Post by Sigurd Fafnesbane on Oct 31, 2010 17:05:39 GMT -5
Saber
"You? Lay a hand on my treasure? I think not."
"You? Lay a hand on my treasure? I think not."
OTHER ALIAS: //[/color] I need no other name. What can you do to me?
CURRENT AGE: //[/color] If I recall correctly, I am 27...
YEAR OF BIRTH: //[/color] In the early 300 CE, around the fall of the Volsungs.
GENDER: //[/color] I am a man.
ALIGNMENT: //[/color] Perhaps I could have been a hero... I am not. By your rules, I am Chaotic Evil, if not Neutral at best.
OCCUPATION: //[/color] Fallen Hero, Vassal
[/size][/ul]
Indulging in fatherly instincts
...No. LIESSSSSSS
Standing Regal
Heey, nice bust!
Wonder who that other guy is... oh, just me, without the suit.
Without Fafnir's Influence, or when visiting the MANA TRANSFER DRAGON.
Toast~
HANDS OFF OF MY CHILDREN
HEIGHT: //[/color] With mine armor, I stand at 6 feet 6 inches. Without it, only 6 feet.
WEIGHT: //[/color] Myself? I am 160 pounds. My armor, on the other hand easily weighs 200 pounds.
EYE COLOR: //[/color] Teal.
HAIR COLOR: //[/color] Grey-white.
PIERCINGS: //[/color] Hah!
TATTOOS: //[/color] I would not sully my body with paint. Rather, underneath my armor, I bear whirling, jagged, red marks - a souvenir from my battle against the beast Fafnir and my bathing in his blood.
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: //[/color] I usually wear full-body armor, obscuring myself from the world. If not that, then I always wear a simple, golden band on my ring finger.
[/size][/ul] [/blockquote]
- Avarice
- Otr's bounty, the Andvarinaut, bore with it a curse. It cursed two brothers into slaying their own father, Hreidmar. One brother, Fafnir, cast the other, Regin, aside, so that he would slumber upon the ill-gotten hoard for all eternity. Regin would then enlist the aid of a lone hero to slay Fafnir, already making designs to betray the unsuspecting mercenary. However, that hero learned of Regin's planned treachery. He returned with vengeance in his heart, and slew Regin, his foster-father, without a second thought. And that is how the cursed gold was passed onto me, a demanding god, eager to consume and expand. It is my treasure. It is mine to guard and to protect, till the end of time. Mine.
- Apathy and Despairing
- In life, I was betrayed thrice. Once by my foster father. Once by the woman I loved and forgotten. And then, one last time by my lord and my friend. Betrayed! Betrayed by those that I held closest to my heart. Life is nothing but a fleeting world of miseries. This is not a savior's world, but one of greed and lies. The only thing worth fighting for is yourself.
- Ruthless
- They say that power, wealth, and glory rule the world. That so long as you held one, you would never be wanting... that is a lie. The grim truth is: Death is the true shaper. The tragedy of the Andvarinaut, my ascent, and my eventual downfall all began and ended with death. Not power. Not glory. Not wealth. But death. It was a hard lesson learned, but a necessary one.
- The Faceless
- Do not call me Sigurd Fafnesbane, for that name brought me nothing. No, call me... Saber. I am the vanquishing blade of the Grail Wars, unattached and unguided. My face and my name is mine and mine alone. Behind the aegis of Fafnir's blood, I am untouchable.
LIKES: //[/color]
The world, for it is the ultimate treasure - and it will be mine. Nothing else.
My Treasure, the Rhinegold, the Andvarinaut. It is all that I have, the proof of my deeds.
DISLIKES: //[/color]
The world, as it is the most elusive of foes, forever refusing my grasp.
People. Every man is a traitor, every hand a hidden dagger.
The Powers that Be. Be it Odin or Akasha or Zeus or Yahweh, they force destiny to move hither and thither, in accordance with their twisted whims.
STRENGTHS: //[/color]
I am the Saber, the Mightiest of Spirits. I do not care for friendship or camaraderie. I will acknowledge our Contract, but that is as far as we will go. This is only business, nothing personal. My emotions are not important. I can and will keep them under control. Furthermore, my armor is the omnipresent representation of Fafnir's curse and protection - it will protect me from the mightiest of blows. I may be slow of foot, but you will hardly find a mightier Servant.
I also talk to birds. Birds.
WEAKNESSES: //[/color]
Yet, even I have some weaknesses. Despite my restraint, I all too easily fall into wrath. Furthermore, Fafnir's power, when combined with the Dragon-slaying attribute of Gram, has left my body sluggish. While my arms still wield Gram properly and swiftly, the rest of my body has yet to adapt. Lastly, at times, I will admit that I am pessimistic, yet surprised about the human nature. Why would a world of traitors show an uncommon interest in other people? Why is it that, when a man dies, his brothers will seize swords and come to die with steely resolve and fiery hearts?
[/ul][/size][/blockquote]
MY LEGEND: //[/color] My cursed legend.
MY HISTORY: //[/color]
I am Sigurd, Sigurd Fafnesbane. My father was Sigmund, the mightiest of the Volsung, bearer of Gram, the sword that was cleaved within Barnstock. He was unstoppable, unbested in battle or war. To win the hand of my mother, Hjordis, he waged a war against a jealous suitor, Lyngi, in a battle that he was fated to lose. But my father did not die. He stood strong, slaying all that came against him.
Until a one-eyed stranger arrived on the field of battle, wielding a a mighty spear. With one strike, he shattered Gram, and slew my father. His grim deed finished, the lone warrior vanished, leaving my father's lifeblood to drain into the dirt, his sword broken.
That man was Odin the One-eyed, the All-father. He slew my father only to abide by the word of the Norns. My father died for mere witches' words. Not because he had to fulfill his grand destiny, but because someone demanded it.
Were it not for my mother, who was already pregnant with me, the line of the Volsung might have ended there. No, after that battle, she rushed onto the slaughtering grounds to meet with my father, who had, despite his wounds, stayed beyond death to see Hjordis one last time, only able to tell her to take the shattered remains of Gram and to live on.
Live on she did. She fled to another King's land, and gave birth to me in Denmark. There, I was raised by two fathers. One was Alf, Prince of Denmark, Hjordis' second husband, and my stepfather. He was... a good father. He allowed me to choose my first Steed. On the advice of a one-eyed old man, I chose a young grey, and called him Grani. That Steed turned out to be the offspring of Odin's eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, and would grow to be my closest companion.
My foster-father and my tutor, Regin, trained me in the arts of War, and then told me his story. It was a tale of vengeance and treachery:
[/ul]
And this was Regin's request: that I slay Fafnir. I accepted it. Before we traveled to Fafnir's Lair, Regin first forged me a new sword, one capable of slaying Dragons. Twice he forged me a sword; twice did the blade shatter upon the anvil. Finally, I gave him Gram's shards, and he reforged that weapon. This time, the anvil was sundered under Gram's might.
Heady with power, I did what any good son would do. I took up my father's sword, made anew. I gathered an army.
And I returned to Hunland. Vengeance must be had. I slew those bastards who have dared to attack the Volsung, those who have murdered my father. All the sons of Hunding fell upon my blade. And that was my justice.
Only then did I turn to Fafnir's gold. At Regin's advice, I dug a pit to hide in. Upon an old wanderer's advice, I went on to dig trenches with which to drain Fafnir's blood. I hid within my pit until the slothful dragon emerged from his cave to drink of a nearby spring. As Fafnir drank deeply, I used the element of surprise, and with one strike, clove the dragon's head from the body. Afterwards, Regin suggested that I cook Fafnir's heart for him to consume; in exchange, he would relinquish his right to vengeance - this, despite the fact that I slew Fafnir on his behalf! Regardless, I did as bidden to.
My survival hinged on an accident. I burned my fingers on Fafnir's heart-blood, and reflexively licked it off. And suddenly, I could speak to birds. Literally. They told me that Regin plotted treachery. So I believed the birds over my life-long mentor, and struck Regin down. Afterwards, I bathed in Fafnir's blood, with the only souvenirs being a set of large, whirling tattoos adorning the entirety of my body. This practice would render me utterly invulnerable... or so I thought. Only after draining the river of blood did I notice that a single spot over my left shoulder was untouched, covered by a leaf!
Regardless. Fafnir's hoard was mine. All mine, never to be shared.
Then the birds told me of a lone Valkyrie called Brynhildr slumbering within a ring of fire, so condemned by Odin for disobedience. I rode out to meet her, a move that I would come to regret later. Upon arriving at the Ring, Grani and I leaped through the fire to meet Odin's daughter. As the first of mortals to brave the flames and the thunder, I... I... became enamored with her, the greatest of women. I remained with her for a week. But... I had to leave, unworthy as I was of Odin's daughter. But we swore to wait. To never take another until the day I could return, glorious and triumphant.
The King had three sons: Gunnar, Hogni, and Guttorm, and a daughter. I cared little for the sons, weak-willed men still bouncing in their father's laps. What were they to me, Sigurd Fafnesbane, greatest of heroes? But the daughter, Gudrun, was an entirely different story. For some reason, she could do no wrong. She was truly the model of perfection. In a way, you could say that she stole my heart, in a manner...
Unless you counted the love potion that her witch of a mother sneaked into my goblet one furtive night, drugging me into fealty to the Giukings!
Regardless, what was done... was done. I served. I still served. Gunnar, who took up his father's throne as King of Burgundy, soon trusted me as his highest vassal. But one day, he coveted a woman, trapped in a ring of fire, and came to me for aid. Still under Grimhild's enchantment, I did as ordered, enlisting the witch-mother's aid in changing shape to that of Gunnar's, and won Brynhildr for him. I... wish it could have been another way, but it could not. I was bound by my oath to the King, and she her oath to the heavens, to the man that rescued her from the fire.
But that was not yet enough for that weak-chinned man of a King. He came to me with an embarrassing secret:
His wife was too rough for him.
So, on his order, under cover of darkness and invisibility, I... beat her. I beat her into submission. For my King's honor, I beat Brynhildr, protected by the shadow of the night, and took her Ring... the ring I left her long ago, when we first met - not that I remembered it at the time.
And so it went - the King ruled with his fair wife, and I with his sister, Queen Gudrun. Amazing that, despite being married to a Queen, I was still a vassal. Brynhildr, too, found this to be hilarious, and sought to quarrel with Gudrun day after day. Gudrun, my wonderful wife, for her part, turned out to be stupid enough to tell Brynhildr my part in Gunnar's 'courtship' (that is to say, everything).
Helheim hath no fury like a woman scorned. In no time, she managed to play on Gunnar's jealousies, turning him, his brothers, nearly all of Burgundy's royalty, against me. And so they laid down a plot, easily swayed by their fear. They sent me on a hunt, and then speared me from afar, like some... animal.
And, in the face of treachery, I died. I died, not in the glory of battle, not cut down by some wrathful God-king, but like an animal fleeing the slaughter. I died, not by the hand of some grim enemy, but by the many hands of those that I knew. I died, truly knowing the world.
I died alone.
MY GOALS: //[/color] I will become the Dragon that devours all, the end of all days. My Power will eclipse that of the Heroic Cycle, of every damnable Spirit and warrior. And so I say: The world will be my hoard and protectorate. It may burn, it may shatter, it may die, but it will be mine, for all time, to the end of days.
Beo says: Heroic Cycle is basically poetical-speak for the Throne of Heroes, and the fact that they don't sublime back into Akasha. The More You Know!
[/size][/blockquote]
Balmung - Chained Blade of Legacy and Binding Anvil
Gram, also called Balmung. The original sword, the one belonging to Sigmund, Sigurd's father, was the eternal opposite to Caliburn. It is a weapon that was once broken and then reforged for the son, forged in thunder and flames by the mightiest of men, and perfected by the greatest of dwarves. In its new state, it is Balmung, the sword of the sun, the eternal opposite to Caliburn. It is the Dragonslayer. I carry it in its sheath, so forged from the shards of the shattered Anvil in order to hide its identity.
Special notes: Anti-Dragon attributes.
NOBLE PHANTASM: //[/color]
Shadow of the Dragon - Fafnir's Black Heart
Rank: B
Type: Passive Support
Range: NA
Maximum Number of Targets: Self
When I fed upon Fafnir's heart, and swam in the rivers of his blood, his power and his misery became mine. He will not allow me to die so easily - a punishment and a prize for slaying the mighty dragon and befouling his carcass. The Shadow of the Dragon lingers on, imbuing me with with strength beyond that of many men, as well as nigh-invulnerability - except for a spot slightly above my left shoulder. Furthermore, the power inherent within Fafnir's heart lingers on, granting me a measure of mana capacity - but, at the same time, his rage permeates my very heart and soul, a hissing, spitting serpent cursing me with every step.
The Shadow of the Dragon, in the form of a phantasmal defense, nullifies the concept of injury and death all around Sigurd, save for a spot above his left shoulder, the Norse equivalent to the Greek Achilles Heel. This hole in the defense, is not seen, giving the illusion of a seamless armor. However, this defense can be pierced by attacks and Noble Phantasms of a higher rank and concept – A-ranked.
Beo says: This explains why he has incredible Endurance, Strength, and Mana levels, but rather subpar Luck and Agility. A DRAGON DID IT!
However, the Dragon's influence and presence recedes in the face of Dragon-slaying weapons - but only the true ones. The traced and the copied are mere shadows of their progenitors. Regardless, in such a case, Fafnir's flight changes me back to the man that I was:
Magic Resistance: C
Instinct: B
STRENGTH: //[/color]B
ENDURANCE: //[/color]C
AGILITY: //[/color]B
MANA: //[/color]C-
LUCK: //[/color]B
[/blockquote]
It is not like King Uther's Dragon Attribute in that I would immediately pale and fall against Dragon-slayers. Fafnir's power is not as deeply ingrained in my being as Uther's Dragonic Attribute is - mine was earned, while his was gifted from birth.
Yes, I'm still weak to attacks to the little space above my left shoulder. There, my Endurance might as well be E--, for all you care.
Balmung - Sword of Fated Ruin
Rank: A+
Type: Anti-Fortress
Range: 1-99 / However far Arturia's Excaliblast went / ~2-3 km?
Max Targets: 500
The sword of the sun, Balmung is a blade of ruin and glory. The eternal opposite to the strongest divine blade Caliburn, Balmung is the strongest demonic sword, trumpeting Sigurd's ruin.
It is unleashed by invoking its name, and then swiftly drawing Balmung from its sheath (Or merely slashing it, if the sheath has been destroyed for whatever reason), converting the user's prana into destructive power. As this occurs, black and red flames lance from the sword's edge, whipping and wailing. As Balmung is also the sword sharp enough to shatter an anvil and have a tuft of wool split itself upon the blade, it sends an arcing point of kinetic energy coursing towards the foe. As this happens, the lancing flames of ruin follow it, burning and slashing its foe(s) in the process.
Grani - Iron Steed of War
Rank: B+ (A+ if a Rider)
Type: Anti-Army
Range: 100 Meters
Max Targets: Whatever gets in the way.
In the day that I reaped my vengeance against all the Sons of Hunding, it was said that I was as a monster, smiting men and beasts alike, and my rage was such that mere men shrank away from my sword, beset by fear, until Hunding's brood themselves came to battle, to death.
Even though I am no Rider, the bond between Grani and I is far too strong to be severed by mere classes. Even though I cannot ride Grani on a regular basis, for this one moment, Grani and I are as one, steed and rider stampeding the field of war!
Activating this Noble Phantasm dispels Fafnir's presence momentarily, as if I were facing a Dragon-Slayer's weapon - but if Fafnir was already dispelled, then this step is skipped. As the man I was before I slew the dragon, I will swiftly slash at the space behind me, creating a brief tear in space, just long enough to summon Grani. Then, together, we ride! We ride through the field of battle, trampling friend and foe alike! Grani, the noble offspring of Odin's Sleipnir, is nearly unstoppable by itself. Yet additionally, as I ride, I imbue Gram with Prana, turning it into a mighty slashing blade, all of that power focused on the edge. The attack is focused on a single target, launching it into the air, followed by a devastating series of lighter slashes trapping him within a whirlwind of blades.
After this Noble Phantasm ends, Grani dashes away, back to whence he came, and it will take a minute for Fafnir's Spirit to reassert itself. Yet, the sheer effect that our combined presence is enough to instill fear and worry. This fear's effect is such that even after the charge, the Servants who have witnessed it will have a (-) modifier to their stats or no modifiers if they have Bravery for four minutes.
CLASS ABILITIES: //[/color]
Magic Resistance: B
Protection against magical effects. Differently from the Resistance effect that merely rejects prana, this ability cancels the spells altogether. Important to note that the term "verse" seen bellow refers to a set of three lines. Thus, a chant of two verses is equivalent to a Six-Line incantation.
B: Cancel spells with a chant below three verses. Even if targeted by High-Thaumaturgy and Greater Rituals, it is difficult for him to be affected.
The Dragon-blood's protection extends beyond just the mortal and the pale. It transcends the physical, protecting me from magecraft - to an extent.
Riding: A
The expertise to ride animals and vehicles. Sabers and Riders only.
Most creatures can be ridden with above average skill. However, cannot ride those of Demoniac Beast and Holy Beast-rank.
In another War, perhaps, I could have ridden Grani, the noble offspring of Sleipnir, Odin's grand steed. But in this life, I am a Saber, not a Rider. Yet, my experiences with Grani have elevated me above most Sabers in terms of riding experience.
SKILLS: //[/color]
Mental Pollution: D
Due to possessing a distorted mentality, it is highly possible to shut out any mental interference Thaumaturgy. However, at the same time it becomes impossible to come to an understanding with individuals that do not possess an equivalent rank of mental pollution.
...Greed. It comes. I am bound to the Ring, the one Ring to rule me. It guides my hand, for it contains within it the curse of Avarice. So long as I hold the Advarinaut, it will exert its power upon me, corrupting me, until all I know is an insatiable desire to feed that hungry, invisible God. It is a swiftly acting curse - it instantly transformed a wise Dwarf-King into a greedy hedonist, and set two brothers against each other without a single thought.
Rune Magic: B
Knowledge about this type of Magecraft originated from northern Europe.
B: capable of using the 18 primordials runes.
In my travels, I met the Valkyrie Sigrdrifa. She was not like Brynhildr, a lover, who I would meet later, but more of a mentor to me. She taught me many things, of Asgard and Gods, of combat, and of Runic magic. These runes, hailing from Odin's daughter, mirror the effects of the runes granted to him by the hanging tree, but, obviously, of a lower caliber. They can be inscribed, drawn, or otherwise to unleash an effect.
Bravery: B
Capacity to resist mental interference such as pressure, confusion and fascination.
I challenged an army. I rode through a ring of mystic fire. I fought a Dragon, an incarnation of boundless greed with nothing but my father's reforged sword and the clothes on my back. I am Sigurd Fafnesbane.
Instinct: A
The power to "feel" the most favorable developments for oneself during battle.
A: Refined sixth sense is now close to true precognition. Bonus effect of reducing by half the penalties caused by obstructed vision and hearing.
Because I ate of Fafnir's heart, I have gained a... sense for things, likely born out of the fact that I speak to birds. It has gotten to the point where this, combined with my experience, remains with me, even if there are no birds around. These animals are sharper than you would give them credit for - so, subconsciously, I listen to their observations. The first time, they warned me of Regin's would-be treachery, and I only heard them because I was too shocked to ignore them. However, as time passed, I have learned to tune out the majority of their chatter, listening only to the relevant words pertaining to battle.
STRENGTH: //[/color]A
ENDURANCE: //[/color]A+
AGILITY: //[/color]D-
MANA: //[/color] A
LUCK: //[/color] C-
NOBLE PHANTASM: //[/color] A++
[/blockquote][/size][/ul]
FACE CLAIM: //[/color] Garland of Dissidia.
OTHER CHARACTERS: //[/color] Some brute called BEOWULF.
MISC. INFORMATION: //[/color] Dragon Attribute was basically stolen from Uther's profile. *Teehee* Is that alright? Also, even though the actual Sigurd didn't fight people with a BFS-sheath, I'm taking artistic liberties, like how Saber's Excalibur was invisible all the time.
Also, whew. Finished.
[/size][/ul]
