Difference between revisions of "Harlex Valtyr"

Revision as of 01:05, 13 August 2018

Harlex Valtyr
Social Rank	8
Fealty	Grayson
House	Valtyr
Gender	Male
Age	30
Religion	Pantheon
Vocation	Soldier
Height	5'11"
Hair Color	Black
Eye Color	Malachite
Skintone	Olive
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Description

There is a startling intensity to his eyes and a coldness sprawling from their black pits. They are bright, like wet green stones and stand-out against the deep charcoal colour of his long hair and road-weathered beard. His frame is lean with iron muscle and wolfish and his gait is steady. He carries himself tall when in the company of others but the grim-faced mercenary carries with him, too, a lingering shadow and an undisturbed solitude like a forlorn and abandoned monument half-slanted and cracked in the deep woods. Scars adorn him. The half-crescent, knotted mark at the right-base of his neck, another on his left hand which appears from some vicious bite-wound, and lighter white slashes across his knuckles and on his forearms when he turns in certain lighting. There are more hidden under his clothing, as any soldier would bare, but it's clear enough, from what is seen, that violence is his calling and his great curse.

Personality

As with most men-at-arms his features are rough-sawn, his eyes are troubled and dark from restless sleep. But he is a consummate professional in the trade and danger moves through his aura like the glint of a knife in the dark. His careful and quiet approach to conversation begs more questions than it ever answers but though the pool is cloudy, it is shallow. He seems resigned to brevity for the sake of it, complete upon the hour rather than eluding to some mysterious silence.

Background

It was winter in the village Wrenholme when Harlex Valtyr was born. His father, a soldier before him, died nine months later from an infected wound sustained in an ambush by cutthroats while on patrol. They stripped him naked and left him on the road. His mother, in desperation, married her late husband's brother. He was a devout man who lacked in any useful skills. He could not hunt, farm, nor fish. All he could do, in Harlex's eyes, was pray. It didn't seem to do his family any good. At the age of twenty his step-father died when his heart ruptured while trying to clear ear-rot from the corn fields. Harlex watched him writhe on the ground, deciding then to avoid this fate. He took coin and a knife, leaving behind the empty promises of a simple life. The world proved remorseless and these years were marked with violent conflicts in taverns, on the streets of cities where he sonjourned, until at last it reached its terminus. He met a band of sellswords, the Dead Crows, and plied his trade in service of blood and gold. It was under that banner where he became a killer. Harlex was never allowed to have any enhanced views of war, soldiery and battle. It was beaten out of him by hammer blows, arrow volleys, and burying fallen comrades. Eventually this all led to the Dead Crows disbanding, leaving Harlex with nothing but the rough-worn gear on his back, the sword on his hip, and scars deep on his soul.