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If someone digs a hole in you, plant some nice flowers and tell them to go fuck themselves.

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Family History: 7. Does/did your character have children? If not, do they want children? >:3

Pft! You already know the answer to the first question. :P Hintiel does not have kids nor has he had them. He does have a nephew however that he’ll fight and die for as if he’s his own son. Hintiel also would probably want children in the future, he’s good with kids and enjoys playing the role of uncle or protector whenever he can. He’s a bit of a softy like that

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Let's go.  What's a headcanon you have for my muse?

Best one become official.

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Small Sword

Dated: 18th century

Culture: European

Medium: steel

Source: Copyright © 2015 The Fitzwilliam Museum, University of Cambridge, UK

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An endless list of fictional or historical “characters” I can’t help but adore → Rollo Lothbrok (Vikings)

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Family History

1. Does your character practice some form of ancestor worship or reverence? If not, why don’t they?

2. Are your character’s parents still alive?

3. What sort of relationship does/did your character have with their family?

4. Who raised your character? Does your character know who their birth parents are (if they weren’t raised by them)?

5. When did your character leave home? Why did they leave? If they’re still living at home, why are they still there?

6. Was/is your character an only child? If they were/are, did they want siblings?

7. Does/did your character have children? If not, do they want children?

8. Where did your character grow up? What sort of home was it?

9. Is there anyone famous, infamous, or noteworthy in your character’s family tree?

10. Was your character raised in a religious household? If yes, do they still practice the same religion?

11. Did your character have a pleasant or comfortable childhood?

12. Did something painful or negative happen to your character as a child that still affects them?

13. What trade did your character’s parents or family practice? How did they make money?

14. Does your character carry on any traditions that their family taught them? If they have or want children, do they plan to pass on the same traditions?

15. Does your character have any keepsakes from their family members? What are they? Why are these keepsakes important to them? If they don’t, why not?

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ASK ME MY "TOP 5" ANYTHING

IC or OOC

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"Is that blood?"

“This?” Hintiel asked as he reached up to wipe at his brow with a frown. “Ehh... No. This ‘ppears to be jam of some sort. Why the fahk is there jam in my hai- DAMN IT NEZARUS WHERE THE FAHK ARE YA, I’MA PUT YA IN A HEADLOCK.”

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"Is that blood?!" Jhae @ Hintiel, after they've met.

“Ah. This? Aye. Aye. ‘Tis.” Hintiel reaches up, wiping some of the flecks from his forehead. “Shite happens sometimes. ‘Tis ain’t mine, at least.”

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Basket-hilted Broadsword (Claidheamh mor)

Dated: 1700 - 1730

Culture: English

Materials and techniques: silver, iron, steel

Measurements: 101.25 cm

Provenance: “March 28 1822/ This Sword did belong To His Late Majesty George The Third, Brought from Augusta Lodge Windsor”

This basket-hilted Broadsword (Claidheamh mor) was a hunt race prize. It has a silver hilt (Elgin, Scotland) dated 1713 and made by William Scott the younger. The two-edged blade is German (Solingen) probably early 18th century. The barrel-shaped silver grip is spirally bound with silver wire.

The broad main knuckle-guard, is engraved: “Win* at King Charles fair at Huntly Castell the secund/ Tusday of september 1713 all horsess not Excsiding ane hundred/ Markes of price ar admited to rune the rideres staking/ Crounes a peace. Which ar giuin to the poor who may/ Pray that ye Monarchie and Royall family my be Lasting/ And glorious in thes kingdomes.”

Struck on the main knuckle-guard are three punches,

the capital letters VS conjoined in a square,

the word ELGIN in a rectangle with rounded corners, and

the capital letter D in a shield-shaped punch

Source: Copyright © 2015 Royal Collection Trust/Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

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Send "Is that blood?!" for my characters reaction.

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 It had started to snow once more in Frostfire, as was often the places wont. Thick drifts had begun to pile up in the early morning hours of the Fortress, well after most of the mercenaries that lived there had either drunk themselves into a stupor but before a large majority of them has found themselves awakening to begin their morning duties. In fact, the only folk that were definitively awake were the ones that patrolled the towers of the outpost, keeping a vigilant eye out to ensure that not a single soul would make it into the series of buildings unspotted. Them, and the two that were causing a clamor within one of the training yards along the edge of the region. The sound of steel on steel rang out repeatedly, and violently. Those without recognition of the sounds would have easily assumed that it was two men attempting to kill one another, and perhaps they were actually right. Hintiel didn't have time to think about how it would sound to the rest of the world however as his training partner rushed at him, glowing dual-blades gleaming a frozen blue amongst the snow and ice. Quick as always from the Death Knight, but just as predictable. Hintiel slammed his shield and his weight to one side, parrying away one of the blades and forcing himself to the side of the vertical slash of the other. He felt the weight of his shield shift in his hand as he pushed himself forward.

His blade was parried away from the dwarf the moment it struck steel, Maurin had predicted the strike before Hintiel even knew he was going to swing it. The little bastard had, infuriatingly, grown harder and harder for Hintiel to hit even as every other opponent had grown easier. It was always a matter of prediction and timing against the dwarf, and in those regards Maurin had him both beaten due to years more of experience. Hintiel knew what to expect the moment his blade was out of position and he quickly relaxed his stomach before a weight of steel slammed upwards into it. A stagger and a 'crack' from a rib later and Maurin was immediately on him, the dwarf's weight bulled him over onto his back and the pommel of the man's blade met his jaw. "Ya fahkin' idiot, lad!" Maurin yelled as he smacked him once more with his pommel. "Ya keep doin' the same shite, over an' over again! Ya're gonna get yerself killed wit' it!"

The memory hit Hintiel and bounced off his mind, as his memories often did, as he stepped forward and from his shorter stature in regards to the Death Knight, slammed his shield right into the man's ribs. There would be no hesitation of air being knocked from the dead man, Hintiel knew that as much, but he would stagger just the same. And the moment he heard the tell-tale of snow crunching behind his opponent's left foot he stepped forward once more and bulled right into the man with all his weight. Heat overtook him as he heard the man's back strike the ground, a fury welled within him and he felt his hand clench white-knuckled about the axe in his right hand. He felt his rage well up into him as he stepped over the Death Knight, and rose his axe.

"The way I see it, lad. Ya got two big strengths." Maurin said one of the nights after they had set up camp. He spoke between bites of some kind of jerky and swigs from his flask. The flickering light of the fire kept the ice and cold away. "Ya got yer rage an' yer kindness. Which, weird pair o' strengths to 'ave in someone. But there it is."

"Father always said tha' my kindness was a weakness." Hintiel spoke as he took a shot from his own flask, his cloak draped about him to keep the cold out as he stared across the fire at his mentor.

"Men like yer Father 'ave their heads so far up their own arses about bein' 'proper' or 'intimidatin' tha' they forget wha' real power is." Maurin scoffed, Hintiel might've found offense in that a year ago. Anymore, he just nodded in agreement and listened as the man continued to speak. "'Tis like this, lad. Yer rage is gunpowder. Yer fury, it'll explode outwards an' destroy anythin' tha' gets in its way. It's destructive, strong an' dangerous. Thunder an' blood. But ya bein' kind? Tha's where power comes in for ya. Yer kindness is more akin to a campfire, or a hearth of sorts. Ya will warm those 'round ya. Bring 'em in to ya. And in doin' so they'll become loyal. Ya will 'ave folk that'll die for ya, an' tha' righ' there is true power, Lad. It ain't the gunpowder that'll burn and destroy, tha's fleetin' an' oft as not will end ya up alone an' miserable. Power is controlled heat, kindness an' warmth."

Maurin chortled as he took a bite of jerky. "But wha' the fahk do I know 'bout power, hm?"

Hintiel's axe slammed into the snow and ice next to Fairion's head. He stared down at the armored Death Knight before he held his hand out to his training partner, and upon getting a grip of the icy-palm of his Legionnaire, helped him to his feet. "You're predictable, Fairion."

"Am I?" Fairion asked as he stamped his boots into the snow. "I suppose I ought to have known that. I am, afterall a giant block of ice. We are not known for our ability to move in ways one does not expect."

Hintiel chuckled at that as he brushed snow off of Fairion's cloak. "Perhaps ya oughta learn some, before ya get to meet a true death, eh?"

Fairion shrugged as he glanced over his shoulder at Hintiel ."If that is what you would ask of me, Grandmaster."

Hintiel gave a nod as he reached down and pulled the axe from the snow. "Aye. Try movin' wit' less focus on yer right side this time. C'mon, draw steel and let's go 'gain." 

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Handmade Swords - Herûbrandr (The Éothéod Oldland Sword)

Maker: David DelaGardelle of Cedarlore Forge

In Tolkien’s Middle Earth the Éothéod people were an ancient race of strong and swift Northmen, who flourished near the Vales of Anduin and near northern Mirkwood in the Third Age. They were faithful friends and allies to Gondor, and were the early ancestors of the later Rohirrim.

The sword was made to pay homage to the lesser known details of Professor Tolkien’s brilliantly created world.

The blade bears strange runes, though while unknown in their meaning still tell of its very ancient past. The House of Bëor commonly used the now forgotten tongue of “Taliska”. Thus the blade bears unknown runes (which I have taken the liberty of developing myself).

Tolkien did not offer much insight into this language, though he clearly had it fairly well developed in mind. And thus it is a language shrouded in mystery within the larger Legendarium of Arda that Professor Tolkien developed, but yet only he knew.

Source: Copyright © 2015 Cedarlore Forge

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The weight of a golden coin rolled from one of Hintiel's knuckles to the next as he stayed in silence as an argument raged on around him. His eyes remained downcast at the wooden table in front of him, decorated with a half-incomplete map of Draenor. With every passing moment, voices grew more heated and aggravated. The impassioned fury of Xeraxus, the cold annoyance of Sendor and the attempted reasons of Fairion surrounded him and he found himself somewhat longing for the quiet nights in his home manor's library, surrounded with naught but books, plans, and a cat. Now he sat in a semi-large and still under construction hall within Frostfire Ridge, a fire stoked in the pit of the center of the room to give it a degree of heat and try to fight the freezing bite of the outside, and he couldn't ever find that kind of silence in these halls if he tried. Everywhere he turned, there was a new problem, a lack of supplies or an annoyance with another person in the Fort.

And for all his annoyance with it, he thrived under the pressure that was laid upon him. Trained and practiced with the problems of people, calm and precise where others would crack from under the pressure. Voices had reached a fever pitch and Hintiel sensed the tell-tale shift upwards in temperature that came from Xeraxus about to conjure flame when he spoke.

"Stand down. All of you."

There was a silence immediately after that and he drug his green eyes upwards towards the group in front of him, a small smirk on his lips. "This bickering does nothin' for us, mates. We've gotta job to do."