Name: Bjarke Stark
Age: 23
Great House: Stark, (Negotiable who's son or brother he is.)
Personality: He holds his family above anything else. Not their name nor their reputation, but their lives and happiness. He is often regarded as the protector of his kin and will give his life in a heartbeat for them. He can be caring to his family but equally as cruel to his enemies.
Appearance:
Occupation: Warrior
Combat Skills
-Greatsword: 50
-Archery: 15
-Martial Combat: 20
Physical:
-Running: 10
Survival Skills
-Wilderness Survival: 5
People Skills
-Seduction: 10
-Interrorgation: 6
-Tactics: 4
Craftsmanship & Work
-Blacksmithing: 5
Other: He is an incredibly capable warrior with a
Special Weaponry: Spiked shoulder plate, he has often used it to ram into his enemies and spear them through the chest.
Pets:
Allergies: None
WRITING SAMPLE: (YOU MUST WRITE ONE OF THESE IN ORDER TO BE ACCEPTED)
Bjarke strode through the demolished encampment, his longsword at his side. He watched as one of the raiders soldiers rushed forward with his sword above his head. The fool came in to fast and tried to slash downwards towards Bjarke, it was a simple enough move to sidestep. When the mans blade came to the ground Bjarke had already stepped left and threw his left leg out to the side while bending his right knee. He was at a lowered position and angled his longsword so that it would skewer the man from the stomach up. Bjarke smiled and brought his left leg in and his right knee extended, the blade slowly sunk into the mans stomach and came out near his shoulder blade. It made a sickening sliding sound as blood flowed from the wound trickling down the blade and onto Bjarkes exposed fingers.
"Death comes for us all," Bjarke whispered in the mans ear as he used his shoulder to push the man backwards and off of his blade. He continued on through the encampment, the tents lit aflame, soldiers rushing agaisnt one another. The clash of steel and iron and the roar of men crying for the blood of their enemies raged on but Bjarke kept composure, this battle was of no consequence to him. He fought for his family's banner-men, these raiders plagued one of the under houses. In front of him he saw three warriors, two in heavy armor. He smiled and ran forth with his great sword at his side, a loud war cry erupting from his inner most emotion. His feet crunched against dry soil as he neared his opponents, one of the men in armor drew their sword and attempted to rush toward Bjarke. The two closed the gap before the armored man had time to reach full sprint and Bjarke simply tucked his pauldron equipped shoulder and rammed into the mans chest. He heard the puncturing of plate and smiled as the knight began to tip over.
"You fuck ugly cunt I'll kill you!" The non armored one shouted as he brought his sword down toward Bjarke, the blade cut across Bjarke's eye left eye and he screamed in pain. Before the man could come down in a stabbing motion Bjarke had drawn his dagger and forced himself free of the armored man. He moved under the unarmored raiders guard and proceeded to stab him in the stomach until the remaining armored man joined the fight. The man rushed forward the clanging of his armor loud, he swung at Bjarke back and made a small cut in the thick leather. Bjarke felt the blade drag across it and pushed the unarmored corpse away from himself and rolled away from an incoming swing. His face bled and he was slightly off balance from loosing a fairly important part of his anatomy but he kept his dagger up and his feet planted. The armored man ran forward with his sword hilt at his side and its point ready to spear Bjarke through. Bjarke had few options and so he did something foolish, he ran at the armored man. The two came within a few feet of one another before Bjarke threw the dagger forward, it clanged against the metal helmet but it served its purpose as a momentary distraction. Bjarke dropped to the ground and rolled against the knights shins, the man fell over. His armor made it hard for him to recover quickly and Bjarke simply stood and grabbed his longsword from near the first armored man. He moved over to the remaining opponent and pulled the mans helmet off. Bjarke used his foot to roll the man over and smirked at him as he tried to swing his sword. Bjarke simple swung his sword and cut the mans wielding hand off. His screams were loud and full of anguish, but it did not deter Bjarke. He looked down at the man and put his greatsword in front of the mans mouth. He watched as the mans eyes registered what was about to happen, but it was too late for him to stop screaming now. Bjarke pushed his sword forward and the mans screaming was muffled by a blade piercing the inside of his mouth and cutting the spine behind it. Blood spurted out as the man made a few final spasms and finally stopped. The battle raged on and Bjarke ran off and joined into the larger fray of things, he swung his sword wildly as he delved into the enemy ranks. He cut down commanders and footsoldiers alike, he took his fair share of injuries but his pride forced him to continue on. He saw the raiders banner and cut through the masses to reach it. He and his warriors waded through bodies and reached the enemy banner, he reached up and tore it down.
"For House Stark!" He shouted as he threw the tarnished banner to the bloody dirt and began cutting down what little opposition remained. As his men ran off to capture the fleeing troops he sat atop several bodies that seemed fit for a throne, he looked around at the scorched earth, the burning tents, the smell of rot. He knew his home lay far away, in Winterfell, but here he felt like a king. He stabbed his greatsword into the earth and rested his hands on its wide cross guard, and put his head against the bloody flat of the blade. He thought of the Godswood tree near his home and began to pray to the old gods. Praying for the safety of his family, and the death of his enemies.
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