Vega
01-11-13, 10:24 PM
Name: Iarion Barathor
Age: Young Adult
Race: Elf
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Green
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 233 lbs
Occupation: Displaced Noble
Personality
Iarion is a noble from a shattered kingdom, and a product of his time. He has the pride, idealism, and deep loyalty intrinsic to his people, but it has been tempered by harsh realities. His goals are lofty, but he approaches them with a dark resolve: his challenges are going to be brutal and the world has shown itself to be cruel to elf-kind, and so he has hardened himself in preparation. Even so, he is quick to make friends, his humor is intact (if a bit blackened), and he will not allow his bleak pragmatism stop him from doing what feels right. He is wise and insightful in the way of elves, but youth permits him some blind spots: he is deeply resentful of Alerarans to the point of racism, and nationalistic to the point of arrogance.
Appearance
Even if not for the Corpse War, Iarion probably would have tended toward the rough-and-tumble, insofar as a noble elf can. He is broad and exceptionally well-muscled for an elf, and scarred as a result of his service in the war, but the high breeding shines through in his fine skin and economy of movement. His eyes are glinting green and wryly intelligent, framed by a troubled but youthful brow, and his hair is the color of wet straw, full and long but barely-tamed. He holds himself straight-backed and indefatigable, with a palpable sense of contained energy.
He dresses in a woodsman’s leathers due to his experiences during the Corpse War, favoring long duster-style jackets, woolen gloves without fingers, and waterproof boots made to last. He knows how to clean up nice when the situation calls for it, but with a majority of his civilization wiped out, the opportunity doesn’t come up much.
He has marked himself with a facial tattoo: a thin black design running from his hairline across his left cheek to a wicked point below his left eye. This symbolizes and declares the devotion of his life to the restoration of his people.
Skills
Veteran: Iarion did not fight in the Corpse War so much as survive it. He had the ill luck to find himself perpetually behind enemy lines, fleeing doomed cities and avoiding patrols. He has become an adept if unconventional fighter, combining the extensive training he received as a member of the elven elite with hard-won experience.
Survivor: In peacetime, Iarion spent much of his time ranging, hunting, and exploring. The skills he learned in his early youth helped him survive in the wild during the war, and he retains the ability to sustain himself without society’s help.
Noble: The House of Barathor was one of some means before Eluriand’s devastation. Iarion was classically trained in a variety of arts, decorum, athletics, mathematics, history, and had tutors from across the known world to teach him of other cultures and how to read and write their languages.
Heir: As his mother’s firstborn, Iarion is heir to his family’s fortune and holdings, such as they are. With his father missing and his mother engaged in service as an architect, it falls to Iarion to oversee the estate, which grants him a fair bit of wealth. His checks, coin, and promissory notes are readily accepted all across Raiaera as viable tender, but, well…there isn’t much left to buy. Coins don’t fill bellies, as they say.
Fighter: Elven grace manifests in many different ways: some are great dancers, others swift runners, some balance upon branches thinner than their fingers. Iarion is good at hurting things with a very large hammer, and using said hammer to prevent said things from hurting him. He’s trained and experienced in use of the short bow as well, but he’s a stubbornly average archer.
Oktavist: Iarion speaks in striking baritone, but he sings a full octave below what the elves first call bass. All the misery and grief of Raiaera can be heard in those songs, but also the grim resolve behind their inexorable return to power. Iarion has the focus to sing clearly in the midst of battle, to the point that the breaking bones of his enemies are as musical accompaniments.
Abilities
Strength: Constant combat with a heavy weapon has hardened Iarion’s body. He is now 1.5 times stronger than the average person.
Speed: Great strength, training, and elfish grace work together to make Iarion exceptionally fast, even with the tremendous weight of his warhammer. He runs, leaps, turns, and swings 1.5 times faster than the average person.
Warsong: Iarion wields basic song magic in battle, and will rarely bring his hammer to bear without breaking out into song deep, loud, and terrible. By invoking the most basic warsong of Ost’Dagorlin, Iarion tightens his technique and inspires his allies, increasing agility to 1.5 times greater than the average person for the duration of 2 posts.
Equipment
Iron Warhammer: Heavy, iron, and sturdy, this weapon is decidedly not elven. Iarion recovered it from a revenant early in the Corpse War and developed an instant attachment to the weapon type, and has become very efficient with it.
Barathor Signet Ring: Worn on a chain around his neck, as he is reluctant to fully accept his status as head of the Barathor household. It identifies him as such, however, and it empowers him to move the estate’s resources and exercise its power as he sees fit.
The Mark of Raiaera: Iarion’s facial tattoo affords him great respect amongst Raiaerans, but marks him as a fierce nationalist to outsiders. It means he will be feared and distrusted by Alerarans abroad, if not hunted by them, and spurned by their allies. Furthermore, it precludes the chance of a normal, peaceful life for him anytime soon: bearers of the mark have effectively announced that they will not farm, marry, build, bear children, or devote their houses or wealth to trade until some ill-determined time, and recanting would bring immense shame.
History
Iarion Barathor was born to the House Barathor in the city of Eluriand in a time of peace, between the Demon Wars and the more recent troubles with Xem’Zund. His training as a member of the elven elite was extensive, and he took to it readily enough, and did not suffer under the strict manner of his upbringing. To the pride of his parents, Iarion has always risen to any kind of challenge, intellectual, social, or physical. There was even some discussion of his admission to the bard’s college.
His true passion, however, was adventure and exploration. He took frequent holidays with his uncles, roaming the roads of Raiaera, exploring her forests (though never the red ones), ranging the hills and fields, hunting elk and deer and boar with bow and spear. His time amongst the common folk and “lower” races tempered Iarion’s view of the world at large, and gave him a unique perspective amongst the haut monde of Eluriand. Life was good, and then it wasn’t.
Iarion was far from home when the Necromancer returned, and it would be six long years spent roaming the land, longing to return to his home but daring not to. The Corpse War was punctuated by horrific events born from bad luck, and from the outset Iarion found himself behind enemy lines and far from help. Every time he slipped by the patrols and the marauders, determined to join the resistance, his position – every village, fort, city, and refuge – was overrun, and every time he managed to narrowly escape with his life and little else. It seemed that Raiaera was doomed, and there was nothing in his power he could do to stop it.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the war was over.
Iarion returned home to Eluriand and found it ransacked and abandoned. News trickled in, painting a picture of the devastation, but it also brought hope: the elves were broken, pushed to the edge of dissolution and extinction, but they had endured. Rumors began to circulate as to the true nature of Xem’Zund, and at last Iarion made sense of all the elves had suffered.
Retribution had come and gone: punishment for their greatest sin against the ancient Durklans, and now the debt was paid. His sadness was tremendous, but it came with the knowledge that his people were now uniquely absolved, unfettered by the unpardonable crimes of their forefathers. The future of the elven race seemed bright.
And then word of the Aleraran encroachment into Raiaera came, and Iarion was possessed by a fury deep and unquenchable. He made vows he may come to regret, threw his lot in with the lost and angry, and then promptly set about sulking in his empty estate. Lost in a haze of alcohol and profound loss, he explores his blasted city and strives to restore his home, waiting for the opportunity to do something drastic.
Age: Young Adult
Race: Elf
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Green
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 233 lbs
Occupation: Displaced Noble
Personality
Iarion is a noble from a shattered kingdom, and a product of his time. He has the pride, idealism, and deep loyalty intrinsic to his people, but it has been tempered by harsh realities. His goals are lofty, but he approaches them with a dark resolve: his challenges are going to be brutal and the world has shown itself to be cruel to elf-kind, and so he has hardened himself in preparation. Even so, he is quick to make friends, his humor is intact (if a bit blackened), and he will not allow his bleak pragmatism stop him from doing what feels right. He is wise and insightful in the way of elves, but youth permits him some blind spots: he is deeply resentful of Alerarans to the point of racism, and nationalistic to the point of arrogance.
Appearance
Even if not for the Corpse War, Iarion probably would have tended toward the rough-and-tumble, insofar as a noble elf can. He is broad and exceptionally well-muscled for an elf, and scarred as a result of his service in the war, but the high breeding shines through in his fine skin and economy of movement. His eyes are glinting green and wryly intelligent, framed by a troubled but youthful brow, and his hair is the color of wet straw, full and long but barely-tamed. He holds himself straight-backed and indefatigable, with a palpable sense of contained energy.
He dresses in a woodsman’s leathers due to his experiences during the Corpse War, favoring long duster-style jackets, woolen gloves without fingers, and waterproof boots made to last. He knows how to clean up nice when the situation calls for it, but with a majority of his civilization wiped out, the opportunity doesn’t come up much.
He has marked himself with a facial tattoo: a thin black design running from his hairline across his left cheek to a wicked point below his left eye. This symbolizes and declares the devotion of his life to the restoration of his people.
Skills
Veteran: Iarion did not fight in the Corpse War so much as survive it. He had the ill luck to find himself perpetually behind enemy lines, fleeing doomed cities and avoiding patrols. He has become an adept if unconventional fighter, combining the extensive training he received as a member of the elven elite with hard-won experience.
Survivor: In peacetime, Iarion spent much of his time ranging, hunting, and exploring. The skills he learned in his early youth helped him survive in the wild during the war, and he retains the ability to sustain himself without society’s help.
Noble: The House of Barathor was one of some means before Eluriand’s devastation. Iarion was classically trained in a variety of arts, decorum, athletics, mathematics, history, and had tutors from across the known world to teach him of other cultures and how to read and write their languages.
Heir: As his mother’s firstborn, Iarion is heir to his family’s fortune and holdings, such as they are. With his father missing and his mother engaged in service as an architect, it falls to Iarion to oversee the estate, which grants him a fair bit of wealth. His checks, coin, and promissory notes are readily accepted all across Raiaera as viable tender, but, well…there isn’t much left to buy. Coins don’t fill bellies, as they say.
Fighter: Elven grace manifests in many different ways: some are great dancers, others swift runners, some balance upon branches thinner than their fingers. Iarion is good at hurting things with a very large hammer, and using said hammer to prevent said things from hurting him. He’s trained and experienced in use of the short bow as well, but he’s a stubbornly average archer.
Oktavist: Iarion speaks in striking baritone, but he sings a full octave below what the elves first call bass. All the misery and grief of Raiaera can be heard in those songs, but also the grim resolve behind their inexorable return to power. Iarion has the focus to sing clearly in the midst of battle, to the point that the breaking bones of his enemies are as musical accompaniments.
Abilities
Strength: Constant combat with a heavy weapon has hardened Iarion’s body. He is now 1.5 times stronger than the average person.
Speed: Great strength, training, and elfish grace work together to make Iarion exceptionally fast, even with the tremendous weight of his warhammer. He runs, leaps, turns, and swings 1.5 times faster than the average person.
Warsong: Iarion wields basic song magic in battle, and will rarely bring his hammer to bear without breaking out into song deep, loud, and terrible. By invoking the most basic warsong of Ost’Dagorlin, Iarion tightens his technique and inspires his allies, increasing agility to 1.5 times greater than the average person for the duration of 2 posts.
Equipment
Iron Warhammer: Heavy, iron, and sturdy, this weapon is decidedly not elven. Iarion recovered it from a revenant early in the Corpse War and developed an instant attachment to the weapon type, and has become very efficient with it.
Barathor Signet Ring: Worn on a chain around his neck, as he is reluctant to fully accept his status as head of the Barathor household. It identifies him as such, however, and it empowers him to move the estate’s resources and exercise its power as he sees fit.
The Mark of Raiaera: Iarion’s facial tattoo affords him great respect amongst Raiaerans, but marks him as a fierce nationalist to outsiders. It means he will be feared and distrusted by Alerarans abroad, if not hunted by them, and spurned by their allies. Furthermore, it precludes the chance of a normal, peaceful life for him anytime soon: bearers of the mark have effectively announced that they will not farm, marry, build, bear children, or devote their houses or wealth to trade until some ill-determined time, and recanting would bring immense shame.
History
Iarion Barathor was born to the House Barathor in the city of Eluriand in a time of peace, between the Demon Wars and the more recent troubles with Xem’Zund. His training as a member of the elven elite was extensive, and he took to it readily enough, and did not suffer under the strict manner of his upbringing. To the pride of his parents, Iarion has always risen to any kind of challenge, intellectual, social, or physical. There was even some discussion of his admission to the bard’s college.
His true passion, however, was adventure and exploration. He took frequent holidays with his uncles, roaming the roads of Raiaera, exploring her forests (though never the red ones), ranging the hills and fields, hunting elk and deer and boar with bow and spear. His time amongst the common folk and “lower” races tempered Iarion’s view of the world at large, and gave him a unique perspective amongst the haut monde of Eluriand. Life was good, and then it wasn’t.
Iarion was far from home when the Necromancer returned, and it would be six long years spent roaming the land, longing to return to his home but daring not to. The Corpse War was punctuated by horrific events born from bad luck, and from the outset Iarion found himself behind enemy lines and far from help. Every time he slipped by the patrols and the marauders, determined to join the resistance, his position – every village, fort, city, and refuge – was overrun, and every time he managed to narrowly escape with his life and little else. It seemed that Raiaera was doomed, and there was nothing in his power he could do to stop it.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the war was over.
Iarion returned home to Eluriand and found it ransacked and abandoned. News trickled in, painting a picture of the devastation, but it also brought hope: the elves were broken, pushed to the edge of dissolution and extinction, but they had endured. Rumors began to circulate as to the true nature of Xem’Zund, and at last Iarion made sense of all the elves had suffered.
Retribution had come and gone: punishment for their greatest sin against the ancient Durklans, and now the debt was paid. His sadness was tremendous, but it came with the knowledge that his people were now uniquely absolved, unfettered by the unpardonable crimes of their forefathers. The future of the elven race seemed bright.
And then word of the Aleraran encroachment into Raiaera came, and Iarion was possessed by a fury deep and unquenchable. He made vows he may come to regret, threw his lot in with the lost and angry, and then promptly set about sulking in his empty estate. Lost in a haze of alcohol and profound loss, he explores his blasted city and strives to restore his home, waiting for the opportunity to do something drastic.