Approved BT Bio for Kelitor Varashan - CC'd by FL

[Arath Faringal]

DM Handle: Kelitor

Email: kelitorvarashan[at]gmail.com

Character Count: 1, this is the first

 

Character Name: Kelitor Varashan

Age: 19

Place of Birth/Raising: Arafel

 

Physical Appearance: Kelitor is about 5'11" and marginally over 200 pounds, best described as husky. Burned hands, and muscular arms and shoulders mark him as a smith's apprentice, and he is built like a stone wall. He wears his hair in the traditional Arafellin braids with a few copper bells woven in and is a dark blond, the only feature inherited from his Andoran mother. He has dreamy eyes, being averse to nearly any form of work outside the forge. He is also left-handed, bearing the sword he received when he became a man of the Borderlands sheathed on his right hip.

 

 

History: Kelitor, known more commonly as Kel, was born and raised in a small village in the west of Arafel, to an Arafellin father and an Andoran merchant woman who never quite mustered the will to leave after meeting him. His bearing was difficult, and he nearly died after birth, and was very sickly for his first year. Despite that, after this, he flourished, growing quickly, although his lighter hair was a constant source of teasing for him, being the only color not of classic Arafellin extraction in his village other then his foreign mother. Perhaps because of this, Kelitor often preferred his own company, wandering the Black Hills to the south-west of the Village, exulting in the screaming winds that constantly blew there.

 

He grew more social upon adolescence, growing quickly both physically and socially.

 

He was apprenticed to the village smith at the same time his friends coined the nickname "Ox" for him in honor of the fact that despite being the most introverted of all the boys, and not really outgoing to wrestle the others often, he was still the strongest in sheer strength, and being too easy going to protests such a ridiculous nickname and was in fact secretly pleased and the nickname stuck with him throughout his youth. He still enjoyed his time alone in the Hills, but he was happier now, and when he was 16, received a traditional man's gift of bells to wear in his braids.

 

When he was 18, with his master's aid he forged the sword that all men in the Borderlands received to mark their passage into manhood. It was a difficult time for Kelitor, as he'd never dealt well with stress, and while most of his friends received their swords as gifts, since he was to be a smith, his master had proclaimed he would have a hand in the forging. It was a howling, stormy day out when Kelitor began the forging, the day he usually enjoyed, but today it felt like the wind blew through him, distracting him from the work on the sword, and the heat from the forge seemed to seep inside, so it was as if he wrestled winds of Fire and Ice while he should be focusing on the work. Naturally, he lost focus, and critically flawed the blade during the tempering. Panicking over such a monumental error over his man's sword, Kelitor forgot about his internal winds for a second, and in that second of utter horror, they blasted his mind into blackness. When Kelitor came to, the sword shone on the anvil, inexplicably flawless. Utterly flabbergasted, Kelitor ran his hand over the blade, unable to find the flaw which had caused him to panic so, and even his master said the King's own smiths couldn't have done better... Kelitor had his horrifying suspicions, he KNEW the sword had been critically flawed, but the sword was sturdy, and in none of his practice with his father did the sword show any weakness.

 

Kelitor's final confirmation came during a typical Trolloc raid from the Blight. This was Kelitor's first raid in which he was allowed in the front lines as a man. Up till now he had been sheltered somewhat by his elders, whetting his sword on the occasional wounded Trolloc that was allowed through the lines with his father standing by the ensure that he lived through each encounter. Now, a year later, at  nineteen, he was deemed competent and in no need of coddling. Unfortunately, he was no where near as competent yet as his elders, and this raid had a Fade leading it. The Fade correctly intuited that Kelitor was a mere novice; capable of fending off Trollocs with help, but nowhere near truly skilled. That would have been the end of Kelitor, except that in utter panic as a dead black blade floated towards his neck while he desperately tried to counter, the winds within rose. He screamed, and the wind within blew through his mouth, dicing the Fade, and a dozen Trollocs without warning. Kelitor collapsed in utter exhaustion, and couldn't be roused for three days.

 

Kelitor now knew for certain, there had been signs: His sword, an unnaturally good harvest, strong roaring winds on the Hills whenever he went up there, a sister recovering from a fever within two days, his sporadic production of metalwork that seemed to be be on par with what came out of the big cities, and his uncanny guesses about the weather. He could channel Saidin; had been for nearly two years. Knowing he couldn't go mad surrounded by those he loved, and hearing of the Dragon's amnesty, he bid farewell to those he loved, taking only his sword, a letter of introduction from his master, and the bells for his braids, he set out in search of the Black Tower.

[Quisalas Selene]

CC'd!