Approved BT Bio for Karadar Kalthorn - CCd by WK

[Arath Faringal]

Very long one, be prepared.

 

Handle: KerianAmbrai

 

Name: Karadar Kalthorn

Email: KerianAmbrai[at]gmail[dot]com

Age: 26

 

Physical Description: Karadar is a tall, well built man. He is

muscled, but they are the lean muscles of someone who has worked his

whole life rather than the muscles of a bodybuilder. His skin is

almond, colored, and his eyes are a dazzling emerald green.

Origin: Karadar is Tairen. His family hails from the northern reaches

of Tear, near the Cairenhen border.

Personality: Karadar was once a fair man, slow to judgement, slow to

anger, but when he does he is a hurricane. He is currently currently

more broken than anything. He is eager to 'find his place in the

world' and to make peace with the loss of everything he held dear in

the world.

 

History:

The fire blazed within the forge as the large bladesmith stoked the

flames hotter. He was a large man, fully a span tall, his tan skin,

thick corded muscles, and rough hands displaying his years of work in

front of this very forge. Close cropped brown hair framed his face,

with a rough beard setting his firm jaw, yet within features seemingly

chiseled from stone, his sapphire eyes shone with the compassion of a

man filled with joy. He tossed a blade into the flames and wiped the

sweat from his brow, looking to the table towards the front of his

shop, where he had placed the fruits of the day’s labors. Three swords

and a few plates for a suit of armor lay across the table, each placed

carefully in rows by their creator's hands. “Karadar!” he heard, his

heart jumping a bit at the sound of the familiar feminine voice to his

left. He turned and regarded its originator. Her curled golden locks

ran just past her shoulder, complimenting her fair skin. Her face was

formed into one of unending frustration, though her eyes couldn’t hide

a hint of love of that very frustration. “Darling Ayelin!” he called

at her, a wide smile forming on his face.

 

“Don’t you ‘Darling Ayelin’ me you scruffy oaf!” She yelled, driving

her hands to her hips. “You were supposed to come inside when they

closed the market!”

 

“I know dear. I was just excited about Lord Melkar’s order.”

 

“That’s no excuse for rudeness.” She said, lowering her voice to mere

disapproval.

 

“I’m sorry dear”, he said apologetically, “Let me clean up and I’ll

come inside.”

 

She straightened her green skirts, then turned to leave, “I suppose it

can’t be helped. Finish what you have to.” She called dismissively at

him.

 

‘I’ll show her what I have to do’ he thought, with a mischievous

smile. He bounded for her quickly, scooping her up and carrying her

inside their small home attached to the back of the shop. She laughed

as he carried her to the bed they shared, pounding half-heartedly on

his chest and back over and again calling him names like 'lunkhead'

and 'overgrown anvil'. Arriving at the room, he playfully tossed her

onto the bed, following her onto it afterward.

-----------------

Before the sun's light had even peeked over the horizon, Karadar found

himself climbing out of bed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he

grabbed a neary lamp a lit it, stopping for a moment to admire the way

the gentle lamplight played off of Ayelin's curls as she lay sleeping

in bed. He looked at her longingly for a moment, then turned to set

off about his day's activities. As much as he would love to just

whittle the day away inside with his loving wife, he was still excited

to begin his first major commission. Lord Melkar had spoken with him a

few days prior, and had commissioned him to craft a rather impressive

sword. He had even payed a quarter of the promised price up front to

help Karadar purchase the gold and precious jewels necessary to

construct the sword. Navigating through the small house in the dim

light he dressed and picked up the coinpurse holding the advance

before setting out onto the streets.

 

After picking up the items he required that morning, he returned to

the forge to find a note sitting on his anvil, 'Gone to see my sister,

I'll be home later tonight. I love you, Ayelin'. Smiling to himself,

he put the note into his pocket, donned his apron and began to set

about constructing the promised commission. As the forge blazed hot

beneath his careful attentions, it was to be gold-hilted, studded with

jewels along the guard, and gold letters would run along blade in the

Old Tongue. He had been told that the words on one side meant 'In

Defense of My Line' and the other said 'In Retribution for the Same'.

He pulled the stock out and tossed it into the inferno of the forge

while his mind began to wander. He had borne witness to twenty six

summers, most in the northern regions of Tear. His body showed the

marks of the past twelve, since had taken up a life in front of the

forge, first his masters, then his own. It was easy for him to draw

many parallels of his own life to that of the sword his hands worked

now. His master, Uluthar, had pulled him from obscurity and had

changed him by fire. The trials of flesh that he had placed upon him

during his apprenticeship were harrowing, yet they were all

commonplace now. It was only then that Uluthar could anneal him,

setting him on the way to what he chose to be. As he splashed the mud

from the sword, he sat to engrave the words into the blade, pouring

liquid-hot gold into the engravings. The gold shone brightly as it

cooled, and he couldn't help but think of Ayelin. Of the beauty and

meaning she added to his life, as he was adding to this blade. He

moved it carefully back to the forge, letting it heat again for

tempering.

 

As he turned his eyes from the bright forge, he noticed that night had

fallen. Night had fallen, and Ayelin had not yet come for him, which

was unusual to say the least. Not bothering to remove his apron, laden

with his tools, he ran into the house, searching it top to bottom for

her. He called for her, even running out the back and yelling as loud

as he could for her, but to no avail. Uncertain of what to do, he

headed back to his shop to find Lord Melkar waiting for him. He was so

distracted by his missing wife that he nearly forgot to offer him a

bow before speaking, "Lord Melkar. It is an honor to have you in my

humble shop again."

 

Melkar sneered at the blacksmith, "I'm sure it is. I've come to

collect my weapon."

 

Gesturing toward the forge, Karadar said, "Its in there m'lord. All it

needs is to finish tempering and it'll be ready for you. I closed the

shop today so that I could work on your weapon exclusively all day.

It's a fine sword."

 

"I'm sure it is," he said, "There is a matter of price still to discuss."

 

"What matter is that?"

 

"I've found another blacksmith who said that he can do the work for

half of what our promised price was. Naturally, I'm interested, but it

would be a shame for you to waste all that energy. So if you can agree

to a quarter of the previous price, then our deal would still stand."

 

Anger began welling up in him like it never had before. His life had

been blissfully serene for the last few years, but even in the time

before that he had never felt the raw sense of power that his rage

began to bring up from within him, "Just the advance!?! I'll take a

huge loss! We had a deal!"

 

"Which simply needs to be altered," Lord Melkar said, stepping a

further back as two large men came into view. One held a sword with

the look of a man who knew how to use it. The other held something far

more precious though. The other clutched Ayelin tightly to him, a

dagger glinting in the night held to her throat. Melkar spoke again

with a sneer, "As you can see, you stand to lose a lot more."

 

Karadar faltered for a moment, hestitating in uncertainty. The power

raging within him called for blood, but his mind called for Ayelin.

Unfortunately it was his hesitation that made the ultimate decision.

Sensing the raw emotion that was driving Karadar now, Lord Melkar

decided that another blacksmith could certainly finish what he had

started and said simply, "Kill them." Karadar watched, unable to move

quickly enough as the dagger ran crimson with the color of Ayelin's

blood. His eyes swelled with tears as his anguished cry seemed to

peirce the heavens themselves. A cry for vengeance. A cry that was

answered. From no where a bolt of lightning streaked down, forking at

the end to take both of the large men. As the two men crumpled to the

floor, the blast of thunder buffeted Karadar while knocking Lord

Melkar to the ground. Through the tears, Karadar raced to Melkar,

lifting him from the ground and carrying him to the hot embers of the

forge. He shoved him against the stones with a crunch that could have

broken bones. "I have a new price for you," he growled at the terror

stricken noble beneath him. His hand reached into the forge and pulled

the white hot blade from the fire. Ignoring the pain in his hand as it

gripped the incandescent blade, he drove it between the ribs of the

man and held it there. For a moment, the powerful rage within him

reveled in look on the man's face, on the smell of burned flesh, and

the crackle of blood boiling. He dropped the man's lifeless body to

the stones, still holding the now blackend, scarred blade in his

hands. He could feel the hate fueled strength escaping his body, but

he trudged on, moving to Ayelin. He tried desperately to wake her, his

tears mixing with her blood as he sobbed her name over and over. But

it was to no avail. With what little strength he had, he lifted her

body from the ground and carried her off into the night.

----------------

A week later, the sun greeted him with a very different world than the

one he had known for years. He awoke on the hard dirt of his wife's

grave, his clothes still drenched in tears from the sobbing he had

done the night before. He picked up the empty bottles of whiskey that

lay littered around the gravesite, and carefully gathered flowers to

freshen the site, trying his best to ignore the painful hangover that

dominated his mind. He stumbled out of the graveyard, heading back

towards the town for the first time since that fateful evening. He

knew that guards would certainly be there, probably still looking for

him. He knew that the city would hold no home for him, no loved ones,

no nothing. But he was also sure that he had called that lightning on

that fateful night. The heavens were the one thing that hadn't

deserted him, and he would serve the power that gave him the strength

to exact retribution. His clothes were ragged, stained with mud and

dirt, his face was unshaven and unkempt, and to his back, he had a

bundle of leather straps concealing the blackened, scarred blade from

that night. Though it was unusable and lacked a hilt, he couldn't

bring himself to let go of it. It was this shell of a man who came to

the city that day, searching for an Asha'man. Searching for a purpose.

Searching for the strength to master the power inside himself. Really,

he was just searching for the strength to keep living.

[Taymist]

Very nicely written. CCd.