Hamilton Calder
11-23-09, 07:48 AM
Name: Hamilton Calder
Age: 27
Race: Human
Hair Colour: Brown
Eye Colour: Dark, dark brown
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 180 lbs
Skills: Above average swordsmanship, average knife throwing
Equipment: Steel longsword, five steel throwing knives, pack with basic adventuring gear
It is dusk, that hazy time halfway between day and night when everything takes on a colour other than its own. The crisp seaside November air of Scara Brae's docks has the people running for warmth and light, to protect against the oncoming night's chill. You duck into a tavern and take a seat at the counter, pausing first to ensure that the man sitting next to you seems wholesome. This is, after all, a city, and you like your gold where it is in your pocket.
Appearance
His most distinguishing feature is certainly the faded scar, half-hidden behind his unruly shock of hair, that runs across his forehead, above his right eye. His sandy brown hair is kept cut to medium length, and he constantly seems to be pushing stray strands back up out of his face. His eyes are a deep, profound brown, so dark you'd nearly call them black. They have a searching quality to them, and you expect that there is not much happening in the room that the man is not at least peripherally aware of. As he notices your quick appraisal of him, they seem to glitter faintly with merriment. His clothing is simple, and tends towards the drab colours favored by most practical adventurers - a loose brown shirt and trousers, held together with a black leather belt and covered with a hooded grey cape woven of simple wool. At his side hangs a scabbarded longsword, which dangles off his stool and nearly to the floor. By his feet sits a simple leather pack, typical of travellers the world over. At a glance you can guess at its contents: food enough for a few days, a freshly-filled waterskin, a bit of rope, flint and tinder. His boots are well-worn, and show signs of having been repaired many times. His voice has a warmth to it that's rare in his line of work, but the many lines in his still-young face suggest a man who has seen more sorrow than most. The barkeep arrives, carrying what appears to be some sort of herb tea, and places it at the man's elbow. "Wait a minute, Rand," the man calls as he moves away, "get my new friend here something as well." He turns to you, and his smile is full and genuine. "I'm called Calder," he says.
Personality:
You quickly find yourself warming to the friendly, open man sitting beside you. His quiet, intelligent sense of humour is a welcome change from the brash arrogance that many adventurers seem guilty of. You suspect that his age might have something to do with it - you place him in his mid-to-late twenties, which is fairy well along for an adventurer - but, again, there is a maturity there that can only belong to a man who has seen things better left unseen. Though he hides it well, underneath the calm, laid-back demeanour you get the vaguest sense of a deeply buried melancholy. This, of course, is not unusual for travellers - all men of the road have, by the simple of nature of their existence, left something behind them. This too, though, somehow comes off as endearing, and, after about an hour of exchanging stories and and conversing about the latest developments across Althanas, you decide that it would be worth getting to know a little bit more about your neighbor.
Occupation:
Calder chuckles when you pose the question. "Just another sword-for-hire, and heaven knows there's already too many of us in this unfortunate world." He takes a sip of his tea, and continues. "I've actually only recently... come out of retirement, I guess you'd say. I've been living alone up near the lake in a cottage for the past few years. It's a rough life, you know, travelling everywhere without a home of your own, and about five years back I decided I'd had enough, that it was time to settle down." He smiles, slightly, and pats his sword. "Well, you can see for yourself how long that lasted. I thought I could be happy, away from it all, but in the end I guess I still feel like I can make a difference, you know? There's still work to be done." He falls silent, for a moment, absently stroking the pommel of his sword, and you get the impression that last was meant more for himself than for you. Uncomfortable, you decide to change the subject.
Skills:
Calder comes back to his senses at your next question. "Nothing flashy, I'm afraid; I've always made my living on my wits and my blades. Those complicated magic books are always so far beyond me." He grins. "Give me a good sword arm over some obscure mystic any day. At least with a sword you know what's going to happen when you stick it into the other guy." He pantomimes doing just that to you, then chuckles. "Besides, at my age it's far too late to start learning anything as completely incomprehensible as magic. I tried, once, when I was younger, and didn't get very far. No, it's the sword for me. I've been studying the art of the blade since I was old enough to pick one up, and I've learned my lessons well, if I do say so myself." Again, you find yourself eyeing the man before you appraisingly. His build is not especially muscular; you doubt his raw physical strength is anything over average, but he moves with a sort of lithe grace that reminds you strangely of a skilled dancer. You expect that he's not the sort to exaggerate, and that his skills with the longsword at his side are as lethal as advertised. As if reading your thoughts, he smiles and shrugs. "Of course, I haven't touched a sword in almost four years. I'm probably rustier than the knives under this counter. Guess only a real fight will show me how far I've got to get back into practice."
He finishes his tea again, sheepishly, and orders another. Turning back to you, he winks. "Oh, and if you can keep a secret..." He flicks his wrist in a peculiar manner, and a wicked steel throwing dagger appears in his hand from somewhere within his sleeve. "Was never as good with these as I would have liked to be, but people make pretty big targets, don't you know." Two more flicks, and two more knives appear, then disappear as quickly as they came. "I've got five of these things, in different spots. Nice to be able to reach them in a pinch. Of course, if I'm going for the ones in my boots I'm probably in a lot more trouble than I'd like."
History
"That's... a long story." Calder quietens for a moment, then perks up. "I guess I could always give you the highlights. I'm originally from a little mountain town out on Corone - barely a spot on the map, really. I left when I was about seventeen - only ten years ago? Seems like about a hundred. Anyway, I won't bore you with the details of why I left, but, as usual, there was a woman involved, and, as usual, it didn't end well. I wound up being shipped unconscious into Radasanth after being relieved by bandits of all my money and my things. It's true what they say about women and gold, you know: you'll never lose the one chasing after the other, but you'll always lose the other chasing after the one. Anyway, I lucked into a sword, and used it to get the rest of what I needed to live, and so it went until five years ago, when I came out here to Scara Brae to get away." He rubs his chin, thoughtfully. "Well, of course, a lot happened in the meantime, but I won't bore you with that." You sense that he'd rather not be pressed on the issue, so you again decide to change the subject.
Equipment:
Calder shakes his head. "No, nothing really. I sold off most of what I had in the cottage to buy this." He indicates the sword at his waist, which you examine more closely. The hilt is polished steel, wrapped with black leather, and seems pristine, as if freshly purchased and still unused. The crossguard is simple and unadorned, and the pommel stone is a glistening jet. As he unsheathes it a few inches, you see that the blade is straight and double-edged, perhaps four and a half feet long - made for use with one or both hands. A sharp glance from the barkeep makes your friend resheathe his weapon, smiling easily. "Other than that there's the knives you saw before - five in all, as I said. Some of them are a bit beat up, since they're holdovers from my old adventuring days, but they'll all still fly true. It's no one's fault but mine if I miss." He thinks. "No, that about covers it. The pack is filled with travelling supplies, as you can gather, but nothing too significant. I'm saving to book passage to Raiera, so I sold most of the rest. Seems like there's a lot of work out there these days for a man like me." You ask another question, and he looks surprised. "What happened to my old sword? I've no idea, really. A shame; that blade carried me through a lot... a lot." He looks distant for a moment, then shrugs. "In the end, I guess it doesn't really matter. A sword is a sword, and this one will do as well as any other."
Familiars:
Calder pauses. "I... no, none to speak of." He smiles. "Maybe someday. The road can be such a lonely place."
Somewhere outside, a bell strikes the time. It is eleven at night; the pair of you have been conversing for nearly four hours. Calder finishes his tea at a pull, and pushes his chair back from the counter. "Thank you for the company, friend, but that sound means that my work day has started. The City Guard pays excellent bounties for thieves and murderers, and around here there's always enough for everyone." He clatters down a few coins onto the counter - enough for both of your drinks, despite your protestations. "Your company," he says, holding up a hand against the money you extend to him, "is more than enough, friend. Hopefully someday we can meet again. Have a good night." And, shouldering his pack, he picks his way through the still-crowded inn and out into the cold. There is, after all, work to be done.
Age: 27
Race: Human
Hair Colour: Brown
Eye Colour: Dark, dark brown
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 180 lbs
Skills: Above average swordsmanship, average knife throwing
Equipment: Steel longsword, five steel throwing knives, pack with basic adventuring gear
It is dusk, that hazy time halfway between day and night when everything takes on a colour other than its own. The crisp seaside November air of Scara Brae's docks has the people running for warmth and light, to protect against the oncoming night's chill. You duck into a tavern and take a seat at the counter, pausing first to ensure that the man sitting next to you seems wholesome. This is, after all, a city, and you like your gold where it is in your pocket.
Appearance
His most distinguishing feature is certainly the faded scar, half-hidden behind his unruly shock of hair, that runs across his forehead, above his right eye. His sandy brown hair is kept cut to medium length, and he constantly seems to be pushing stray strands back up out of his face. His eyes are a deep, profound brown, so dark you'd nearly call them black. They have a searching quality to them, and you expect that there is not much happening in the room that the man is not at least peripherally aware of. As he notices your quick appraisal of him, they seem to glitter faintly with merriment. His clothing is simple, and tends towards the drab colours favored by most practical adventurers - a loose brown shirt and trousers, held together with a black leather belt and covered with a hooded grey cape woven of simple wool. At his side hangs a scabbarded longsword, which dangles off his stool and nearly to the floor. By his feet sits a simple leather pack, typical of travellers the world over. At a glance you can guess at its contents: food enough for a few days, a freshly-filled waterskin, a bit of rope, flint and tinder. His boots are well-worn, and show signs of having been repaired many times. His voice has a warmth to it that's rare in his line of work, but the many lines in his still-young face suggest a man who has seen more sorrow than most. The barkeep arrives, carrying what appears to be some sort of herb tea, and places it at the man's elbow. "Wait a minute, Rand," the man calls as he moves away, "get my new friend here something as well." He turns to you, and his smile is full and genuine. "I'm called Calder," he says.
Personality:
You quickly find yourself warming to the friendly, open man sitting beside you. His quiet, intelligent sense of humour is a welcome change from the brash arrogance that many adventurers seem guilty of. You suspect that his age might have something to do with it - you place him in his mid-to-late twenties, which is fairy well along for an adventurer - but, again, there is a maturity there that can only belong to a man who has seen things better left unseen. Though he hides it well, underneath the calm, laid-back demeanour you get the vaguest sense of a deeply buried melancholy. This, of course, is not unusual for travellers - all men of the road have, by the simple of nature of their existence, left something behind them. This too, though, somehow comes off as endearing, and, after about an hour of exchanging stories and and conversing about the latest developments across Althanas, you decide that it would be worth getting to know a little bit more about your neighbor.
Occupation:
Calder chuckles when you pose the question. "Just another sword-for-hire, and heaven knows there's already too many of us in this unfortunate world." He takes a sip of his tea, and continues. "I've actually only recently... come out of retirement, I guess you'd say. I've been living alone up near the lake in a cottage for the past few years. It's a rough life, you know, travelling everywhere without a home of your own, and about five years back I decided I'd had enough, that it was time to settle down." He smiles, slightly, and pats his sword. "Well, you can see for yourself how long that lasted. I thought I could be happy, away from it all, but in the end I guess I still feel like I can make a difference, you know? There's still work to be done." He falls silent, for a moment, absently stroking the pommel of his sword, and you get the impression that last was meant more for himself than for you. Uncomfortable, you decide to change the subject.
Skills:
Calder comes back to his senses at your next question. "Nothing flashy, I'm afraid; I've always made my living on my wits and my blades. Those complicated magic books are always so far beyond me." He grins. "Give me a good sword arm over some obscure mystic any day. At least with a sword you know what's going to happen when you stick it into the other guy." He pantomimes doing just that to you, then chuckles. "Besides, at my age it's far too late to start learning anything as completely incomprehensible as magic. I tried, once, when I was younger, and didn't get very far. No, it's the sword for me. I've been studying the art of the blade since I was old enough to pick one up, and I've learned my lessons well, if I do say so myself." Again, you find yourself eyeing the man before you appraisingly. His build is not especially muscular; you doubt his raw physical strength is anything over average, but he moves with a sort of lithe grace that reminds you strangely of a skilled dancer. You expect that he's not the sort to exaggerate, and that his skills with the longsword at his side are as lethal as advertised. As if reading your thoughts, he smiles and shrugs. "Of course, I haven't touched a sword in almost four years. I'm probably rustier than the knives under this counter. Guess only a real fight will show me how far I've got to get back into practice."
He finishes his tea again, sheepishly, and orders another. Turning back to you, he winks. "Oh, and if you can keep a secret..." He flicks his wrist in a peculiar manner, and a wicked steel throwing dagger appears in his hand from somewhere within his sleeve. "Was never as good with these as I would have liked to be, but people make pretty big targets, don't you know." Two more flicks, and two more knives appear, then disappear as quickly as they came. "I've got five of these things, in different spots. Nice to be able to reach them in a pinch. Of course, if I'm going for the ones in my boots I'm probably in a lot more trouble than I'd like."
History
"That's... a long story." Calder quietens for a moment, then perks up. "I guess I could always give you the highlights. I'm originally from a little mountain town out on Corone - barely a spot on the map, really. I left when I was about seventeen - only ten years ago? Seems like about a hundred. Anyway, I won't bore you with the details of why I left, but, as usual, there was a woman involved, and, as usual, it didn't end well. I wound up being shipped unconscious into Radasanth after being relieved by bandits of all my money and my things. It's true what they say about women and gold, you know: you'll never lose the one chasing after the other, but you'll always lose the other chasing after the one. Anyway, I lucked into a sword, and used it to get the rest of what I needed to live, and so it went until five years ago, when I came out here to Scara Brae to get away." He rubs his chin, thoughtfully. "Well, of course, a lot happened in the meantime, but I won't bore you with that." You sense that he'd rather not be pressed on the issue, so you again decide to change the subject.
Equipment:
Calder shakes his head. "No, nothing really. I sold off most of what I had in the cottage to buy this." He indicates the sword at his waist, which you examine more closely. The hilt is polished steel, wrapped with black leather, and seems pristine, as if freshly purchased and still unused. The crossguard is simple and unadorned, and the pommel stone is a glistening jet. As he unsheathes it a few inches, you see that the blade is straight and double-edged, perhaps four and a half feet long - made for use with one or both hands. A sharp glance from the barkeep makes your friend resheathe his weapon, smiling easily. "Other than that there's the knives you saw before - five in all, as I said. Some of them are a bit beat up, since they're holdovers from my old adventuring days, but they'll all still fly true. It's no one's fault but mine if I miss." He thinks. "No, that about covers it. The pack is filled with travelling supplies, as you can gather, but nothing too significant. I'm saving to book passage to Raiera, so I sold most of the rest. Seems like there's a lot of work out there these days for a man like me." You ask another question, and he looks surprised. "What happened to my old sword? I've no idea, really. A shame; that blade carried me through a lot... a lot." He looks distant for a moment, then shrugs. "In the end, I guess it doesn't really matter. A sword is a sword, and this one will do as well as any other."
Familiars:
Calder pauses. "I... no, none to speak of." He smiles. "Maybe someday. The road can be such a lonely place."
Somewhere outside, a bell strikes the time. It is eleven at night; the pair of you have been conversing for nearly four hours. Calder finishes his tea at a pull, and pushes his chair back from the counter. "Thank you for the company, friend, but that sound means that my work day has started. The City Guard pays excellent bounties for thieves and murderers, and around here there's always enough for everyone." He clatters down a few coins onto the counter - enough for both of your drinks, despite your protestations. "Your company," he says, holding up a hand against the money you extend to him, "is more than enough, friend. Hopefully someday we can meet again. Have a good night." And, shouldering his pack, he picks his way through the still-crowded inn and out into the cold. There is, after all, work to be done.