Salvatore Cole Printable version

Salvatore Cole

Biographical information

Birthplace Thanasis - Lower City Born Died Age 32 Home Thanasis Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Human Sub-Race Gender Male Height 6'1" Mass Strong Hair color Dirty Blonde Eye color Golden Brown Skin color Bronzed

Political information

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

Out-of-character information

Writer Floof Created on Avatar Link the source of your character's image (use a reverse google image search if you are stuck)

Appearance:​

Cole is the embodiment of rugged charm—tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a man who has spent his life shaping steel with his bare hands. His dirty blonde hair is always slightly disheveled, the kind of effortless mess that somehow works in his favour. Golden-brown eyes glint with mischief, sharp with wit, and shadowed by something unspoken. His rough hands and soot-streaked arms tell the story of a man who works for everything he has. A cocky smirk is his default expression, though in rare moments of quiet, it slips—revealing a weight he does his best to hide.

Personality:​

Cheeky and charming, Cole talks his way through life with the kind of effortless swagger that makes people either want to punch him or kiss him. He considers himself a gifted smooth talker, though whether that’s entirely true depends on who you ask. Confidence oozes from him, but it's the kind that comes from necessity rather than privilege—an armour he's built as carefully as the weapons he forges. He’s cocky, sure of himself, and refuses to let anyone see the cracks beneath the surface.

But beneath all the bravado, there’s a deep-rooted anger, a need to prove himself, and a past that still weighs heavy on his shoulders. He wears his humour like a shield, but when it slips, there’s a sharpness to him that suggests he’s fought for every inch of ground he’s claimed.

Backstory:​

Cole was born into fire and fury. The first son of Salvator Cole, a once-great blacksmith whose name was spoken with respect—until it wasn’t. His father was a hard man, unforgiving, his temper hotter than the forge he worked in. Cole learned early that approval had to be earned, and that a man was only worth what he could make with his own two hands.

Cole’s father wasn’t just a blacksmith—he was a man who dreamed of fire and flight, of carving his name into legend. Salvatore Cole entered the Rising with the desperate ambition of a man who had nothing else. He never returned.

Cole was fifteen years old when they found his father’s body, torn and broken. The dragon he sought had rejected him, and the mountain had taken the rest. The name Salvatore became a curse on Cole’s tongue, a legacy of failure and shattered dreams.

His mother had already been gone for years, and his father’s death left him alone to care for Finnick, his younger brother. The town whispered about them, pitied them—orphans of a failed Rider, cursed by the mountain itself. Cole spent his youth proving them wrong, working the forge until his hands bled, ensuring Finnick never went hungry, never felt the weight of their father’s failure the way he did.