Critique Wanted

"The Vanir and their Ymirish allies have left Cimmeria a smoldering ruin of ice and rock. While brave in their own right, the southerners are hard-pressed and barely maintaining their front-lines. But who are we to care?

For we did not leave our realm of Asgard out of sympathy. Nor did we leave the halls of our fathers out of charity. We've come to make war, to slaughter any who would fight us. To take the spoils, and make slaves of those we crush. Blood, glory, gold, and women. That is why we are here, and that is why when we are finally slain, we shall claim our rightful places in Valhalla!

Now, go forth and take the heads of the red-haired bastards of Vanaheim! Slaughter all who dare rise up against us!  Let the world know that the Grim Wolves of Asgard have finally been unleashed!" -Wulfgeir, Warchief of the Grim Wolf Warband

(This is the first part of his background it's a few years in the past. So here you go.)

He stood admist the still warm corpses, a sea of blood at his feet. In his hand, he held a massive blade, simple in it's design. The flames of candles, flickered and danced as if demons skirting the boundaries of the darkness in the center of the temple. Daeyong, slowly took in deep breaths as the realization of what he had done came to bear on his mind. Slaves, women and children, struck by his hand lay butchered all around him. It wasn't their deaths that caused this momentary pause, but the thought of the next step in this grim ritual. With a shaking hand, he cast the blade carelessly aside to clank upon the blood soaked stone of the temple floor. Kneeling, he reached for the small vial dangling from his belt. "My Lord Yun, Master of the Underworld, God of demons. I humbly offer this pittance of blood and souls in search of your favor...and now, my master. I offer you my own life.

In the calm hours of the morning, Daeyong stood in the center of his courtyard. Slowly, his eyes wandered about his estate as he stood at rest, his hands resting against the small of his back, one hand gripping the other's wrist softly against the cotton fabric of his tunic. Lazily he gazed about the stone walls that confined his modest estate, the house itself being nothing more than a series of rooms seperated by sliding doors of wood and paper. As if an ill omen, a cool breeze interrupted the calm, sending a shiver down his spine. A strange uneasiness came about him as he turned to face the barred twin wooden doors of his home. An inquistive brow rose above his eye, as the sound of armored horse and infantry became audible. The massive twin doors before his eyes suddenly became the gates of Hell.

(Hello! Let me first apologize if this is in the wrong part of the forums. I didn't see a Guild Recruitment thread...so, I'm sorry! In any case, I officially want to throw my gloves on and step into the RP ring. (Figuratively speaking, of course...maybe. >_>) The Black Tiger Syndicate, is very new, so new infact that I created a couple days ago, and have only started recruiting this morning. I intend to create a small, close-knit guild based on RP and story as a focus. I know coming to the game this late, is...it's gonna have it's challenges for sure. I'm not expecting devoted members, but any wayward alts are welcome! ...Now before in order to end my strange OOC rant, please visit our guild site for more information! http://blacktiger.guildportal.com. Thank you for taking the time to read this!)

Greetings to those of the Age of Conan role playing community!

I googled up AoC roleplay and was lead here, so I thought a "dedicated" site to role play would be the best place to ask my questions about the game, and its current RP status, etc.

Full Name: Rohierim
Nick Names:  Roh

Age: 27
Race: Aquilonian
Gender: Male
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Skin: Light Tan
Height: 5' 5''
Weight:197 lbs

Place of Residence: I do like spending my down time on a bench in the common area of Old Tarantia.

Place of Birth: Old Tarantia
Known Relatives: Mother Celia

Group/Guild Association: Cymbrogi
Guild Rank: Knight, Patrol Leader, Recruiter

Religion/Philosophy: Praise the Mitra for the strength given to me!
Occupation: Soldier/Guardian

Weapons of Choice:  Short Sword and Shield. Sometimes a spear does the job well.
Enemies: All followers of Lol.

Everything was neat and elegant, just as he liked it.

The granite dining table set with a complete service of silver-gilt flatware, rich cut glass, and fine burgundy napkins of the softest silk. The Necromancer sat motionless at the head of the ornate table, his index fingers pressed to his lips in thought. The lengthy candles cradled in a pair of five-branched candelabras were burnt down to mere stubs.* Covered plates containing his favorite dish had long grown cold. He finally let out a long, disappointed sigh, resigning himself to the obvious.

That mendacious cunt had stood him up.