Warren Pol
Moden of the Skyclash Crossways
Troll Grump
Thane of the Lodge of Brass Horizons
Description
Mortal Seeming: ~Ex-tackle for the Chiefs, wasn't he? Only hardcore football buffs would recognize Warren Pol, #22, now. Several years after being reputedly drummed out of the league for "emotional problems", Warren lost none of his brawny, impressive, and imposing mass. The brute towers at 6'6" and probably weighs 300 pounds. From the way his physique fills out the gray khakis and navy-blue Polo shirt, it seems to be pure muscle. Warren's brown-eyed gaze peers out from under thick, dark brows. He stays sharp and keen on the field. Black hair is trimmed short and simply styled. Warren does nothing to hide the wedding band crafted of platinum and set with a faceted diamond, while the band becomes tiny hammers set to appear like they're about to strike the stone on either side. The highly athletic young man cannot boast particularly handsome features, as if he matured early. But everything about Warren bellows dependable, stalwart, and impassable.~
OOC: Appearance 2; Fame 1
Fae Mien: ~Strength, valor, and honor rise to life. Warren towers at 7'5" in his massive true mien. The Troll bulges with muscle and quiet, immovable determination. His flesh darkens to cadet-blue. His voile glitters as if he were straight out of a Conan sequel. Bronze bracers encase his wrists, the heads of falcons engraved in the metal. A loin cloth with brass-dyed trappings protect Warren's modesty below the belt. A leather girdle spans his broad chest, baring most of the perfect and superhuman musculature. A bronze clasp, engraved with spread falcon wings, attaches a cape to the Troll's girdle and girth. The crimson cape flows from his shoulders to just above his bear fur-lined leather boots. This accessory only emphasizes his fierce nobility. Warren lacks hair on his head except for a single black braid that sprouts from the back of his skull. It hangs six inches down his back, braided in gold thread. The man's ears are gently curved, extending naturally from his square, firm jawline. A serious expression, teeth slightly bared almost animal-like, keeps the Troll seeming grim and intent. Above the unblinking gray-blue eyes sprout stout black horns. The large Troll's pride and honor stay inscrutably impassable.~
OOC: Appearance 2
"The paths over the mountain are subject to closure anytime an avalanche is provoked."
History
Youth
Football defined Warren Pol’s life. As a child, he played all kinds of sports. But football was his favorite. The big-boned boy seemed to promise his father, a diehard Lions fan, an athletic all-star in the future. Their home in the suburbs of Detroit yielded Warren a decent education, a safe neighborhood, and plenty of friends with which he could play. Warren’s mother stayed at home while his father worked as a factory manager. His little sister, Kelly, was almost as athletic as Warren. She was something of a tomboy, and Warren doted on his sibling.
Indeed, despite his size and strength for his age, Warren was no bully. He defended all of his friends from bullies twice their age (and thus size). He was rather sensitive, and secretly imagined himself as a great hero frightening off the villains. This tended to draw more conflict than he should have wanted, and Warren was drawn into more fights than usual. In his heroic fantasies, bullies saw something to pick on. But they were usually soundly trounced for their efforts. Consequently, some ignorant parents in the area thought Warren was the big bully, who commandeered friendships through coercion, and dominated the schoolyard. That wasn’t the case at all. Warren was too much of a romantic ivory tower to act that way. In fact, the only place where he wasn’t a real sweetheart was on the football field. Even in little league, he was always the biggest and scariest lineman around. His team didn’t win all the time. And he learned, win or lose, it was always a team effort.
As sensitive as Warren was, however, he was no academic. It was only through determined effort that Warren skated through the honor roll courses in high school. He skated by this harder curriculum while playing in varsity football for his high school, the Upton Lynxes. Meanwhile, fearing that his size and brawn would make him too aggressive in everyday life as well as football, Warren’s parents agreed to look for a way to temper the big youth. So they found him a local judo academy. Intrigued, Warren went. It was only through his training in judo that his adolescent tendencies were brought in wing, and he was able to focus so tenaciously on both football and his academics. His childish fantasies of heroism were not dissolved, but matured. Warren became a devotee of sorts to bushido. He continued the “art of gentleness” and adherence to that loose Japanese “code of honor” through high school. He would wake up in the morning, go to school, stay for football practice, and instead of hanging out with his pals, he went to judo practice. Unsurprisingly, Warren didn’t have much time for a social life. He had a girlfriend in theory; she was just a cheerleader who wanted a steady date for school dances and the prom. Warren didn’t mind; they both knew they weren’t serious.
But his devotion to study paid off. Warren graduated high school in 1998. He received a number of scholarships and invitations to colleges across the country. They all wanted him to play ball, especially in the position into which he settled during high school varsity: offensive tackle. No one got past him. Defense always looked for ways around him. High school teams had to devise entire plays just for getting past Warren. It wasn’t just that he was bigger than most youths his age. He was just immovable. As one of Warren’s teammates commented after some scrimmage roughhousing, “I don’t think we could blitz past Warren even if we kicked him in the nuts!” Heh -- that was about right.
But college was tough. It wasn’t so much that the academics were hard on Warren. He was devoted enough that he could handle them. It was the workload he put on his own shoulders. Michigan University made an excellent Wolverine out of Warren Pol. But he studied hard, too. At first, he considered a degree in physical education. But he changed his major in his sophomore year to criminology. He figured if football didn’t pan out, he’d have a good education to fall back on. And the study of justice intrigued the young man. He also pursued athletic clubs beyond his time-dominating football practice and games. He continued judo in such a club. And to help him get out more aggressive tendencies, he joined a pugilist club. This organization was simply a matter of padding up and having at each other with padded sticks. Warren admitted he had great fun doing that. But once again, Warren had no time for a social life. He had pals, he had a girlfriend, but he was too disconnected to really enjoy interacting with them.
And that only added to the stress. All the obligations that Warren undertook added up and sparked a bit of “regression”. He didn’t act child-like. His views on behavior regressed. His interest in bushido became an obsessive adherence to chivalry, even on the football field. It was occasional enough that his coach only gave him weird looks. But his teammates and friends saw it more often off the field. He would spout codes of honor, citing how football was too cruel, that so many thought the only honor was in victory. He stated how he wanted to change it and make it an honorable sport of brave titans, not bestial ogres. What the hell was he reading, they wondered!
This all culminated in the last days of his senior year. His draft came through for him to go professional for the Kansas City Chiefs. At the same time, he pushed harder and harder to finish the requisites for his degree. And to make things much harder, in the last month of his semester at Michigan, horrible news came from the family. His sister, Kelly, a senior in high school, was dead. She’d been raped and murdered by some vagabond who dumped her body in a ditch. Outraged and infuriated, especially because of how impotent he felt, Warren sought an outlet. And he found none but the demands of college. He buried his emotions and jumped back into class and football as soon as he returned from the funeral.
Chrysalis & Tutelage
A couple weeks later, Warren was to enjoy his 21st birthday. It was the night after the Wolverines’ last game of the season, and near the end of finals. Warren drank. A lot. And all that he tried to hide bubbled to the top in an explosion of emotion. His teammates froze in shock as Warren suddenly grew taller and broader. His true form finally ripped its way out of its sleeping mortal shell. The Troll stormed outside of the frat house and flipped a vehicle. Not someone’s little VW Beetle either -- Warren flipped over the fraternity’s van. Then he slipped down by the upturned vehicle and wept. Kelly was gone, murdered because he hadn’t been there to protect her. That’s exactly what he thought. But once the alcohol drained from his system and he had some time to just brood, Warren brushed past that supernatural episode. He didn’t even think of it; his friends didn’t remember a thing, thanks to the booze and the Mists. Warren knew something had happened.
But how does one explain blue skin and horns?! Warren was terrified that he had gone insane. He was comforted that at least no one else saw this mien. He dove into the college library for something to help him understand what happened. But it offered no help. He knew he needed something or someone to tell him what was going on. When nothing became available in that last week of college, Warren drank more and more. And yet, the alcohol didn’t make his “delusion” go away. In fact, he began to have visions. At first he thought they were hallucinations to go with this dementia. But he soon realized that they were memories. And that gave him real comfort. He understood that he was what he was and it wasn’t wrong. He just needed to find another like him to explain what happened. And there were no Trolls besides him at Michigan University.
So Warren hoped he would have more luck in his new home, Kansas City. He moved there under his contracted draft to the Chiefs. Lo and behold, luck -- or maybe it was dan -- brought him into the acquaintance of another, older Troll there. It was during a scrimmage practice with his fellow Chiefs that a special fan of the team got to watch in the stadium. And that was how this Kristof Nalrith noticed Warren’s true nature. After the practice, Kristof approached Warren and introduced himself. Warren, of course, soon recognized Kristof’s true nature, too. He was overjoyed and would have hugged the Grump if Kristof didn’t give him a stern eye. Ecstatic, Warren was more than happy to bend a pliable will to the Grump’s teachings.
For the next six months, after practice and, when the season began, between practice and games, Kristof taught Warren the ways of the fae. Traditionally, Kristof told Warren, the learning period lasted a year. But Warren awakened later in life than most, and needed less babying. The older Wilder was fine with that; he figured six months was more than enough time. Unfortunately, the non-academic wasn’t prepared for all the memorizing Kristof expected. Cantrips, Escheat, lore, facts -- it took quite a toll. On the other hand, Kristof didn’t need to train Warren much in the ways of combat. He simply honed Warren’s fighting skills, especially with traditional melee weapons. Kristof also taught Warren magics of nature and battle.
Early Years
And their relationship was fair if grim and professional. Kristof admitted to Warren that he leaned now more towards the Unseelie. He had seen too much over the years to apply the Code of Dagda and other chivalrous matters to all peoples and things. Kristof warned the young and very Seelie Warren that the day would probably come that he, too, would be sickened by the abuse heaped on his shoulders for his sense of honor. “Only those who deserve honor receive honor,” Kristof declared. But Warren, shaped by years of judo and bushido, disagreed. But Warren displayed wisdom beyond his fresh Chrysalis. He respected Kristof still, for he understood and respected the fae ways of Seelie and Unseelie. There had to be a balance. Not everyone would be Seelie.
And Warren was glad that Kristof, who followed only some of the Escheat, followed those laws enough to take a young Seelie Troll under wing and teach him the right ways. And Kristof accorded Warren respect in return for those wise views. After six months, Warren was judged ready for his final test to earn his place as a “true” Troll. He had to recite the Escheat and Code of Dagda flawlessly. This proved tough for Warren, but he managed nevertheless. And then he had to spar his teacher with real wooden swords, no pads. The battle was to first blood. And Warren passed, his youth keeping him nimble enough to get that first blow in. Kristof acknowledged the younger Troll’s victory. In a Nordic ceremony of ancient beauty, he pronounced Warren Sained a true Troll. That very night, after the ceremony, Warren and Kristof parted ways forever. While Warren wished for the company of other Trolls, they knew their Court natures would drive them apart. They wanted to part on good terms and they did. Warren awoke the next morning, feeling more refreshed than ever. In fact, with his Saining, he found his weapon of choice manifested at last by his bedside. “True Justice”, his old war maul, glittered in the morning sun. Warren felt more complete than he ever did. He took up the chimerical hammer as he would never leave it again. Then he returned, newly focused, on his football career.
However, his conflicting fae Legacies and his even stricter adherence to his codes of ethics and honor, was driving his coach and manager nuts. Football was a sport, but it was treated like a battlefield. There was no place for codes of honor unless victory was all that mattered. Warren proved a good player on the field, especially when his Unseelie side in dominance. But most of the time, Warren was very Seelie. He demanded and expected completely fair treatment. He often cornered other players and back talked refs. Apart from the fines, Warren was scrutinized by the league. They didn’t call in a psychologist. In fact, there was a conscious opinion that if a shrink was needed, the player needed to go. And that’s what happened to Warren. After one season of loyal service, Warren found himself drummed out of the league.
Recent Years
While that shattered his dreams of being a pro player, the hurt didn’t affect him as much as he imagined it would. Warren attested this to his true nature. As a Troll, he expected higher standards of behavior. That he was thrown out of the league only went to show that his standards were too high for that career. He was glad for that Bachelor’s in criminology now! Although his service to the Chiefs was up, Warren remained in Kansas City. He got himself bonded as a security guard and put out his resume. In short time, a bonded warehouse hired Warren Pol. Within a few months, Warren climbed in to fill a supervisory position, claiming a nice day shift and decent take-home pay. Warren spent his working hours protecting the security of expensive furnishings and decorations held at the warehouse.
In the evenings, Warren pursued his fae nature. He visited local changeling mews, keeping up with his fellow “commoner” Kithain. He met many different changelings, and occasionally had to use True Justice to knock some sense into a cousin (usually a Redcap). But Warren yearned for more. He needed a worthy cause. He needed a worthy liege! And the Sidhe weren’t trustworthy enough for his taste. Perhaps that was Kristof’s lasting influence on Warren. But the Troll Wilder decided he would probably never swear allegiance to any lord but a fellow Troll. And Warren also couldn’t help but begin to consider life beyond obligation. What of family? What of romance and happiness? Warren yearned for so much more than he had and he felt time slipping from his fingers. Occasional trips out onto one of many resort lakes helped ease his hunger some. And then the Troll, Warren Pol, would plod onward -- strength and honor.
Remembrance
Warren's memory of the Dreaming and the past suffers since the Shattering. He can't recall anything before that tumult. The Troll usually has to struggle to remember anything at all. But when he finally sinks into a vision state (alcohol helps, he found), dreams of gallant knighthood to good Troll lieges in Accordia tend to emerge. The Sidhe he does not have many good memories of, but he recalls enough to trust them only very, very carefully.
Chimera
War Maul
Level: 4
Origin: Warren was crafted this maul by Nockers during his service to Duke Jared in the 17th century. He has since held the weapon close and used it to great effect for keeping the peace and avenging injustice. Warren gave the maul the name "True Justice" in the old Nordic tongue. Translated to English, he nicknames the war hammer "TJ" for short.
Description: This heavy weapon weighs twenty pounds. The long shaft is crafted of heavy steel and a rich lead ore for the head. Leather wraps mark the main handle grip. Its only decor is a red and orange tassel that hangs from the pommel, and a few Nordic runes up along the steel shaft. Leather straps add support to the huge, heavy head, keeping it in place once it starts swinging and cracking stone and bone alike.
Effects: The maul inflicts heavy damage in the hands of a Troll. But it also carries a powerful effect. Whosoever is struck by the maul when the wielder commands the artifact to work is blinded by a flash of a dozen sparks in their vision, regardless of where the hammer struck. This gives new meaning to "seeing stars" after being trounced by a Troll. This effect is very similar to the ** Pyretics (Willow Light) cantrip.
Glamour Costs: Maul: 0; #1: 1
Activation: When striking a foe, to effect the blinding light (that only the victim sees and suffers), the wielder must shout out "Right by light!" Traditionally, this was called out in ancient Norse, but the command word works in any language.
Bunk Styles
Style: War & P.E.
Examples: Flex muscles, assume a fighting pose, write a haiku, meditate
Significant Other
Warren met Felisha through his work as security guard supervisor at a warehouse in 2004. The Pooka was playing cat burglar quite effectively, so Warren turned his Troll guardianship on full throttle. Soon he spotted the slinky kitty and followed her outside. He managed to capture Felisha. But the Pooka begged him to show mercy and he did so, taking her home to straighten out the details. But Warren found himself seduced by an alluring, erotic Pooka instead. Now the big Troll can't get enough of that hot, adolescent bobcat Pooka. The two made love everyday: whenever he wasn't working basically. Fortunately for Felisha, Warren's so big her body hasn't been able to be impregnated yet. But the two are ready to swear Oaths of desire, even love, for one another. On March 15th, 2005, the pair ran off to Paris on a fey whim and wed formally. Children may arrive in the future game plan!
Except Felisha couldn’t control her own nature and whims. She got herself in a lot of trouble in 2008 that would have dragged Warren down with her. Despite his reassurances, Fel fled and vanished from under the nose of law enforcement, but also from her romantic and broken-hearted husband. Luckily, she was still just as enamored as he ever was, and returned to him a year later, once the heat was off. Joy!
Felisha
Weakness
Bound
Like most Trolls, Warren feels compelled to seek out some worthy cause to serve. But Warren needs more than a worthy cause. He needs a worthy lord. He feels lost without a good liege to guide his arm. He feels incomplete without all the trappings of "complete life". That extends beyond liegedom to notions of family and romance. Warren is much more sensitive than his tough exterior reveals. Sometimes, he's too sensitive.
Likelihood of Corruption
Low.
Warren is a good-natured, good-spirited Troll. He believes in all the worthiness and codes of conduct, including the Code of Dagda. On the other hand, he can be very aggressive, borderline ogre-like, when he's actually drawn into battle. One day he could go over the edge, especially if he never finds the social support he's looking for.
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