals, especially of the bandit variety.

Born into serfdom, Nils worked the fields along with the rest of his family until he came of age and ran away to the capital, desperate for freedom. Without a coin in his pocket or any notable skills however, he found only the coldness of the streets. When he wasn't begging for food, he'd be begging for jobs and though he found employment on numerous occasions, he would soon find himself out on the streets again, too slow, clumsy or insufficient in some way to be worth the trouble of keeping around. The only thing he had going for him was his size and strength, but not even that was enough to secure his job as a dock hand due to the sheer number of mistakes he'd make.

One day however, all of that changed when he joined the city guard and was assigned to the night watch. During his very first watch, he witnessed a murder in the streets and before his partner could stop him, Nils confronted the murderers and single-handedly apprehended them all. As it later turned out, they were affiliated with a criminal organization who had been bribing the guard to overlook certain crimes, including the murder of someone who owed them money. The very same murder Nils had seen and taken action upon as a member of the night watch.

As punishment, the watch commander assigned him to patrol the streets alone with no backup to dissuade him from acting the hero again, but this had the opposite effect as there was now no one around to hold him back. Whenever Nils saw a crime in progress, he'd chase down the perpetrator without a second thought and subdue them by himself. After enough such occurrences, people started approaching him specifically for help as he had proven to be the only guardsman not afraid of dealing with the gangs and soon enough, he'd begin to earn the respect of his fellow watchmen. Nils had finally found his true calling. This was not to last however as the watch commander, threatened by the lad's rising popularity, managed to pull some strings to have Nils transferred outside of the capital to patrol the main roads and it was there that his life truly took a turn for the worse.

Bandits were a constant problem and he would on several occasions have to catch runaway serfs as part of his duties, something he always had issues with as a runaway himself. The bandits were the worst however as Nils would always be forced to fight, often to the death, and though his skill with the sword improved in this way, his usually optimistic outlook on life did not. In fact, he only became more and more withdrawn over time until he was a husk of his former self, having seen too much violence and wanton acts of cruelty on the roads to the capital, either from outlaws or overly zealous patrolman.

When prince Athis usurped the throne and sent his men throughout the kingdom to search for potential Armsmen, Nils' former night watch commander was all too eager to suggest him as a candidate and when the time came, Nils could only meekly accept his fate, thinking that it couldn't possibly be worse than the way he lived now.

Weapon of Choice: Arming sword


"All I wanted was to be free."
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slut for slushies
Name: Iris Leona

: Black Swan



Description: Iris is around 6'0, with black tattoo's on her arm and her back. She has long, black hair that is tied up into a bun most of the time. She also has distinct yellow eyes, which makes her stand out in crowds.

Gender: Female

Age: 26

Personality: Iris is a very cold and calculating person, who is willing to wait, and please others, and even do things that she hates in order to get what she wants. She's manipulating, and sees others as pawns to be used to help. And once they've served their purpose...they can be disposed of.

Iris was an orphan. She was a bastard child, and at the church she was raised in, they never let her forget that she was a bastard child. Iris never felt at home at the church, she always felt out of place. But even if that was so, she always tried her best to fit in. When she turned 16, Iris started to receive random punishments for things she didn't even do. And on top of that, she was giving the worst jobs, like scrubbing the floors, and doing laundry for everyone. She hated it, she hated every moment of it.

One day, during Iris's daily duties, the nuns called her, and accused her for stealing from the church, claiming that they had seen a considerable amount of money and food gone. Before Iris could even defend herself, She was beaten as a punishment. And it was that same night that Iris snapped, and took a large shard of glass, and killed the Nuns. She then set fire to the Church, and never looked back. On that fateful night, Iris Leona died. And on that same night, the Black Swan was born.

In order to survive, Iris stole from people. She started off small, sometimes seducing men into a false sense of security before stealing their belonging, and sometimes killing them with her handy shard of glass if they found her out. Other times, she'd rob travelers who were journeying alone, taking their things before they even spotted her. But then, on one fateful night, Iris stumbled upon a caravan, that seemed to be unguarded, and took her chances. It only took a few moments for her to be spotted, and guards to be on her tail. She barely made it out with her life, the guards had roughed her up quite a bit.

As Iris limped away, she made a promise to herself, that she would never be caught off guard like that ever again. She used every single penny she had stolen to get proper medical attention, and once she was fully healed, went back to stealing.

Iris made it a point to get a weapon, so she stole the first arm she saw once she was healed, which was a spear. She trained with said spear everyday until the sun went down. Then, she would go out to steal once against, this time, going a little bigger, raiding wagons, stealing from unsuspecting camping groups and other things. Along the way, Iris started to make “friends”, who were just people that were under Iris beck and call. More and more thieves from around the country came to her, until they were a large organization, with Iris at the top.

at their peek, the organization raided caravans daily, and even stole military supplies a few times. Iris was at the top of it all, letting her underlings do the dirty work. She walked around in the most expensive of cloths, and when one of her subordinates acted up, she reminded them why she was at the top. But when prince Athis usurped the throne, and sent out men to find armsmen, the organization was basically witch hunted. Iris watched as her organization of some of the finest thieves crumbled, and ordered all members to flee the country. Before she could get out, Iris was caught, extensively chained and transported to the capital.

Weapon of Choice: Spear

Extra: Iris absolutely love expensive cloths


forbidden maiden


"You can crush my body and bones, but I'm not gonna die today, not today."


Yetoire Nysach

Inherits her mother's gene, Yetoire's hair is as white as the winter snow that left loose to her shoulder. Her eyes are glowing in glassy gold color, emitting both elegance and solitude. Yetoire is not a tall slender girl. Having her height sit on 158 cm and weight around 47 kg, Yetoire often called a midget. Despite that, there lays a strong and unshakeable will in her tiny body.



✦ Independent ✦ Fearless ✦ Aggresive ✦ Cunning Strong-willed
Living most of her life on the street, Yetoire grows into an individual person. It's not easy to determine who to trust, so it's better to label everyone as threats and leave no room for unnecessary attachment. That way she has no one dragging her down nor she will be a burden to someone else. She learns that being alive today is the most important thing she should be concerned about. Yetoire will literally do anything to keep her alive, only heaven and hell know what she has done so far. Since Yetoire only has herself to depend on, she always has something up her sleeve, she plans out everything before she acts. Her plans will always have additional plans, she will not let careless actions lead her to death's hand early. Even though life is never on her side, she tries her best to keep on living, waiting for the day that her wheel of fate will change.


Yetoire Nysach was the youngest child of eight in her poor family. Her parents barely did their role and instead, they exploited their children by making them work day and night to provide them with money. Yetoire too, started her work when she was hardly 7 by begging for money or food. Occasionally, when she didn't get enough to bring home, Yetoire would go stealing here and there. Since she was small and fast, she was able to get away most of the time.

Bestowed with prettier face than most of her siblings, Yetoire was assigned to work at the brothel when she started turning 14. More money, they said. It was indeed easier to earn money, but Yetoire loathed that job too much. Having to entertain men with different tastes, having her body touched by unappreciated hands, it was an utter nightmare. Yetoire tried her best to keep on going until she felt she had enough. That night, her client was an old man, old enough to be his father. He wanted to do things she didn't want, things that she never had the gut to tell anyone. Her client, undoubtedly, was going tantrum and hit the poor girls with his fat greasy hands. In the middle of her struggling, she found an opening, grabbed her long hairpin, then stabbed the man in the eye. As he screamed in agony, Yetoire quickly took the men's belt and strangled him until he no longer breathing.

Yetoire knew she couldn't stay in the brothel anymore, the guards would come hunting her down for murder sooner or later. Since she couldn't escape through the front door, Yetoire decided to climb through the ceilings. It was troublesome but doable. Long story short, she managed to leave the brothel only to find her face all over the city as a wanted fugitive, even her own family wouldn't mind giving her head for some gold. The only choice she had was to keep moving from one city to another, laying low while doing her best to keep on living. She taught herself some combat skills and used two small daggers as her weapon. However, she would rather avoid useless fighting as much as she could.

For years, she had been feeding herself by stealing, deceiving people, and killing once or twice if needed. At least that able to keep her fed everyday. Things started to change when Prince Athis took the throne and sent his men to find those qualified as Armsmen. Yetoire saw this as an opportunity to alter her misery life. She had nothing to lose but all her life to bet on. When most people were avoiding the selection, Yetoire came to them, offering her body and soul to join Armsmen.

Those men, of course, brushed her off right away seeing how tiny and powerless she was. Instead, they already set their eyes on a particular man, a violent mercenary known for his brutality and anger management. He who wouldn't hesitate to beat someone to death just because he accidentally spilled his wine. However, Yetoire wouldn't let her only chance for change slipped away easily.

Before they found the always-angry mercenary, Yetoire already located him in the tavern, unaware of his surrounding while busy flirting with the waitress on his lap, "Tsk, easy." She proceeded by taking her way silently toward him, her dagger waiting under her cloak ready to finish that man for good. As she was just inches away from him, she swiftly slit his throat with her dagger. Seeing how thick his skin was, he didn't die right away, the wound only took his attention momentarily. When he was gasping for air and looking for the rat that dared to mess with him, Yetoire took the chance to pulled out his sword and stabbed his hairy chest several times until he was cold and stiff.

The moment Prince Athis' men arrived, they could only find a dead body along with a messed-up bloody girl sitting on a chair calmly beside it, "Looks like you have no choice, don't you?" They looked at each other in disbelief, but as she had stated, they had no choice aside from taking her as the Armsmen candidates. A wicked smile decorated her diamond-shaped face as she followed them to the castle. Nothing could stand in her way, not even a man with double of her size.


Twin Daggers

She is more the brainy type instead of a brawler. Her mind is flowing with ideas and tricks to help her get what she is aiming for.
If she has to fight, she will use her agility and small body as an advantage.
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The Charmer
Name: Bryggir Finre

Nickname(s): Snowtouched


Description: General appearance is similar to the picture, though much younger looking. Similar hairstyle, more of a scrappy beard of equal length. Bryggir stands on the slightly taller side, around 6'2". Has a slim build with some muscle mass built all over from various work.

Gender: Male

Age: 22

Personality: Despite a rougher past and many grim jobs, Bryggir is generally a more positive and humorous individual, though some may not
enjoy his sense of humor. He is quite mischievous, and will often go against the expected or norm if he doesn't feel like it fits him. He is a very determined person, setting his eyes on a goal and working towards it with his all. May appear trusting at first, he often will second guess motives if things don't add up, but will never show his distrust unless he is certain.

Background: Bryggir didn't grow up poor, but certainly didn't grow up wealthy in any sense. His mother was a tavernkeep, and his father a body guard of sort, though at a young age he wasn't really sure what for. He grew up with with two siblings, an elder sister Yerra and a younger brother Axl. He took to doing
chores and getting basic schooling from his mother in the mornings before she went to the tavern, and learning basic life and combat skills from his father. Despite his fathers' and brothers' now great skill with a sword, Bryggir took more towards sparring with a long war axe over anything.

As he started to age towards adolescence, Bryggir started to train much harder than his brother while his sister practiced her skills with a paintbrush. He
loved the feeling of sparring, feeling most alive when he was dancing with weapon in hand. The desire to use his skills to provide for his family grew, and when he was only 14 he asked his father to let him help with a body guarding mission. Reluctantly his father agreed, giving Bryggir a small gauche dagger as a gift before they set out on his first job.

It was a straight forward job, a slum lord just needed some protection while collecting payments from his tenants. Not that Bryggir exactly thought that the
job was honorable, but he understood it was what they had to do to put food on the table. While the lord was collecting a set of payments away from his
guards, they were ambushed by what seemed to be a large group of thugs. The two managed to hold them off for quite a while, but as an arrow struck his father
fatally, Bryggir lost his footing and was sliced by a thugs' sword across the chest. Before falling to the ground, another arrow launched its way deep into his
shoulder, sending him back into the snow covered ground. His eyes were glued seemingly emotionless towards the sky as a light snow gently drifted down from above. He heard the thugs running off after probably killing the slum lord and stealing his money, but his mind drifted embracing death as the light faded from his eyes.

When he came to, his eyes were greeted by a dim light. Two large men in plate armor sat across the small room, and a younger woman was tending to his wounds. He couldn't remember any of the specifics of the conversation, but he remembered the gist of what was said. They were all people also in his fathers line of work, and had found the aftermath of the scuffle. When the two had realized that Bryggir was still alive, they brought him to their home to try to save his life. The two had donned on him the name of snowtouched, from an old myth about those whose wounds were covered in snow gaining the strength of winter. He didn't really believe in that stuff at the time, but the rumors of a man and his child holding off a group of 20 alone had spread the name eventually stuck.

A few weeks after healing, Bryggir returned to his home only to find a hopeless scene. At the loss of her husband, Bryggir's mother had fallen into depression and stopped working. Axl was still too young to provide much, and he would be damned if he allowed Yerra to work in any abysmal jobs. While he was finishing the healing process, he immediately started training to gain the strength he had lost, and set out to start to look for work.

His jobs weren't always glorious, often he danced on the edge of morality and legality and occasionally dipped too far one way, but he always managed to provide. As the name Bryggir the Snowtouched began to spread, he started building a bit of a reputation for himself as a force to be wary of. His work caused him to take many lives, and rough up countless others. He often worked both sides, the guards would paid him to silence an unsuspecting criminal who had escaped them for too long and many thieves or con men would pay him to rough up rivals or other various jobs. While working both sides might paint more of a target on his back, most steered clear from him just from the rumors.

As he grew to young adulthood, his mother eventually passed due to illness and his siblings moved out to start their own lives. Without many skills besides fighting at this point, Bryggir was stuck with his work as it was. He gained many 'friends' and acquaintances throughout the kingdom, especially in the lower classes and grew to develop a desire to improve the life of the lower serfs any way he could as a sort of repayment for some of the jobs he had taken working against them.

It wasn't long after Athis came to power that the Armsmen scouters approached him as he was drinking at his regular tavern. "Your reputation precedes you, Snowtouched." The men explained to him that he was being offered the opportunity to try for the Armsmen qualifications. Not that he had much of a choice as to accept or deny the offer, as it may as well be signing his death warrant, but the offer intrigued him. Bryggir accepted and joined the men, excited at the chance to make some of his goals come to light.

Weapon of Choice: Main hand prefers a standard war axe over anything, or a short sword if not. Off hand a gauche dagger for parrying and spacing. Commonly when working carries a few hidden small throwing daggers.

Extra: Isn't the strongest of fighters, but uses his agile movement and quick decision making to outmaneuver his enemies and the single impact point of his axe to deliver stronger blows.

Really enjoys a good drink.


Goes with almost anything
Name: Lionel

Nickname(s): (Optional)


Description: 6'1, 171lbs , pale white skin, blonde, has some muscle with a slim body

Gender: Male

Age: 20

Personality: Kind, intelligent and lighthearted, an earnest person who can sometimes come off as overbearing. However his attitude has been known to sometimes turn on a dime when it comes to battle.

Background: Lionel lived a nice happy life until the death of his parents. Ever since then, he has worked hard every day on a farm so that his younger siblings could continue to live happily. However, after meeting an Armsmen recruiter Lionel finally found a way to solve all his problems. His father had been a notorious soldier during the war, but sadly his name has been forgotten to many because of the war. However, thanks to his father's teachings and a natural gift for the blade, disarming the recruiters was almost effortless. It was only after a quick kick to the back of the knee and a sword held to the throat that they finally gave in, he was approved and after a tearful goodbye to his family, he was off to the capital. Armsmen are not known for always being just or kind and Lionel isn't looking forward to what he may have to do, but if it keeps his family safe and happy, then he will commit any atrocity or crime gladly.

Weapon of Choice: Swords, Is also familiar with the Spear. At times can be seen with a shield or buckler.

Extra: Enjoys playing music when he has the free time, specifically the violin.
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Soviet Panda

Red Panda Commanda.
Name: Otrygg Frore

Nickname(s): The Northman


Description: 6'9" and 452 lbs, this light skinned, black haired giant makes a fairly imposing silhouette.

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Personality: One crown is just like the one before it and the one after, the only thing that's different is the person that wears it. That is Otrygg's view on his role of Armsman, he is a man that has a job, and regardless of whoever holds the crown, he will do his job.

Otrygg is a man with no parents, ones he doesn't know about anyways. As far as he was concerned, he had always been a slave to one of the feral clans that roam the northern most edges of the Kingdom. And quite often he would change hands, from a rival clan raiding the one he currently called home to willingly being given over to repay a debt of some kind. Regardless of who he served, the labor was always the same. He would be roused before the sun's light even touched the sky and sent about splitting firewood, felling trees, he even once plowed a near frozen field simply for his owner to guage his strength before being sent off to clear a felled tree.

Perhaps it was only a matter of time before Otrygg was forced to fight. And so onto the longboat he went, only to bring back his share to his master. Now, not only was the work he had to do laborious, but it also carried with it the risk of death. However, soon his share would be his alone, for he had earned his freedom after saving the Jarl on an ill fated raid. It was also this raid that earned him the title 'of the Ice', called so for his near emotionless demeanor when in combat. But oh how that cold mask hid the boiling rage within the Northman.

For once he earned his freedom, he went on a rampage through the frozen lands of the north to find all those that had ever slighted him, were responsible for the deaths of so many others of their own kind, and had called him slave. Once he found them, he gave them a choice, face him in a duel and die with honor, or die like the cowards that he knew them to be. Surprisingly, a handful decided to fight him, he made sure their deaths were quick. Those that wanted to die like cowards were not given that mercy.

His vengeance sated, he returned to the clan that had given him his freedom, unaware of the plot that was brewing. But it all became clear when a raid went wrong. There were to many soldiers there, far to many than what had supposedly been scouted. They needed to leave, but they did not have enough time. However, Otrygg would be the one that would give them the time they needed. He held at a bridge, one lone man against an army, and by mid-day the wood was slick with blood and littered with corpses.

Having bought his allies the time they needed, he turn to race down to the shore and hop aboard, only to see the sails full and the ship already 20 yards out to sea. For the captain of the long ship was the son of a Swein Hakonsson, a man that Otrygg had killed. The cycle of hate and vengeance looped around once more to Otrygg, and he was left to die in a foreign land.

This realization sent him into a blind, blood boiling rage. And after giving a bone chilling roar, he charged from his position headlong into the opposing army where he eventually succumbed to exhaustion and his wounds. And to a raider such as himself, the headsman's axe was the only thing he had to look forward to. That is, if a King Athis was not in need of some warriors of his own. And so he was given a choice, to die with honor, or have a cowards death. He has chosen to die with honor.

Weapon of Choice: Great axe.

Extra: Frore translates to 'ice' from Old English.

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