|Here's to the past. No matter how disgraceful it could have been, you wish you could live it again for one last breath.||”|
Ian Vieryn is a human male who was born in the remote town of Hemenster. He is currently played by a player with the similar name; Ian The Ace. Due to arson, he was forced to live by himself in the nearby forests, North-West of Catherby. His notable features are his inherited scars from his family, which he refuses to tell a soul which bears outside of his ancestry.
The Vieryn's originate from the Kingdom of Misthalin. All told, there is very little to know about this family. In some events, the Vieryn's may be considered disfunctional under circumstances. Their cause is to "Be The Alpha". This caused lots of fighting throughout the generations between brotherly rivals and fathers.The Vieryn Family originates from your common, middle class Varrock Citizens. The Vieryn Coat of Arms features: Two Ravens, meaning courage, divination, wisdom, and mystery. On the other two corners are two crosses. The main message of the Ravens on the family crest are supposedly an Omen foretelling great disaster in the ucoming years.
Facial Appearance - White/Caucasion. Dark brown, strong hair. Curls when wet always lays it's own way. An obvious scar, marking vertical through his eye, causing only damage to the eyebrow and cheek. Another, smaller and horozontal scar across the bridge of his nose. Ian refuses to tell the cause of any of these scars. Medium-sized, protruding ears from his hair. Amber/Hazel/Dark Brown eyes. These change varying upon seasons:
- Amber - Autumn
- Hazel - Winter
- Dark Brown - Spring and Summer
Bodily AppearanceHeight: 5'11"
Body Type: Muscular, less meat on his bones. He is very slim, yet well fed. He suffers from Malnutrition. This disability causes him to learn slower, eat more, but with increased metabolism; he gets 10% of the nutrition from food, while others usually get 80%.
Physically Active: Yes. Actively serving in the 101st Legion His status in the 101st Legion is currently as Lead Commander.
Strength Scale (1 - 10): 7.54%
Speed Scale (1 - 10): 5.93%
It was a late afternoon in Hemenster, Bennath 4th, year 156 of the Fifth Age. The winds were fairly breezing and it was half past Rune. The sun was beginning to set and the fishermen were returning to their home. Ian had his head turned to the horizon, looking at the docking barges and the men departing from the fishing trawler. He would wipe his forehead with an old family handkerchief, knowing that his father was one of them, but isn't coming back around anytime soon. Laura would call from the cottage, "Ian, bring some firewood! Daniel, go put these trout on the grill." She would say, shoving the fish into his arms. "Hurry on now, we want to eat before nightfall."
The sun would seem to be dropping faster and faster, like a run away barrel of grog. Ian would grab his old hatchet, and setting the alpine logs onto the stump, and splitting them one by one into the upcoming night. The chirping of the crickets would kick in the cool, night of the Northern coast. Ian would hear a faint rippling in the tall grass near the south side of his estate amongst the splitting logs. It would be impossible to see the details of the figure hiding in the forest, yet it would be seeming to move steadily, yet so slowly... Two wriggling straps would drop from the silhouette, looking as if they were two flail heads. Ian would raise his axe and yell "Whoever you are, get the hell out of there!".
The legs of the creature would appear to move towards him, and it would reveal his older brother, Daniel. "Bahahaha!" "I got you sooo good...", Daniel would say, approaching the house. "That ain't funny Daniel, you know what ominous *CENSORED* dwell around these parts of the forest?!" Ian would shout. "No" Daniel would say, "But I bet cha' they have more guts than you, Hehe!". Ian would lunge out his fist for Daniel's nose, sending him back into the wooden wall of the house. They would both start punching each other and flailing their arms and legs about. Daniel would drop the trout on the dirt ground, as Ian would drop his hatchet. Laura would run outside to the commotion and yell, "What in the gods name do you two think you are doing?" "You dropped today's dinner in the dirt!". "Sorry." Daniel and Ian would both say.
It would be nightfall by now, and the fish would be on a grill plate carefully risen over the clay fireplace. The trout would begin to simmer and the two brothers would begin licking their lips. The sound of the wooden silverware from the kitchen would be clacking against the dining table. Laura would place a pot with 3 sticks of butter in it over the clay fire pit, melting them down into a thin, bright yellow, buttery sauce. Releasing the pot over from the fire and onto the table she would grab a wood steak, and throb it into the each of the trout. The steam and aroma of fresh cooked fish would take over the smell of the household. "Dinner's ready", said Laura, slipping on heat mitts. She would lift the platter over to the table. The boys would race towards the kitchen table, shoving one another about.
It would be late night, approximately 4 hours after dinner. Ian would cough in his sleep, from breathing in soot. He would awaken, gazing at the smoke rising to the top of his bed, and hearing a light crackling from underneath his room, downstairs. "Mom!" "Mother are you cooking?!" Ian would slip his leather briefs and tunic on and hurdle down the stairwell. Ian would sprint back to his room. Checking his brother's bed. It was empty, the sheets spread across the floor, and window shutters splintered and partially torn off, enough for a child to crawl through. Ian would run back to the hall, on his way to his mother's room. A sudden burst of embers would initiate a fierce implosion of half the house.
His mother's door would sling open, following with a burst of hot coals, smoke, and ash fluttering in the house. "MOM!" Ian would yell at the top of his lungs, and release several coughs. A tear would drizzle from his eye, and his fist would tighten in bestial anger. He would make a dash to the exit of his broken shutter. Halting him in his tracks was a burning house frame, it slammed, gleaming red hot, against left hip, branding a boiled burn. He would wail in pain, and with instinct start flailing his arms at the burning truss, splitting it in half, being weak from burning. He would limp towards the shutter, and crawl out backwards.There was tough ivy growing along the cottage, making an excellent climbing tool. Ian got low enough, and jumped to the prairie grass with a thud, and landing like a cat on 2 feet. He wrapped his old childhood blanket around his chest, buckled his locksley boots and ran for the forest, sobbing. In the distance he would settle himself in pine needles, trying to stay warm, seeing the outlines of two unarmored horseman with torches, galloping into civilization. Ian would let out a sigh, shut his eyes, and tighten his fists.
Several years have passed now, Ian is now 17.Ian would be sitting in an incircled line of alpine trees, gnawing on a hunk of turkey leg. It would be the end of a long, cold autumn, and it was soon turning winter. Ian would have his old blanky wrapped around his torso, stitched together with prairie grass, forming a ragged tunic. In the distance he would see a hooded man with a crossbow, sneakily slinking slowly through the meadow.
Surprised, Ian would grab his wooden spear, and creep towards the hunter, hiding behind a tree. Could this be one of the guys who burned my house, perhaps even kidnapped and looted my older brother? So many thoughts were going through his head at once, he grew a sour headache. To end the constance he lunged swiftly at the man's back, thrusting the spear into his back, but no where near a fatal strike. "Gah!" Yelled the hunter. "Who are you?!" Asked him. "No, who are you?", asked Ian. Ian pulled the spe
ar out of his back, and raising it back to the hunter, and smacking the crossbow out of his hands. "SPEAK.", Said Ian, impatient as ever. "I'm just a normal Asgarnian citizen, sir... I'm feeding my family like I always do!". "Were you with the man, 10 years ago, who torched my house, burned my mother?". "No, of course not! I would never do that" Said the the hunter, sorrowfully. "I am so sorry to hear that, you have been living on your own in these woods half your life?" Asked the hunter, raising an eyebrow. "Of course", said Ian, folding his arms. "Come with me, I can show you to a whole 'nother life here over in Falador." Said the hunter.
FaladorIan and the hunter walk up a steep hill, through the countryside, revealing a large, two story high, pearly white wall, gleaming like a holy city through the horizon. "Whoa... I- I've never saw anything like it." Ians eyes would widen in astonishment. The pair of lads would arrive at the large wooden gates of the town, Ian's jaws dropping from his skull. He would lift his head, looking at the beautiful structures throughout the city, and to the beautiful white castle ahead of him. Ian would jog to the park, looking through the vast and vibrant colors of the garden park surrounding his every way.
"You should start a new life here, start the good way. Become a squire and be a white knight, you'll have it good..." "I should. In fact, I will." said Ian. He speedwalked to the barber, got himself, a nice, clean haircut with a free beard trim. He entered the castle, and like always, looked for the man with the nicest armor around, and ask him for an application. He would shoved 3 pieces of papyrus in his hands. "Go fill those outs and report them back to me", said the knight in the sterling armor. Ian sit down in the courtyard, and truffled through his knapsack for a chunk of charcoal. Finding this, he scooped it out and began filling out the application. Several minutes later, he handed it back to the knight. "We'll talk with you tomorrow", said the knight "We'll tell you if you have made it on the force". "Thanks", said Ian.
Through these past years; 17-19, Ian Vieryn served as a white knight squire, under the command of Sir Richard.
Discharged from the White Knights
At the late age of 20, Ian gave up on his dreams to become a White Knight. He started becoming an alcoholic soon after he quit. He lost his home, his job, and ambitions. The whole clan of white knights were discharged from inactive service and no longer needed in the law enforcement, soon after their dismissal, a new battallion was brought in to maintain order in Falador. He became a ruthless plunderer and killer just so he can quench his thirst for alcohol.
Present day Ian got his self together and gathered armor from his grandparents in Varrock. Soon later he joined the Lost Family Military, and the 101st Legion. As a main occupation he has joined the Asgarnian Military, led by Joseph Adalhard.
Augustus Lost, (Former leader of the 101st Legion) has died in combat after a battle against Roy Lost, and Athren Lost. Ian retied his Asgarnian duties permanently due to the fact his brother in arms has been slain in combat. Ian Vieryn has moved from the 101st Legion's Navy Admiral, to the Commander of the 101st Legion. His promise to his dead friend remains to slay all who are responsible for his death, and all who stand in front of Ian's reign of terror upon his enemies.
In Character update:Ian's eyes would flutter open, seeing the shine shine bright, and vivid through his tent. He would just lay there, and blink one or twice whilst thinking about what lie ahead of him in this day. He would sniffle, the cold weather getting to his nose. Ian would toss the topping of his sleeping bag off of his body along with 2 layers of crispy bedsheets. He would crawl to the back of the tent, and grab his beloved duffel bag. he would walk outside of the tent, shielding his eyes from the sun. Ian would walk towards his clothing line, connected by two gnarled trees. A rush of false confidence would hit him as he heard the luxurious songs from the birds high in the trees. He would squeeze the hanging clothes to feel if they were dry, which they would be. Ian would now dash to the nearby crystal clear spring, bare naked. He would drop his bag, and open a worn down bar of grease soap. He would now throw himself into the water. Ian would release a yelp, feeling the relaxingly, yet surprisingly brisk water. He would begin thoroughly washing himself with the soap. Ian would feel a cold tickling beow his feet, seeing a few freshwater catfish. He would throw the soap onto the grass and quickly swim towards the group of catfish. Feeling a late fish, he would dive downwards and violently swoop his hand for it's head, avoiding it's stingers. Having it in his own hands, Ian would squeeze it tightly and swim to the rocky edge of the spring. Ian would climb out, reaching into his bag for his gutting knife. Grabbing the balde, he would push the fish against a flat sandstone and swiftly dismember it's head.
Ian would walk towards the Legion's camp, but first stopping at his clothesline. he wouldn't the unusual silence of the camp. it would usually be bustling men arming themselves and sparring. Ian would whistle a jolly tune as he would slip on his leather lined briefs. He would now grab the hanging, yet very baggy pants from the clothesline aswell. Ian would slip these on with ease as he snatches his long belt from the ground. Ian would loop this around his baggy bottoms and tighten it accordingly. He would take cotton wraps and fittingly wrap them around his ankles and feet. After so, he would grab his tall Loxley boots from his bag and cuff them around his legs and stuff his pant legs inside of them. He would take the tough leather wrap and tie them around his boots, securing them tight. Ian would snatch his Gambeson from his clothesline and strap it onto his chest. He would trail back off to the main tent, whistling, still not noticing the dead silence of the camp. He would find an envelope with his name on it, nailed to a fencepost. He would anxiously tear this from the post, and sratch it open. The letter would read:
If you have received this letter, it is to inform you about my passing. I have been killed in a brutal fight Roy Lost and Athren Lost. This was sent to you to let you know that you are to cut all connections with the Lost Family, burn your pendant, and take all actions necessary for your survival. They may be coming for you soon, too. As a helpful deed of my grave, please take care of the 101st Legion. It is a very important part of my existence... I am pledging you as the new Commander of the 101st Legion.
Serve us well,
-Your good friend Augustus.
After reading this letter, Ian would realize the such silence of the base camp. He would very tightly grip the papyrus letter, almost crinkling it up. The veins in his arms and forehead would pop out in a haze of anger and bestile rage. Soon, the depression and regret would begin to step in. His eyes would tear up, and his vision would be blurred. Ian would try with all his strength to hold them back. A single tear from his left eye. it would stream down his cheek, and drop onto the letter...
Black Talon is an heirloom from the Vieryn family. It is damascus steel kukri dagger, which stands a foot and a half tall, with razor sharp edges. The curved blade resembles a perfect throwing weapon. It can be thrown and used in melee hand-to-hand combat. The name "Black Talon" is the resemblance of the piercing talon of a Raven. The Raven mentioned in all of this weapon is referring to the raven on the coat of arms, which is an omen for evil that is near in time, and is sure to come.
The Omen is a sword named after the conspiracy told by the Vieryn Family. This conspiracy tells that judgement and great evil is near, possibly even Judgement Day for Gielinor. This sword, too, is made of damascus steel, and shaped like a Kharidian Falchian. Full tang, ancestral, and a heirloom, it is still reliable and used in battle today. It has never earned a scratch or a chip resembling a weak point. This blade his never failed a man of the Vieryn family and is destined to last for generations to come.
Steel Feathers are too, ancestral blades handed down to Ian Vieryn. These are too named after the Raven's body. These resemble hard, inpenetrable steel feathers on a raven. Made of steel, they are full tang, and the handle is wrapped in dark leather strips.
Ian's armor is shown above in the 'Present Times ' section of this page. It is also based on a Raven. It is made of full damascus steel plate. Heavy, thick, fully mobile and ancestral, it has served the Vieryn family for generations.
Alright. But if you want a more thorough description of Ian's armour you can view it here. If you have ever seen him wearing armor these days it's his "Wings". Oocly it's known as a mix of barrows armor, icly it's known as his "Wings". It's an alloy of steel and iron. He custom made it on one of his worldly travels with his army. This would be commonly worn while working, or in highstake battles wear he notices he has a large possibility of death, and simply does not want his ancestral armor looted.
ReligionIan is a ferocious crusader. He mentions his future reign at the park of Falador, the day he was laid off from the Falador Law Enforcement. He quotes:
"The skies dimmed to an overcast haze. I heard a voice. Not in my head, but from the sky.. W-way up there... I finally know my place in this world."
Physicians believe he is driven by psychologial problems from his tragic past, and his many concussion from the battlefields. Though Ian's God remains nameless, he vows himself as his own Archangel. This meaning, he is particularly claiming that he is a god, and he will do anything to make the people of Gielinor follow the Legion.
The only words he describes his god are pitch black, mighty, huge, and a thunderous raven. (Not to be confused with Armadyl)
- Ian's greatest fears are white rooms, goats, and loud people.
- He has a diverse sense of humor, but usually kicks in at the most inconvenient times, such as funerals or battles.
- He has met his brother long after the house fire, but he forgot even what his brother looked like after he was mugged in Varrock and beaten nearly dead with broomsticks and blackjacks when he was 20.
- Ian Vieryn has went from a tramp to a Military Commander.
- His most valuable posession is his childhood blanket.
Xanen is a large fragment of Ian's ancestry. Very few people in Gielinor know of him as he was an ancient being which was trapped inside of an amulet for punishment by the ancient god "Statius" after slaughtering hundreds of innocent beings in the third age. Most people who see Xanen today are victims of his wrath, and barely ever live to tell the tale of such ferocity and rage. Xanen is a mystical mix of an oversized raven and a griffin like creature. He is sleek, black, and his eyes emit ominous black flames. He can only be summoned with an antique amulet while reading his summoning words:
Xanen the great and powerful, harbringer of death, unleash your wrath under my command,
Thy are needed in the path of conquest to avenge my brothers,All who stand in front of the Vieryn's reign shall be smited!
May Xanen now empower me!
After being summoned correctly, Xanen's entry is rather destructive to the summoner, but more terrifying to the enemy. While Xanen is called, the summoner will be stuck inside a short-term coma throughout the entire time Xanen is in their presence. There are a few downsides to summoning Xanen;
- Fatigue (To the summoner)
- Memory loss (To the summoner)
- Armour breaks while Xanen arrives.
- Sunlight. (This drains Xanen's strength gradually as he is kept inside an amulet for eternity)
- Saradominist magic.
- Darkness (This empowers his strength and his body is more adapted)
- Enemies' fear.
- The Omen (Enhanced with a dark aura)
- Razor sharp talons