Grenhart: Difference between revisions
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{{PC |
{{PC |
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|name |
|name=Grenhart woodspirt Usho |
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|status |
|status=a |
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|race |
|race=Elf |
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|gender |
|gender=Male |
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|guild |
|guild=Ranger |
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|instance |
|instance=Prime |
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}} |
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He is tall for an elf. He has pointed ears and silver eyes. His blue-black hair is very long and wavy, and is worn braided. He has copper skin.<br /> |
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He has a tattoo of a skeletal sailor adorned in rotting seaweed on his arm.<br /> |
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<br /> |
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Grenhart (Gren) woodspirt |
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A Sand Elf. A Ranger by trade. Odd thing for a Sand Elf, the dunes of Velaka are long way from the forests usually associated with the Ranger’s Guild, but being a Ranger is a calling and it really doesn’t matter where you hail from. Of course in keeping with his roots he is a follower of Kuniyo and favors the blade over the bow. |
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Grenhart’s father was a trader and on one his visits to the Crossing with his father he ran into an odd little guy named Snare running around with a whole posse of raccoons in tow. Fascinated by this strange creature and his raccoons Grenhart left his home and traveled alone back to the Crossing to investigate. |
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Snare explained to Grenhart the working of the Ranger Guild and introduced him to the crazy lady that runs the Crossing Ranger Guild. Snare’s view was basically train or die, and if you didn’t train he would be happy to help you die. |
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After some discussion with Snare about the "die" part, Grenhart joined and the crazy lady accepted him into the guild. |
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For the record Snare wasn't kidding. |
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A solitary creature by nature Grenhart stayed mainly in the wilds. During the Gorbesh War his good friend Darkskye D'leave introduced him to a war band called the Apostles. There he met Rock Loyalheart and Candidus, two fine Paladins. He fought in the war with the Apostles not really knowing that the war band would eventually become an order of the realms. |
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After the Gorbesh War Grenhart returned to the wilderness until the Outcasts arrived. He returned to service as a member of the ZEF. He fought the Outcasts all the way to Shard and stood, and fell, at the gates of the city. |
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At first glance, he could be mistaken for a common Ranger — the folds of his desert shroud moving gently in the wind. |
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Grenhart was particularly torn in this war as the Outcast’s were desert peoples and Queen Morganae’s reference to them as “desert curs” cut deep. For Elf or any other race the desert is harsh and you learn to give respect to those that survive it. The end of that war did not sit well with Grenhart and he again returned to the wilderness. |
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His presence feels solid — carved out of sun and wind and will. his eyes — silver and steady — hold the hard stillness of someone who has seen too much and understood more than he wished. |
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Some years later he returned to Crossing and made new friends and rejoined the Apostles as an order member for a new war and new battles. |
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Around his waist is a leather belt, worn and creased, with the hilt of a curved shotel peeking from its folds — a gift and a burden both. Its silver grip glints when the wind shifts. On his right shoulder rests a baldric with a longbow in it, a quiet reminder that he is also a soldier of another empire, one whose banners do not fly here. |
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Over the years many of Grenhart’s friends and comrades have departed the realms and you can often find him enjoying a toast to them. Grenhart mourns the passing of old friends and wears the scars of old battles, but as the Sand Elves say there are always new friends to make and new battles to be won. |
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There is something unearthly in him, as if the desert itself had polished him down, and kept only the necessary parts — the endurance, the quiet, the resolve. When he moves, he does so without hurry, the sand whispering under his boots. His voice, when it comes, is low and deliberate, carrying easily over the empty expanse. |
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So cheers my friend, heres to the next day may the Gods be merciful we will live to see it. |
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You realize, watching him, that he wears his shroud as a covenant — a promise to the land and to the people who dwell within it. The folds around him are not costume; they are allegiance, woven in the language of heat and horizon. |
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And drink to the next. |
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He looks once more toward the distance, where the dunes melt into light. For a moment, the shadows of his shroud, the glint off of his black hair, and the glare of the sun all blur together, and you cannot tell where the elf ends and the desert begins. |
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Or something. |
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Latest revision as of 19:23, 3 March 2026
| Grenhart woodspirt Usho | |
|---|---|
| Status | Active |
| Race | Elf |
| Gender | Male |
| Guild | Ranger |
| Instance | Prime |
Grenhart woodspirt-Usho of Elanthia, an Elven Ranger.
The elf before you does not belong to any one world.
At first glance, he could be mistaken for a common Ranger — the folds of his desert shroud moving gently in the wind.
His presence feels solid — carved out of sun and wind and will. his eyes — silver and steady — hold the hard stillness of someone who has seen too much and understood more than he wished.
Around his waist is a leather belt, worn and creased, with the hilt of a curved shotel peeking from its folds — a gift and a burden both. Its silver grip glints when the wind shifts. On his right shoulder rests a baldric with a longbow in it, a quiet reminder that he is also a soldier of another empire, one whose banners do not fly here.
There is something unearthly in him, as if the desert itself had polished him down, and kept only the necessary parts — the endurance, the quiet, the resolve. When he moves, he does so without hurry, the sand whispering under his boots. His voice, when it comes, is low and deliberate, carrying easily over the empty expanse.
You realize, watching him, that he wears his shroud as a covenant — a promise to the land and to the people who dwell within it. The folds around him are not costume; they are allegiance, woven in the language of heat and horizon.
He looks once more toward the distance, where the dunes melt into light. For a moment, the shadows of his shroud, the glint off of his black hair, and the glare of the sun all blur together, and you cannot tell where the elf ends and the desert begins.