10-15-2019, 12:09 AM
Discord ID: TheNickelKnight
Previous Characters: New to this community
Character Name: Kal Halfroad
Race: Human (Witch)
Alternate Graphic: N/A
Special Role Play Ability:
Synesthesia, particularly affecting his sense of smell.
Character Description:
Kal is in his late twenties with a broad build though not overly imposing. He stands at 5'9 sporting dusty blonde hair he usually keeps tied back and a well trimmed beard. He's clearly no stranger to manual labor, and sports a number of sparring scars on his wrists. He has keen eyes, those of someone who is used to hunting, foraging, or perhaps farming. His fingers are calloused, particularly at the joints, suggesting he might play an instrument of some kind.
Shard Plot Line:
Kal is an adventurer by trade, a bard by passion, and a hunter and farmer by necessity. His longing for the olden days of Tel'fahria, his homeland, and his tendency to try and provide for those around him, most aligns him with the Kingdom of Emelyn, specifically the Wardens of the Wilds. Kal's synesthesia is both a gift and a curse, while it helped make him both a phenomenal apothecary, and chef, there are times when it can leave him overwhelmed. His tendency to throw himself into his work, and put others before himself, sometimes leaves him drained.
Previous World:
The Realm of Tel'fahria post Patriarch's demise (previous world on a shard I'd played)
Backstory:
Kal peered out from beneath the blankets, just in time to wipe away a fresh sheen of sweat. He swung his feet over the side of the small cot in the corner of his tavern's basement. His cotton shirt clung to his form, equally slick with sweat. His head spun and he leaned back against the cool stone wall before drawing from a water-skin left by one of the waitstaff. All around him the fresh produce that had been brought in, the overpowering scents, the 'sight' of the wafting colored vapors, assaulted him. A culinary marvel, with a tavern known the world over for it's fine food. The End of the Road. It's where he'd come to when he decided he'd had enough of adventuring. All the coin, riches, and wealth he'd ever amassed. He traded it for a small, though particularly fertile, piece of land he could farm and a tavern where he could enjoy fine spirits, song, and great food among friends, or friends of friends. Under the stairs, across from his cot his freshly oiled leather armor hung in a wall cabinet. Beside it his crossbow, hunting knives, spears, a satchel packed with bandages, and beside that a bandoleer slotted with various potions. A lute, currently sporting a broken string, sat atop the cabinet. Casting his gaze to the opposite corner a book with yellowed and weathered pages sat beside a freshly empty mortar and pestle. Beneath it a crate of freshly packed potions. The crate was engraved with his seal. A winding road leading to a tavern meant to look like his own, at least as much as the local smith could. He'd spent the whole night working, so much so that he'd fallen ill. Still, he had a crate of potions to deliver, and he was nothing if not industrious. There was no definite consequence for a missed adventure. No particular penalty for a road not traveled. For a merchant who cannot meet his commitments though, especially the sort with a reputation? That simply wouldn't do. He took another pull from the water skin and then moved over to the spot beneath the stairs where he groggily doused himself with a bit of water and changed into a clean shirt. At least one that was cleaner than what he'd slept in. He packed up the crate of potions, and hauled it up the stairs. Blasted sickness, he shuffled slowly hoping it would pass as the day went on. Help was hard to find, dependable help even more so. He shuffled through the tavern's side door, his back pressed against it, he leaned a bit too heavily into it and nearly lost his balance. Cursing himself he continued trudging into the side yard where his trusted horse Bernard munched on feed. Bernard neighed his 'good morning' eager to begin his work for the day. He was a particularly good natured horse not fit for riding but built for hauling. Kal carefully secured Bernard's pack, offering him a carrot which the horse vigorously ate. Once he'd finished loading the potions Kal, Bernard in tow, walked out into the brisk morning air and headed off to his destination.
The church gratefully accepted his delivery, apparently some grievously wounded adventurers had been brought back the night before. Some beyond saving. Kal's medicines might make their passing a touch easier. At least that's what the priest had said. It might have been true. If the good for nothing guards would actually do their job's it's possible the adventurers wouldn't need to patrol the roads. Wouldn't need to die. Like so many of Kal's friends. Anyone of authority in town was noble blood, and they weren't good for much beyond public appearances. That and fleecing people of their coin. Kal included. There were a few good ones, of course, but not enough to outdo all the damage wrought by the rest of the peerage. The End of the Road wasn't a place they frequent often, no more than it took to come collect the taxes they were owed. Despite his misgivings Kal always paid without protest. Some hills weren't worth charging up to die on. He was short staff at his tavern, most businesses were, because of a recent revolt. The kind that saw a lot of men and women shipped off to work hard labor. It wasn't that he didn't agree with their protests, more that he'd long ago realized change has to come from the top. The nobility was a lot like scaffolding. You can pull the supports out from under a scaffolding. All you get is a lot of noise, and the people just trying to stay up on the scaffolding end up hurt, or worse. This place was a lot like that, and every few years someone went and kicked the support out from under the scaffolding. Kal made it his business not to be anywhere near the point of impact when that all came crashing down. If you read books, or listened to the elder races swap tales, the kingdom was a lot better off before the Patriarch died. Militarily minded as they were the Tel'fahrians were never cruel to the lesser races. The lesser races being, everyone who wasn't a Tel'fahrian, but that was long before his time. Practically ancient history now. The once proud warriors had lost their great castles and cities, but there were enough holdfasts still dotting Tel'fahria's mountains that perhaps someday they'd retake their homes. It probably wouldn't be the same noble Tel'fahrians who ruled them then. He was optimistic that the world might change, but Kal Halfroad wasn't going to change it. By the time he broke from his thoughts he'd found himself back at The End of the Road. He put Bernard up, and headed for the south gate. Out towards his farm. He readied a bit of coin the gate guards were sure to fleece from him for something.
As he crossed the threshold of the south gate suddenly his vision blurred. A scent he'd never smelled before assaulted him, not from any particular direction, but it washed over him like a flood. A myriad of colors left him dizzy as they danced before him and he collapsed in the road unable to remain standing against the relentless assault on his senses. Vomit spilled into the side of the road, and he lost consciousness.
When he woke, not only was it still day, he could already tell he wasn't where he ought to have been. He still had his purse, and the belongings he'd had on. Usually, even if the guards had saved him, they'd have taken all his money as a 'fee' for their inconvenience. No, he wasn't in Tel'fahria at all. In that moment he wanted to panic, scream out even, but he'd been an adventurer once. He was going to have to be again. He began prattling off potions he knew how to make, recipes he'd learned how to cook, even tested a few more basic maneuvers with a stick. The world had changed. He was still Kal. He took a deep breath, and then let out a long and exasperated sigh. It's not exactly what he'd wanted, and certainly not what he'd meant. Kal, however, knew that you rarely ever get what you want in the form you'd expect. Indeed, the world had changed, and Kal Halfroad had not changed it.
After some haggling for a bit of clothing, the kind that wasn't covered in vomit, and didn't make him stand out like the rarest of mushrooms Kal came to find himself in the Kingdom of Emelyn. By all accounts similar to what Tel'fahria once was, less a ruling 'race'. However long he'd been passed out in the road his sickness had left him, instead replaced by a ravenous hunger. The world had changed, and though Kal Halfroad hadn't changed it, for the first time in a very long time he felt this was a world he could change.
Previous Characters: New to this community
Character Name: Kal Halfroad
Race: Human (Witch)
Alternate Graphic: N/A
Special Role Play Ability:
Synesthesia, particularly affecting his sense of smell.
Character Description:
Kal is in his late twenties with a broad build though not overly imposing. He stands at 5'9 sporting dusty blonde hair he usually keeps tied back and a well trimmed beard. He's clearly no stranger to manual labor, and sports a number of sparring scars on his wrists. He has keen eyes, those of someone who is used to hunting, foraging, or perhaps farming. His fingers are calloused, particularly at the joints, suggesting he might play an instrument of some kind.
Shard Plot Line:
Kal is an adventurer by trade, a bard by passion, and a hunter and farmer by necessity. His longing for the olden days of Tel'fahria, his homeland, and his tendency to try and provide for those around him, most aligns him with the Kingdom of Emelyn, specifically the Wardens of the Wilds. Kal's synesthesia is both a gift and a curse, while it helped make him both a phenomenal apothecary, and chef, there are times when it can leave him overwhelmed. His tendency to throw himself into his work, and put others before himself, sometimes leaves him drained.
Previous World:
The Realm of Tel'fahria post Patriarch's demise (previous world on a shard I'd played)
Backstory:
Kal peered out from beneath the blankets, just in time to wipe away a fresh sheen of sweat. He swung his feet over the side of the small cot in the corner of his tavern's basement. His cotton shirt clung to his form, equally slick with sweat. His head spun and he leaned back against the cool stone wall before drawing from a water-skin left by one of the waitstaff. All around him the fresh produce that had been brought in, the overpowering scents, the 'sight' of the wafting colored vapors, assaulted him. A culinary marvel, with a tavern known the world over for it's fine food. The End of the Road. It's where he'd come to when he decided he'd had enough of adventuring. All the coin, riches, and wealth he'd ever amassed. He traded it for a small, though particularly fertile, piece of land he could farm and a tavern where he could enjoy fine spirits, song, and great food among friends, or friends of friends. Under the stairs, across from his cot his freshly oiled leather armor hung in a wall cabinet. Beside it his crossbow, hunting knives, spears, a satchel packed with bandages, and beside that a bandoleer slotted with various potions. A lute, currently sporting a broken string, sat atop the cabinet. Casting his gaze to the opposite corner a book with yellowed and weathered pages sat beside a freshly empty mortar and pestle. Beneath it a crate of freshly packed potions. The crate was engraved with his seal. A winding road leading to a tavern meant to look like his own, at least as much as the local smith could. He'd spent the whole night working, so much so that he'd fallen ill. Still, he had a crate of potions to deliver, and he was nothing if not industrious. There was no definite consequence for a missed adventure. No particular penalty for a road not traveled. For a merchant who cannot meet his commitments though, especially the sort with a reputation? That simply wouldn't do. He took another pull from the water skin and then moved over to the spot beneath the stairs where he groggily doused himself with a bit of water and changed into a clean shirt. At least one that was cleaner than what he'd slept in. He packed up the crate of potions, and hauled it up the stairs. Blasted sickness, he shuffled slowly hoping it would pass as the day went on. Help was hard to find, dependable help even more so. He shuffled through the tavern's side door, his back pressed against it, he leaned a bit too heavily into it and nearly lost his balance. Cursing himself he continued trudging into the side yard where his trusted horse Bernard munched on feed. Bernard neighed his 'good morning' eager to begin his work for the day. He was a particularly good natured horse not fit for riding but built for hauling. Kal carefully secured Bernard's pack, offering him a carrot which the horse vigorously ate. Once he'd finished loading the potions Kal, Bernard in tow, walked out into the brisk morning air and headed off to his destination.
The church gratefully accepted his delivery, apparently some grievously wounded adventurers had been brought back the night before. Some beyond saving. Kal's medicines might make their passing a touch easier. At least that's what the priest had said. It might have been true. If the good for nothing guards would actually do their job's it's possible the adventurers wouldn't need to patrol the roads. Wouldn't need to die. Like so many of Kal's friends. Anyone of authority in town was noble blood, and they weren't good for much beyond public appearances. That and fleecing people of their coin. Kal included. There were a few good ones, of course, but not enough to outdo all the damage wrought by the rest of the peerage. The End of the Road wasn't a place they frequent often, no more than it took to come collect the taxes they were owed. Despite his misgivings Kal always paid without protest. Some hills weren't worth charging up to die on. He was short staff at his tavern, most businesses were, because of a recent revolt. The kind that saw a lot of men and women shipped off to work hard labor. It wasn't that he didn't agree with their protests, more that he'd long ago realized change has to come from the top. The nobility was a lot like scaffolding. You can pull the supports out from under a scaffolding. All you get is a lot of noise, and the people just trying to stay up on the scaffolding end up hurt, or worse. This place was a lot like that, and every few years someone went and kicked the support out from under the scaffolding. Kal made it his business not to be anywhere near the point of impact when that all came crashing down. If you read books, or listened to the elder races swap tales, the kingdom was a lot better off before the Patriarch died. Militarily minded as they were the Tel'fahrians were never cruel to the lesser races. The lesser races being, everyone who wasn't a Tel'fahrian, but that was long before his time. Practically ancient history now. The once proud warriors had lost their great castles and cities, but there were enough holdfasts still dotting Tel'fahria's mountains that perhaps someday they'd retake their homes. It probably wouldn't be the same noble Tel'fahrians who ruled them then. He was optimistic that the world might change, but Kal Halfroad wasn't going to change it. By the time he broke from his thoughts he'd found himself back at The End of the Road. He put Bernard up, and headed for the south gate. Out towards his farm. He readied a bit of coin the gate guards were sure to fleece from him for something.
As he crossed the threshold of the south gate suddenly his vision blurred. A scent he'd never smelled before assaulted him, not from any particular direction, but it washed over him like a flood. A myriad of colors left him dizzy as they danced before him and he collapsed in the road unable to remain standing against the relentless assault on his senses. Vomit spilled into the side of the road, and he lost consciousness.
When he woke, not only was it still day, he could already tell he wasn't where he ought to have been. He still had his purse, and the belongings he'd had on. Usually, even if the guards had saved him, they'd have taken all his money as a 'fee' for their inconvenience. No, he wasn't in Tel'fahria at all. In that moment he wanted to panic, scream out even, but he'd been an adventurer once. He was going to have to be again. He began prattling off potions he knew how to make, recipes he'd learned how to cook, even tested a few more basic maneuvers with a stick. The world had changed. He was still Kal. He took a deep breath, and then let out a long and exasperated sigh. It's not exactly what he'd wanted, and certainly not what he'd meant. Kal, however, knew that you rarely ever get what you want in the form you'd expect. Indeed, the world had changed, and Kal Halfroad had not changed it.
After some haggling for a bit of clothing, the kind that wasn't covered in vomit, and didn't make him stand out like the rarest of mushrooms Kal came to find himself in the Kingdom of Emelyn. By all accounts similar to what Tel'fahria once was, less a ruling 'race'. However long he'd been passed out in the road his sickness had left him, instead replaced by a ravenous hunger. The world had changed, and though Kal Halfroad hadn't changed it, for the first time in a very long time he felt this was a world he could change.
