I canna beleeb dis shit. >:O
"Em Fybe. Like da nummer."
Fyve (5) in a (bunch of) word(s): Pissed, paranoid, drunken, dangerous, feral, shifty... Stabby.
Fyve is a troll, but he adamantly denies it.
The story of his birth is covered in first chapter of Dunna Touch Fybe.
Were he a troll (Em nofer troll!), he'd be a Darkspear/Amani hybrid. He doesn't know that.
Fyve looks nothing like an Amani troll. He's all jungle troll: long, lean, muscular, and surprisingly flexible. To hold Fyve would be to hold an agitated snake by the tail. You'll still get bit.
Trolls are tall people, and Fyve is much taller than average. Pictured alone, it might not be noticeable as he's basically to-scale...
Except for the tusks. His tusks are longer than any troll's. They are so heavy that if he were to sever them, so much weight would be lost that his head might point straight up! His tusks point straight forward, with a gentle upward curve. His ears are ludicrously long. They sway a bit if he shakes his head.
What you can expect from Fyve in an RP setting:
Unpredictability! Fyve can be described as reclusive, soundlessly creeping about; a ghost. But he can also be described as LOUD. Drunkenly proclaiming everything to be his. He found it! You cannot take it!
Fashion... lack! He wears leather armor or plain linen or cotton clothes, never colorful. You won't see Fyve in pink! He owns one white shirt. He almost never wears it. He wears black slacks when he's not in armor or a loincloth or ass naked in the jungle. He's fond of suspenders.
Savagery. Even when very drunk, he can suddenly fly into a rage and destroy an entire room (or person) in the blink of an eye. He has been known to use his tusks to gore his enemies. Vicious and feral, he revels in the chance to do battle, smashing, tearing and mutilating everything in sight. Even his allies would do well to stay back as he sometimes blindly shreds everything he can reach without discrimination. When the last corpse has begun cooling, his celebratory cry can be heard for miles as he often lifts a bloody sack, filled with the severed thumbs he takes as trophies, high over his head.
OCD! For a guy whose living (and often recreation) demand that he is often splashed in gore, Fyve is shockingly clean. Bathing regularly, often three times a day, he is very fussy about keeping clean when he's not meting out violent death. He's a control freak about the strangest things, sometimes spending hours hidden in the woods or a cave, counting assorted objects out (you got it, in fives) and burying them or lining them up. Fyve needs control. He needs to own things, as well. He attaches meaning to meaningless objects, often willing to defend a rock or "shiny ting" with his life.
Paranoia! His paranoia is evident in many of his actions. He sometimes lapses into a psychotic state, where he spends hours collecting and sharpening sticks (though it can't be said why he doesn't opt to rely on his vicious daggers instead). He retains his weapons even when he bathes and sleeps.
Meanness! Fyve carries himself in a manner that suggests that one should keep the hell away. He possesses aspect of toxicity - a venomous thing that can become dangerously temperamental. Fyve doesn't walk... he slinks. He's a thing of the dark, keeping to the shadows more often than not. He identifies with snakes.
EMNOFERTOUCH! Don't touch Fyve unless you are suicidal.
Understanding the accent:
You can't. Don't try.
Fyve is a self-proclaimed "mushmout". He gives his thoughts on the subject in the one shot entitled, "I a troll."
MAD. FUCKING. SKILLS.
He can throw a rock like a pro! Fyve has killer aim and throws hard as hell. If you're a blood elf and you hear the warning cry of, "Nohuss!" you better pedal your hussy ass out of his sight or suffer dire (concussive) consequences!
Happy Roleplaying!
I canna beleeb dis shit. >:O