Character Details - Verndari Styrkr

Written by RuneBardCreated : 4-Sep-2004 8:27:55 am
Last Edited : 4-Sep-2004 8:49:55 am

Name: Verndari Styrkr – means ‘Protector in bodily strength’.

Nicknames: Vern, ‘Digger’.

Race: Human (modern Terran)

Age: 29

Sex: Male

Height: 6ft 1’

Build: Athletic, lean, muscular

Appearance/personality: Vern has dazzling blue eyes and dark brown hair, he is very physically active and constantly on the go, always itching to investigate whatever catches his interest be that in a physical or intellectual manner. Given the sheer diversity of cultural influences and experiences through-out his life Vern is easy going and accepting of peoples of other races and cultures, keeping an open mind and actively seeking to understand the different peoples he encounters.

Approachable and observant, Vern is customarily dressed in either his fatigue clothing – which tend to add a depth of green to his blue eyes, or comfortable buckskin pants and tight vest (Allrin garb).

Verndari’s History.

• Verndari Styrkr began his life with another name, in another world and time. What his name was first has been lost through years and time, and he finds he misses it not at all…he has a new name to befit the new and strange life he has entered into. A name forgotten though the memories it stirs are eternal and well loved, a trail of his existence.

• Born to a normal Australian family, and educated in the usual public school system, Vern was unusual only in his diverse cultural experiences as a child. From the time he was a babe-at-arms until the tender age of 10 or so, Vern lived on a tropical island that was part of a country called Papua New Guinea.

Now unbeknownst to the young Vern, his island home of thick rainforests, plunging mountains, active volcanoes and torrential rain had long been a matter of some political contention. As he grew to understand it, his island had once been part of another Land’s Atoll, but the Power’s who controlled the Country named Papua New Guinea discovered the pretty island of midnight skinned peoples was rich in mineral and ore offerings – so they claimed it as their own.

This had apparently been how matters stood when Vern and his parents came to live on the tropical island swimming dead centre along the Equator, and though Vern was far to young to be aware of it at the time, many of his relatives back in Australia had minds filled with superstition and fear-mongering thoughts. How wrong they were.

Vern’s white skinned family found welcome amongst the native peoples, whose skins ranged from the blackest of pitch on the island natives, to a rich muddy brown down to the smoothest of coffee cream on those whose blood and birth brought them from neighbouring islands. As Vern grew, his native friends and playmates taught him their languages and brought him into their homes to learn a little of their ways and culture.

Verndari lived his childhood in a world of flashing teeth and eyes, gentle melodic voices and hearts as large as their frames. Vern’s father worked like many of his townsmen at the great Mine, a huge open-cut expanse to rival the nearest volcano herself. His mother tended the children and animals of friends, neighbours and townsfolk during the working hours, and as a result Vern always had native friends to play and dream with.

What Vern didn’t know was that the Mine though inevitable for the island, had caused a certain level of unrest and inequality amongst the native peoples. There were those, who like Vern’s father, worked for the Mine and though they lost no respect in other people eyes, the Mine had become the source of an Argument.

While he lived his innocent childhood, men began to talk, saying that once the island had been part of another Land, now it had been long-claimed by another, and meanwhile the People must sit back and watch the wound being opened in the land, and either roll with the Power, or rebel against it and suffer. Some began to say that they should be a Land for the People, their own Country, ruled by and for the People.

Of course the Power’s that received the rich minerals and ore from Vern’s island home would not sit calmly by while the People rose up in rebellion – rebellion causes delays and problems with reaping ones riches, so Peacekeeper’s were sent in, armed with impressive weapons and carried in huge noisy helicopters, technology beyond the almost primitive native peoples.

Now Vern was not an ignorant child, and no matter how young he was aware that Trouble had come to his idyllic life of friends and play and innocence. Slowly he began to piece the story in his mind, wove the reason for all the guns, curfews, soldiers and hushed whispers from listening to the quiet talk of the adults. Vern’s version of events, it was true, was framed by an eight or nine year olds perception, but in his young heart he felt not fear, but a surging love for the people who had opened their hearts and their lives to a strange pale skinned child, and now must face the same worries he saw stamped on his parents faces.

The Power’s were at fault, young Vern reasoned, the parents of his class mates, friends of his small family who had claimed them all as blood kin in every way save ‘officially’ were termed ‘Rebel’s’ by the Power’s, but his skin proclaimed him as akin to the Power’s in some obscure way he could not then fathom. Yet, by those who knew them best they were not considered Power’s, so he must therefore be a pale member of the People. Vern’s young mind continued to weave his “facts”.

The first obvious change came with the curfews, where no one was allowed to leave the confines of their yard after sundown – and there were soldiers with machine guns to enforce that law. Then came the sounds of gunfire in the night – both skirmishes with the Rebels and bored soldiers taking out night-wandering dogs and cats. Then came word that people had been killed, white people as well as black, that soon it would not be safe for anyone of pale skin, and any with family and relatives on neighbouring islands had best to go, soon the good word of those who know you best would not be enough. People began to leave.

First in small numbers, then with increasing rate Vern’s childhood friends and their families disappeared, the white ones gone back to their countries of origin, the natives seeking out their relatives on neighbouring islands. Very soon the child-populace of the town numbered in what had formerly filled one age group, the white families numbered but two, Vern’s own and that of another family. Vern learnt his father meant for him to leave with his mother, to go back to Australia – but he would remain for a while.

Numbed and confused, Vern watched as his mother packed what she could carry for both of them and his father hustled them up the mountains on roads they were least likely to be shot at on to see them all onto a friends private helicopter. From there they were flown down the island to the airport, there to spend a day in the queue’s with everyone else desperate to flee the island on the small irregular air service available. Native friends who needn’t fear being shot had driven their car to the airport to meet them carrying more clothing and baggage for the journey.

Eventually, Vern’s father saw his wife and son onto the small plane, promising to come to them soon, but that he still had a job to do and could not come with them yet and watched as they were evacuated to safety. With that, Vern’s world changed. While his mother tried to set up a new life for them in Australia – a country not wholly unfamiliar due to the annual visits to relatives done previously, Vern’s father stayed on to work and wrap things up so all their belongings could be shipped to their new home.

Some months after his return to his birth country, Vern and his mother got word that his father’s heart had failed him, that he was being emergency flown to Australia requiring immediate care. Vern’s mother sent him to stay with her brother’s family and went with his father’s sisters to go to him. Before much longer however, Vern’s life returned to a ‘normal’ classification. With his father home and recovered, Vern began his life anew, learning new customs and growing into adulthood.

• By the time he was a young adult, Vern realised that the ‘facts’ he had woven around what he had experienced as a child while true, were shaded by the vision and understanding of the child. With patient exploration he learnt to adjust his former prejudices and see the situation with wider eyes and a more open mind. This perhaps might have been the reason Vern sought Military training.

• Early in his Military career, Vern had the opportunity to go back to Papua New Guinea, not to his former island home but to it’s Mainland, and several of the small isles that cluster off it’s bulk. He went in the capacity of a Peacekeeper, much as those men who stalked his childhood streets enforcing curfews had as a child, so he now went. Vern went to help the innocent people, those caught in an internal struggle where lives were lost and homes were destroyed.

With his company they built new homes, kept them safe and brought in food and medical supplies to the people so desperately in need. It was on one of these missions that Vern’s life changed entirely once more. There had been some heavy retaliation for some months from the various warring forces, and on once evening word came that the trouble was approaching the safe harbour the Peacekeepers had created.

Vern was sent out as part of a section – nine men of various skills, to reconnoitre and discover the source of the latest disturbances. Whilst beginning the ascent of a steep mountain incline the regular and spectacular evening storms unleashed, pouring torrential rain down on the thick rainforest and sizzling the sky with searing bolts of lightning. Several hours later as the section was approaching the peak of the mountain, strange noises and flares of light were seen off through the jungle, sounds and lights somehow different from the rumbling thunder and flare of lightning the storms generated.

Vern, a lance corporal in the assault group of the section was sent by his corporal with the two private scouts to investigate, Vern to provide cover for the pair of scouts. Together the trio rounded the shoulder of the hill, the two scouts then splitting apart somewhat and heading in low to flank the area they suspected the disturbance to have generated from, Vern brining up mid point, keeping his eyes on the two men.

Perhaps it was his split attention, perhaps a particularly violent burst of electrical lightning, or the reflective glare of storm light on rain slick rock and vegetation - Vern never really knew for sure, the result was he stepped through…something, one minute he was marking the placement of the two scouts, the next he was is a rain slick forest…but it was not the rainforest he had been in before on the side of the mountain, this rainforest was in lowland, almost a valley.

• The reality was Vern had fallen through a constructed Gate, a Gate constructed by Allrin Dweomermen that had gone awry in a conflagration of multidimensional storms, and came to rest on the Allrinni Isle within the Realm of the Shalaamahn Atoll’s. He was eventually found and taken in, and eventually adopted by the Wolf Clan of the Southern Allrin peoples – a race he discovered to resemble ancient Nordic peoples from out of the history books from him home world of Earth (Terra).

• In time Vern proved his worth, earning a place within the warrior-class known as the Protectors of the South. Feats in that capacity have earned him the trust and respect of the ruling Wolf Chieftain and his blood-brothers, a privileged position which grants him the right to absent himself from his unit for ‘personal spirit-journeys’ – a freedom he avails himself of as regularly as he feels he has right to.

Allrinni Creeds.

North: Sigr dat Lifi – Victory with Life

Guardians of the North.

East: Sigr dat Frizhar – Victory through Peace

Voices of the East.

South: Sigr dat Prekr – Victory in Strength

Protectors of the South.

West: Sigr dat Gr zhr – Victory in Death

Avengers of the West.

Sigr dat Prekr - Victory in strength.

Sigr dat Prekr - Victory in Strength

The wise are instructed by reason; ordinary minds by experience; the stupid, by neccessity; and brutes by instinct. - Cicero


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