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Karadoc was *that* son. The prodigy, the bright rising star. There was nothing his proud parents could not put before him that Karadoc could not grasp. Logic, history, arithmetic, religion, law - all of it - seen, appraised, and grasped with an aptitude that was stunning. The future was bright for Karadoc Saik. Was. To this day, his parents remain frustrated and baffled by their son's sudden drop off the proverbial cliff. At some point after returning from Southport and the two year training regimen there, Karadoc simply ceased to care...about anything. His invitation to attend to prestigious academy in Tor? Ignored. The various offers coming from Southport, those martial and intellectual? Declined. And, to this very day, his mother still cannot talk about the potential marriage contract used to catch cat vomit without flying into an apoplectic rage. He eventually left home one misty morning, disappearing for a few years before returning suddenly. During that time, Karadoc has less and little to say, though it is widely assumed amongst the family he lived as a half-starved vagrant. Nor did he remain home for long! Almost as soon as he settled in, his uncle the Baron, died. Then, but a few short months later, his cousin the Baron, died. Finally, his cousin the Baroness, summoned him to Arx. To the surprise of all, Karadoc accepted.

Karadoc does not mind being known as the man with eclectic tastes, which others derisively refer to him as that weird guy who dresses like a beggar. He will in fact take one step forward to encourage that brand of thinking –- call him a gadabout, call him a cad, call him lazy –- call him anything but late to supper so that he might enjoy a glass of brandy and a good meal while admiring some new piece of jewelry sparkling from his finger. Life’s meant to be lived in the moment, for the moment. And right now? Life’s good. He possesses a handsome face: high cheekbones, patrician nose, mouth finely molded with a slight wry quality to it. A face that would seem more suited to the somber, thoughtful expressions most often seen carved in marble statuary, Karadoc is rarely without smug grin or warm smile -- as though he’s caught onto the punchline of some private joke. Dark brown hair is left long and loose, nearly to his shoulders. Ruffled by the wind, raked back by his fingers, or left tousled. By far his most arresting feature are his eyes: a piercing blue that, in some incalculable way, can transform what seemed like a condescending smirk into something earnest and genuine. His voice can undergo a similar adjustment -- in one moment a warm drawl that’s taunting in its nonchalance, and by the next cool and crisp and filled with shrewd intelligence. Karadoc _knows_ how a noble should speak and act, but he doesn’t exactly care.

Karadoc is a laid back, easy-going, and extremely likeable man. Few, if any, have ever seen him roused to anger, let alone annoyance. In fact, this care free attitude most often tends to engender annoyance in other people who seem to think he should experience emotions as they do. Like his parents, these people will oft find themselves disappointed.