Callarn

Callarn

Biographical information

Birthplace Vel Anir Born Died Age 28 Home None Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Human Sub-Race Gender Male Height 5'8" Mass 140lbs Hair color Red Eye color Blue Skin color Pale White

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Former Dreadlord Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Nuno Created on 2019(?) Avatar Dreadlord Insignia

Not every dreadlord is a wizarding cudgel — some lend themselves better to secrets and tactics, it even reflects in their magic. This was the case with Callarn, who was so adept with words and schemes that he served the Urahil Patriarch directly for almost half a decade. Until he killed him, and disappeared.

Callarn would show up again and again in villages subordinate to Vel Anir, instigating revolts with inflamed speeches for revolt. His propensity for wearing black and giving too-dark presages earned him the moniker "Little Crow", fitting his short and thin frame.

Callarn looks aged past his years, worn down by harsh weather, treatment and his own temperament. His face and hands bear many scars from magic and steel, and his muscles have wilted to wire. Tanned by his travels through the Steppes and Desert, Callarn's smattering of freckles is sometimes connected by thin sap lines resembling constellations — warding sigils the wise would neither risk breaking or draw on themselves, or maybe just balm against sun rays.

Callarn dresses in whatever way better suits the environment, but he takes his Dreadlord clothes everywhere, as they are well insulated and tough as armor. His hair is an auburn rare in Vel Anir, trimmed and washed once in a while. He weighs on his left leg to make up for his crippled right, even with the support of a walking stick.

On one hand Callarn is thoughtful, curious and dedicated, on the other he is ruthless, inflexible and bitter. To him it isn't enough to take 'moderate' action against the wrongs of the world, every problem must be combated wholeheartedly before it can fester. The noble class, for instance, was given rise when the ambition of some few went against the good of the whole: the result is a divide where wealth and blood mean power to the expense of everything else. The ills in life are by and large reflections of this imbalance, be it between peoples or states. In fact, the 'state experiment' failed explosively, Callarn dreams of a return to communal rule once all kings are beheaded and all godlings proven fakes.

Callarn likes to read chivalric romances and has been drafting whole sentences for 'Worker's Tracts'. His expertise in matters of war goes against his preference for peace and quiet, but he would resent anyone that'd let such knowledge go to waste. The same goes for his martial skill — although his wound has crippled him, he nevertheless wishes to remains as able-bodied as possible: the best leaders lead from the front, and words can only go so far.

Of all animals he likes cats the best, but throws scraps at any beast regardless. Grapes are his favourite fruit, and he would like to plant a vineyard sometime. His favourite drink is milk, and his favourite food is fried floats on molasses.

To some a rabble-rouser, a theorist to others, none can deny Callarn's skill with words. He is very selective with them, expecting the same care from others.

Callarn's skill with magical instruments surpasses the expected from the common Dreadlord, his talent for rituals more than makes up for his weak magical gift.

Few wield the rapier as well as Callarn, and fewer still have it in them to wield one in each hand and do it well. This is a requirement for sigil carving, even a spasm may be enough to call upon a wrong greater power or nothing at all. The study of sigils is often mistaken with runes, although they depend on ceremony, esotericism and divination to have an effect. In essence, each sigil is a sentence carved for an action to take place, like 'bark dew stars'.

Callarn has been starved for social activity since he deserted, but hasn't lingered anywhere long enough to make trusted friends or good conversation partners. On the other hand, many people see him as a hero, or are terribly afraid of him.

Callarn's survival is tied to his rapiers, pieces so fine that they mirror each other down to the gram. They are heavily tasseled to help with tremors and allow for finer cuts, yet they remain nameless. He hasn't come up with a good enough name since he was given them, almost twenty years ago.

Callarn carries many tools where other Dreadlords would only take a couple of instruments, he prepares for the eventually that he will be forced to spend them all:

• Monocular
• Lunar Chart
• Crystal Ball
• Prey Musk
• Eye Pipe
• Etc.

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