Knight

Owyn barreled into the blonde lass with a grin a mile wide on his face. He just about stopped, but he gripped her by her shoulders. Blonde, skinny, Briton, good enough for him. His eyes flared like gemstones as he took her by the hand. "Run!" At that moment, a plume of smoke and fire escaped from down the street, and suddenly men and women with blue woad paint upon their faces were running into the street, spears and axes in hand. Owyn himself was naked, covered in soot and blood, and he'd lost his sword killing the supply clerk. He'd snuck in via a shipment of wine, with nothing but a reed to breathe by, and opened the supply depot's gates from the inside. Now, they had to get away, and any Britons would be carried off and tortured, so fuck it? Take this lass along! He gripped her hand tightly, that wolfish grin dancing across his face, and moved to run back past the tavern and further into town. They needed to disappear, and fast! The flames were already beginning to spread, and Latin cries were echoing through the town. @Echo

Then, suddenly, it's over. His foe, some stupid name like 'Gaius' or something, opened his guard just a little too much, and Owyn leapt through it. Three heartbeats, and the man was on his back, gasping for breath, most of his throat torn out and an eye missing. Standing over him, you didn't really feel the pain at first. Owyn's shoulder was broken, or stretched, or torn. He could feel blood running down his leg from where the bastard had dug his gladius into his thigh - hence why he was limping - and most of his left arm was bruised and cut up. Didn't really matter. He wasn't going to die. This fucker was. The command came. Thumbs up. Get it over with. An hour later, they had his lorica hamata off, and he was sat upon some high table in the hospitium. They'd gone to fetch some bloody medicus, a new one. He'd likely reset his shoulder, then stitch up his leg, then send him on his way. Owyn wasn't a pretty sight, dusty and bloody - they'd not even washed him off with water yet. His hair was cut short, his chin freshly shaved. All that lay across his back was the dark grey tunic. He was in pain, now, but fuck you - he was used to it. Everytime he so much as twitched his right arm, lances of agony coursed through him. His leg was filthy, covered in gore. He had...part of the man's eye, under his fingernail. He couldn't move his right arm, so Owyn just sat there, trying to pick it out with his teeth. @Chevi

Owyn of the Brigantes Well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions. Owyn is an enslaved warrior-noble of the Brigantes, sponsored as a Gladiator by Senator Aulus Calpurnius Praetextus. Bred and trained from an early age to fight, and once a respected warleader, you really think he wouldn't have been broken quite so quickly. Yet, after a good few years, he's more or less given up. He kills people in the arena, runs endlessly around the exercise yard, and even responds to a Roman name 'Marius'. He's coarse, aggressive, endlessly sarcastic, and completely obedient to his masters. After all, why not? Plots! Gladiators, I'd love a decent rivalry with someone. One where they both keep beating each other, and are kept alive to keep it going. Owyn is a dirty, honourless fighter, and one of the finest of his generation. Friends! Fuck you! I mean, these won't be as common. Owyn is, at best, gruff and unfriendly with fellow slaves. Why make friends when you're halfway to the afterlife? Still, those who can bear with his extremely prickly exterior may well find a bit more to him. Any Britons may well fall into this. I'd greatly enjoy a medically minded compatriot who calls him out on his shit. Enemies! Also, fuck you! But these will be thick and varied. Romans might hate him for a complete lack of personality and the mere fact he's a big, vicious, barbarian. Other slaves might well despise him for essentially telling them to fuck off. Romance! Fuck off! I mean, this will be slightly more difficult. He's a big hunk of man, but he doesn't pay for sex, and he's not really a charmer. You'd have to be determined as all hell to get there, and his heart has been broken before. His masters are his masters, and I imagine to the Patrician class, he comes off as just some quiet, obedient beast who can kill most folk rather quickly. As it stands, 'Marius' has 3 good years of never disobeying, and is reasonably fluent in Latin. Have at him!

Owyn. 29 | 9th of January, 47 AD | Slave | Gladiator | Heterosexual | Wanted | Charlie Hunnam Personality. Once upon a time, there was a man called Marius, but before he became a slave, he was Owyn. Owyn? Oh, Owyn used to be a prince. He used to be a shield-bearer, a rich man's rich man. Arrogant, imperious, violent, and often cruel, he did few things - mainly, he fought, he drank, and he fornicated. Now? Now, Owyn is no longer a drunk, but he's a mean, bitter, angry man, kept in check mainly by a broken spirit and a quiet little case of a broken heart. He likes fighting, infact it's pretty much the only thing he's actually good at, and he enjoys the rush of killing a man. But really? He's given up. He's just mindlessly accepting what has happened to him, snapping at fellow slaves, and mutely obeying his owners. He's not rebellious, just..dulled. When he's called up to train as a gladiator, he sometimes has to be dragged out of his bed, and some have compared beating him to beating a mattress - he groans, but it's often more to get it over with. So he's basically a horrible, cantankerous moron, who doesn't really have any friends. Why keep him around? He's a fantastic swordsman, a peerless horsemaster, and worth his weight in gold in the arena. He was raised and trained by the finest warriors of the Brigantes, his skill har- blah, blah, blah. He's very good at fighting, and it is completely undermined by his lack of showmanship, his strategy usually being 'stab them quite a few times'. He is aggressive, and a genius when it comes to footwork, but his main strength comes from sheer savagery - he bites, he kicks, he rakes with his fingernails. Owyn has headbutted men into the dirt, kicked sand in their face, and pissed on their corpse just to make a point. He has beaten smaller men to death with their own helmet, and bled large men with quick, lacerating strikes. When Owyn fights, he dances, he prances, and then he moves in and makes his play, and adapts quickly. When it comes to fighting smart and dirty, Owyn is one of the best. Honour and him parted ways a few years ago. He's sarcastic, cold, bitter, and rarely happy, but every now and then, the remnants of the man he once was creep out. The smile glistens, his eyes twinkle, and the jokes begin to flow. He laughs heartily, and he dances with a joy that the dour and focused killer rarely displays. His singing voice is magnificent and sweet - but only his lovers ever hear it. Appearance LOOK AT THIS STALLION OF A MAN. Excuse me. Owyn is an exceptionally tall Briton, corded with muscle and raked by scars. He essues his tribal customs of wearing a beard some days, and closely shaves it. He's blonde, blue eyed, and built like a beast. He usually strides around in a simple tunic, and usually wears a lorica hamata and wields a British longsword in the arena. Family Father: Glyn of the Brigantes Mother: Brenna of the Durotriges Siblings: None Spouse: None Children: None Extended family: None Other: None History Once, Owyn was a shining star. Raised to sit beside the kings and lords of the Brigantes, Owyn was to be a warleader and champion for his tribe. From the age of 4, Owyn was brought up in the sparring yard, around horses, next to warhounds. From the age of 6, he was gifted javelins, a sword, and a shield, and cursed by the Druids to be a war-fighter and a blooded man. Before his 12th birthday, Owyn had already began to stand out as the shining star of a new generation. Then Eppitacos led his invasion against Rome. Owyn grew into a killer. He worshipped Eppitacos, and found his adulthood fighting against the enemies of his people. He followed Ysolda, as a good sword and horseman, but then cursed her name when she betrayed her folk. He was renowned for his cold mirth in battle, his cheering joy in victory, and his subdued resolve in defeat. Soon, he had formed his own band of warriors, following him against the Romans. They were feared raiders, but Owyn was always a fighter, not a strategist. For one thing, he became entranced by one of his fighters, Annis. Her quiet strength lent him great resolve in dark times. Then the fucking idiot went and raided an outpost, and got everyone killed. The Legionaries overwhelmed them, capturing Owyn and Annis, and slaughtering many of their comrades. Owyn became the property of Lucius Cassius Longinus, and had a brief but passionate reunion with Annis - before he was sold to Senator Aulus Calpurnius Praetextus. In his time as a sword-slave to the great man, he has become bitter, angry, and broken. His Roman name is 'Marius', and he just about responds to it. But truth is, he's a fighter. Sponsored as a gladiator, Owyn can't help but fight - and win. Six years, he's been pulled in and out of the arena. In 73 CE, he spent 4 months recovering from a horrendous beating. Afterwards, he took on his foe in a rematch, and promptly beat the man with his bare hands, just to prove a point. He no longer dreams of freedom. He has given up, and is simply a ghost living a life half-lived. He wakes up, he eats, he trains or fights, he sleeps. He has no wish to carry on for much longer. Knight | GMT | PM @Gothic

Hello, I'm Knight, knice to meet you. Daily, knightly, and ever so rightly. Going to be playing Owyn, for Echo's character request. Catch me if you can!