Returning BT Bio - Vykor Temmer

[Arath Faringal]

Handle: Kalthandrix

 

Name: Vykor Temmer

Age: 20

Nationality: Unclaimed territory in the southern arm of the Black Hills at the mouth of the River Kaevin.

One Power: Fire 10, Earth 7, Air 5, Water 5, Spirit 8; Strength 35; Skill 26; Potency 61 (as of 6/4/09)

Weapon Skill: 5 (as of 6/4/09)

 

Physical Description: Standing at just over middling height (5’9”) and with dark blond hair, which was going a bit shaggy. Farm work left his body moderately well built, and hours of swords practice and physical conditioning from his mentor Asha’man Isha had toned and sharpened his muscles to not only possess strength, but also speed.

 

A backward-facing crescent shaped scar begins at his left temple and ends just under his eye. Vykor’s left eye, due to the head trama, is completely devoid of color though it works just as well as his other which remains a verdant, deep emerald green.

 

Bio/Arrival:

 

Rising up, I brushed the loose straw from my clothes and grabbed up my blanket and satchel. The sun was an hour or two shy from rising, but it was time to leave- better to walk out of the old stable now then to sleep a bit longer and risk having a groom or the stable owner come in and wonder about why I was sleeping on his property. Also, the sooner started; the sooner finished, my father had always told me.

 

Today I would find the Asha’man that were said to be in Tear and I would join them, or I would finally find peace.

 

It seemed almost a lifetime ago, but I used to run free in the low hills of the southernmost region of the Black Hills near the mouth of the River Kaevin. The village I lived in was little more than a flyspeck, consisting of about twenty-five or so families, but it is my home, or at least it had been before…well, before I killed my best friend Aaryon.

 

We had just both turned seventeen earlier that season and our two families lived so close together that we basically had one very large farm that both families worked. Life was hard but good, getting by with the crops we grew and wool from the black sheep we raised. Aaryon and I were on the small town Green with the whole village, celebrating another season passing and a decent clip from the sheep, laughing and dancing with a couple of the al’Bren girls who we had a fancy for. Light but it had been a day to remember!

 

Burn me but it is all ashes now!

 

I do not know when, but the Meric boys and their cronies had gathered near us on the Green, talking and drinking the young beer that we made locally. Aaryon must have heard what they were saying because he broke off dancing and began shouting at Ryan Meric, the oldest in the group at just shy of turning eighteen. “You had best shout your gob Ryan!” Aaryon yelled, “My family has no reason to be taking anything from your family’s pastures.”

 

“Well how do you explain that ten of our sheep went missing before the clip, only to show up again less their wool? And how do you explain that it is your families that have the most wool?” Ryan bulled his way through his friend and stuck his finger in Aaryon’s chest. “I can tell you how. It is because you are bloody thieves!” The last bit coming out as a grunt due to Aaryon planting his fist in the older boys gut.

 

I barely remember more than just a blur of those first moments, it was, happening quickly. I have heard that some battles often fade from the mind soon after, but not so for me. Each detail of those second stands out as clearly as a stained-glass window. When Aaryon lashed out, Ryan’s friends rushed in with fists and feet already flying and I charged in to aid Aaryon, and to stuff those filthy accusations back down Ryan’s throat. It turned bad for us quickly! I had no more then kicked Jak DeArn in the V of his legs when pain bloomed in my jaw and stars dance across my vision. I went down like a bale of wet wool and the shoes and boots of those above me started raining down for what seemed hours; one foot grazed my temple and split my scalp, another loosened my teeth, and a host of other boots bruised my body.

 

I remember calmly thinking that I was going die, but that I would not go without a fight. My anger surged and it seemed that the world was freezing and burning at the same time. Striking from the ground, I broke one man’s knee and cleared a space into which I rose up, swinging. My vision narrowed and my blood seemed to burn with the heat of my fury, making my stomach twist as though I would spew everything I had ever eaten on to the ground. And then it happened. I locked eyes with Ryan and raised my hands toward him as I surged forward, intending to throttle him good, but instead a ray of pure fire seemed to fly from my upraised hands.

 

Time seemed to stop and all eyes were on that beam of fire, watching as it sped towards Ryan. Everyone was frozen, except for Aaryon who shoved Ryan aside and took the full blast of fiery fury. I do not think he felt a thing, as his body instantly turned into a cinder that seemed to explode, showering everyone in the area with a find coating of ash and flaming bits.

 

I ran then and have been running and moving from place to place for a good year now.

 

Looking at myself briefly in the glass of a tailor’s window, I could see that the boy I knew had been replaced with a stranger. Standing just a few inches over five and a half feet tall and with dark blond hair, which was going a bit shaggy on me and needed a cut, I was nothing the gleemen would sing about. Farm work had let my body moderately well built, though my clothes were a bit looser now. Moving as I had for the last year, I had taken work when I could and foraged as I could when there was o work to be had, but I always kept moving. The kick I had received to my head had left me with a back-facing crescent shaped scar three inch that began at my temple and curved toward my eye before hooking back. It had also done something to my eye as well, for even though it worked fine, the color had all but bled out of it, leaving me with one eye white as snow and the other a deep emerald green. That eye had kept some folk from giving me work, fearing I was cursed or ill. Light! If only they knew the truth!

 

Turning away from my reflection, I began walking again. I had found out the day before that there were several black coated men staying at an inn called the Silver Pike down by the docks. Traffic was light, as early as it was most decent folk were still abed, so I was making good time. Making a turn down another street, I collided with another man walking around the corner. The first thing I noticed was the black coat with a silver sword on one side of the high collar and a sinuous looking, enameled serpent on the other side. Recovering quickly I stepped back and bowed. Straightening I said, "I heard a rumor of the Dragons Amnesty for men that can channel and I am here to claim it. My name is Vykor Temmer, and all I ask is that you either train me or kill me; at this point I could care less which one you choose to do. Keep me and I will be your man for the rest of my days, or kill me.” And to myself I finished, and let the Light take my soul for killing my best friend.

 

Bio Continuation:

 

Several years hves now passed since I was a fresh recruit looking to prove my worth in the training yards of the Black Tower. Time and strife have left their marks upon me more now than any of the scars I carry.

 

After discovering that the Black Tower had been infiltrated by Darkfriends and entering into battle with them actually upon the grounds, I had been tasked by the M’Hael Dalinarius Traachanshield to find the roots of this cancer and dig it out. Of course, I was only a new raised Dedicated then, proud to the bone of my silver sword pin and more than willing to give back some of the hurt those Light-forsaken fools had inflicted upon me.

 

But times change things and the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. Darkfriends I found and fought, but never to the heart of those controlling those had I found. Friends died or disappeared, some taken by other duties while others vanished like smoke. Even the M’Hael fell after a time and I, without a guide and at this time practically alone, found my self attached to the Dragon Reborn himself for a time. The Lord Dragon knew of what I was doing and supported it, but weapons are needed in a time of war and letting one wander about in hopes of striking at shadows was not something that the Lord Dragon needed.

 

I have now seen worse things then I could ever have imagined before and the strain has been eating, gnawing, at me. A weapon I might be, but even a weapon needs to be resharpened at times, so I have been sent back to the Black Tower by the Lord Dragon to refocus and complete training that has gone neglected for too long now. Training and focus will reforge me, or I will be shattered by the hammer that is falling…