|Game Name||Amaroq Blackclaw|
|Professions||Mercenary, Grave Robber, Hunter|
The cimmerian stands at a staggering six foot ten inches tall, his average frame resulting in a very lean appearance due to his height. Pale skin and primal marking's show his ancestry, long black hair and blue-grey eyes confirm his blood. An oddly clean shaven face is the only thing that seems to betray the barbarians blood line. Upon seeing Amaroq, those who understand cimmerian markings would notice the obvious blue symbol on his left arm signifying that the man was marked as a pathfinder while the streak across his eye's give away his primary role in the Blackclaw clan. The mark of the hunter is worn proudly at all time's by the man while the symbol of the pathfinder is usually hidden beneath his armor.
“Amaroq ya lug, keep yer arse up!” A woman smiles from a top a large rock, hips cocked and looking down at a struggling Cimmerian climbing the rock face. His eyes cast up causing a grin to cross his face. “Well surprise, surprise, ya did a lil’ work earlier eh?” The man lets out a playful laugh as the woman’s face flushes. She turns with a smirk and takes a few steps away from the edge, holding her skirt down so as not to give an encore. Amaroq dusts his kilt of debris keeping his gaze on the woman with her back turned towards him. She cocks her head over her shoulder giving Amaroq a telling glance. “Ya’re getting slow Huntmaster. Ya better not show this poorly on our wedding night.” The woman teases. “Climbing a rock is one thing Akesra, keeping you unable ta’ walk for a week is another.” Amaroq rebuts causing Akesra to roll her silver eyes. “C’mon, we should set up camp before it gets too dark.” She tilts her head to a clearing deep in the valley. “Still three hours away” She states. Amaroq’s view drifts up from her backside as he speaks. “Aye…ya say somethin’?” The woman huffs, hiding her smile as she turns her head towards the snow covered ground over which they must travel. The trek across the mountain ridge is easy enough save a few near slips on the ice. A brutal winter has made it possible to travel further into vanir territory this year, sure the ice was slick and air bitter but like hell would any of those vanir dogs travel far from their camps this year when they could huddle close to their fires. “We should rest.” Akesra says after flopping to her rear on a patch of ground beneath a large tree. “Ain’t like them dog’s will be out tonight.” Amaroq leans against the tree before dropping beside her. “Aye, fackin’ ymirish though tend ta be out in damn near anythi-.” His voice is interrupted by the sounding of a ram’s horn, the mountains to the south echoing the harsh noise back and making it impossible to tell the direction. “Move…” Amaroq’s eyes dart about as a skilled hand reaches for his axe. His instincts awaken, hands growing cold, and breathe tightening leaving no trail of warm mist in the frigid air. Akesra staggers to her feet, her legs worn from the traveling. “We have ta get goin’. No telling where they might be at.” Amaroq stays low, axe in hand and making his way back towards the ridge. Such a far hike, might take an hour, no, two at this pace. “Get moving.” he thinks. “Akesra, keep up!” He finally shouts, uncaring if the enemy hears, for all he knows they could be miles away, the wind carrying their call. At that, he turns his head, watching as a Ymirish cracks a sapling in half. “Fack no.” The ymirish roars, hand wrapping around Akesra’s waist as if it were a small animals, and hurling her back towards the tree line. Amaoq spins on his heel, charging back over the distance like a feral bear. How could he have gotten so far ahead of her. His sprint meets with a wall as he is forced clear off his feet and onto his back by some unseen force. The monsters chant as more come forth from the forest. What magic could hide so many from Amaroq’s senses for so long? His eyes falter, body freezes and finally with the screams of Akesra resounding in his head, he blacks out.