Post by Caellach Baratheon on Mar 16, 2010 4:05:31 GMT
Name: Caellach Alighiero Baratheon
Age: Thirty-Three
Sex: Male
Class: Freesword - Soldier | Royal Army
Appearance: [Model - Sam Worthington]
Caellach stands at an even six-foot-two with a look about him that shows of experience and age. With crow's feet sprouting at the corners of his eyes, Caellach's undoubtedly weathered and riddled by what he has been witness to; warfare, bloodshed and everything in between. It shows within his very gait - a way of moving that's more of a prowling hunting cat than man, and one showing of a man who was ahorse more than upon his own two feet. One could say much the same of his form alone.
His flesh had been dedicated to rigorous training and little else; his form honed from years spent through hard labor. Sinewy and lean; muscled, even. Muscles ripple beneath the surface of his velvet flesh at every motion. That's hardly making mention of the scars upon his body though; the one's that linger like lines drawn upon a map. Similar scars linger upon the backs of his hands that show of an intimate dedication to swordplay.
Despite Caellach's flesh borne of warfare and little else, his eyes contradict all of that. Well, not entirely. Yes, they show of what he has seen, but they are a bright blue; a woman's eyes, his mother's eyes. They nearly look unfitting within the set of his face. Yet, they are there.
Caellach's often seen wearing riding leathers or the worn and weathered armor of his person and name. Although there are times Caellach may be wearing simplistic garbs such as tunics, trousers and more fashionable, and comfortable, footwear. His hair often would be found short-cropped alongside a clean-shaven face albeit there may be times growth will linger.
Character: Caellach's soldierly through and through; calm and collect, even. He has a stoic demeanor and a mind honed toward loyalty more than not. There's little that may sway him despite his fondness toward women and wine both. He's stubborn, too, and will shoulder through any semblance of a rough patch to assure the completion of any quest and task. That's not to say that there aren't moments where Caellach's more bestial side takes over.
He's a berserker within the midst of battle; taught to be a beast within close quarters. He loses himself to the throes of battle often more than not and trudge through the heat until completion. There are other times, too, where Caellach loses himself. He's an undoubtedly volatile and unstable man when talk comes to more personal matters, and Caellach has been known to lash out to his comrades and superiors at the mention of his past life and mother both. Despite all of this, though, Caellach's an undoubtedly rare specimen of the physical kind that any army would gain from.
Strengths and Weaknesses:
STRENGTHS
- Steadfast
- Unmatched Physical Prowress
- Loyal
WEAKNESSES
- Volatile
- Easily Overwhelmed by Personal Subjects [Mother]
- Addictive Personality
Magic: None.
Weaponry Skills:
- Horsemanship
- Swordsmanship
- Shield
- Fisticuffs
- Grappling | Wrestling
Character History: Begotten on a woman who sold her flesh to anyone and everyone, Caellach was born to a world of perfume, sweat and tension. His mother - a concubine - had felt for the child carrying her very own eyes. She could not part with him there and then despite the truth of not wishing to claim him. Yet, she had, and she had named him rightly for what was about to happen; the struggles that were to be.
Caellach was the son of a foreign battle-lord sung of for his splendid nature and good fortune. His passion for the blade and challenge was only met by that of the flesh. The stain Caellach represents on his father's honour, though, prompted the lordling to assure Caellach was never spoken of and that word did not follow at his heels. Why for? Ah, because the battle-lord was bound to another within his land proper. So, Caellach was abandoned unto the keeping of his mother.
Caellach's life was harsh even before his birth as his mother was found out. Pregnancy for a concubine was frowned upon and found to be unattractive. Her form was ruined by the life she carried despite her best efforts. Yet, she did not rid of him and fled with the child she still held within her. She sought a semblance of sanctuary with her grandfather.
She was unacceptable by her grandfather, and the sight of her brought a stain unto his own name. He, though, could not within mind, abandon her unto the elements of the world and took her into his homestead until she had given birth to the child whom she deemed fit of the name Caellach; war. Oh, little did she know how fit the name truly was!
The truth was, was that at first she had fallen for the silent babe; nigh thinking the child dead at first until peering down onto his large eyes. She cared for him and loved him, and fought her grandfather tooth and nail when he took the child from her arms at only the age of five; spiriting the child off into the night.
The minutes became hours and hours became days until those days become nigh a fortnight. His great grandfather sought the encampment where his true blood-father lingered and there he was left upon the step of the outpost, abandoned with only a word.
"Tell your lord to tend to the seed he plants, and to mind the soil in which he plants them," and with that, Caellach was left behind. Little did his great grandfather know, though, that his father had fallen in battle; claimed by the notched bow of pagan natives, and Caellach...ah, how he became the hound of Harren!
What to do with a child within one's keeping? Much less the child of a man one loathed wholeheartedly? Harren's keeper became Talamond - once second-in-command of his lord father. Talamond knew at the sight of Caellach of what he'd do with the boy, and thus did his true life begin and his training toward warfare.
No expense was sparred for the project that was set forth for the boy and Caellach was treated more or less like a hound than an actual child. He was talked down to and beaten; starved and forced to steal to survive. He was drilled endlessly until his very form was perfection, and when fighting had become second nature; Caellach had become a monster, and at the age of manhood, had been gifted with his father's armor.
Little was known of what happened to the outpost then on. Most, though, spoke of the outpost being overrun by the pagan natives, and that Caellach had fought tooth and nail. The truth, though, was his to tell and others to figure out from his own mouth. He did live, though, and so he did roam the world as a whole; claiming the land and becoming a freesword, rallying to one lord's banner and to another without shame; a whore of war.
Camelot was to be his next station.
Additional Information: --
Sample Roleplay: Moore felt smothered.
He could feel the beast within him thumping at the walls built by his mind. He could feel the thrum of need and want stroking beneath his flesh like a lover's caress; throttling him and thrusting him forth. He could recall the other times such a thing had happened. He could recall the faces of those he had pinned beneath his weight and eviscerated only to feast upon.
Men separate their lives into bits and pieces; hours, days. Ah, but wolves, they kill and eat. When they have a rabbit they eat the rabbit. As for man? They cut them; call it bones, meat, fur and guts. They never have enough. All the while Moore lives within the now and aches when the hunger calls upon him, and the truth was, was that he could not forbid such a thing.
It was nigh like a whisper pressing upon his mind then and there. He could catch the sound of his own mind mocking him and damning him both. How could he forbid his hunger? Forbid the wind to blow past your den then or even the grass to grow within the earth. He has as much right.
He needed to sate his hunger.
That's what had brought him here of all places. Somewhat close to home, and yet, far enough. He needed to feast upon someone before that hunger turns upon the one he truly cared for and that was undoubtedly Rhiannon; the woman who had begun to steadily change him. She's the one that he could not tear from his mind. She's the one that fills him throughout with need and want. He could never stop thinking of her, truly. Addicted was the word that would come to mind when his thoughts came to her. Truly, though, who could blame him?
Then he found her.
She was ripe and supple. He could taste her upon his tongue and that musky perfume of hers; he could catch the scent of her clean flesh and even cleaner blood. She was not sullied by alcohol or intoxicants; no drugs of any sort. She was young, too, and that made his groin ache and mouth salivate with that growing hunger. He couldn't explain the sudden bestial feeling then and there; the sudden overtaking of his body as his gait became that of a wolf on the prowl.
He could not yet see her but he could smell her. He could feel her scent enveloping him; taking him and smothering him. He could feel the heat of his body and the ache beneath his flesh as his muscles ripple and beckon him to release what he was unto the world.
...all the while that young blond woman sauntered along...
Oh, so little did she know what may befall her then and there. Who would have thought? Her life had been somewhat of the normal sort. She awoke with every passing day to attend her courses and work her part time job. She'd return home and rest. This night was much the same as any other. All the while she held her messenger bag close to her side and tucked her chin toward her chest as she sought the quickest route home. Oh, so unknowing.
It's a shame Moore would not allow that to happen.
[Optional] OOC Section:
Name: Lawrence
Location: UK
How long have you been RPing for: 15 Years
Any other characters on the site?: --
