Carldin the Champion of Warfare

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Role

Chapter 2

He stood by himself in a secluded copse of trees, elevated just enough that he
could look down and see the people milling about in the town he once called his
home. Tiny ants going about their day to day chores and activities. This one
carried a bucket of something, milk from a cow or perhaps water for washing.
That one pinned wet breeches to a line for drying. Another padded away from
the town with a hunting dog in tow. Life continues in the town without him, if
anything people seem more capable or at ease without trying to tiptoe around
his awkward heritage.

He glanced down at the rolled up letter in his hand. A note telling his mother
he was fine, and telling her where she could find the coins hes buried. He
fingered the plump purse of coins in his hand and watched the townsfolk for
many hours before he crumpled that letter up and threw it away.

His old home was fine, his family and friends has moved on without him. By
acting he would help no one but himself, his family would not feel better and
his town would not prosper. It was a hard lesson to learn but an important
one. Sometimes the best action was no action, and balance was maintained.

Role

Chapter 1

Let's just say there was a lot of averted gazes and half-hearted back
pats in young Carldin's life. There wasn't much in the way of diversity
in the small farming village west of Galadon that he grew up in. I mean,
every now and then an elf or a dwarf might pass through town on the
way to adventure in the nearby caves, or do some trading in the town
proper, but his half drow heritage made him somewhat of a black sheep
amongst the townsfolk, and a black skinned one at that. He didn't
know anything about his father, and the averted eyes and wan
condolences his human mother often received gave him the idea that
his parents coupling was short lived, or possibly even violent.

As soon as he was old enough to pick up a sword and swing it around
without cutting his own face off he decided to leave the town. A few of
his friends tried to stop him, and his mother hugged him tight and
protested, but he knew deep in his heart it was for the best. This small
town was rocked off of its axis by his presence, and they would much
rather forget the half-drow boy ever lived there than have to look him
in the face everyday and fake pleasantries.

So he wandered and spent a few years in a company of sell swords.
The pay was good and he had plenty of opportunities to learn how to
use a blade, but selling his sword arm to the highest bidder soured his
stomach.

Later, years later even, reflecting back on his short time home and his
erratic family life he began to understand. His life, his culture, his
presence on the small village upset the tenuous balance that existed
there. Only by leaving could it return to its natural state. The idea
comforted him. His own soul had to struggle with the same idea of
balance. He had to balance his human desires and dreams with the
inherent ferocity found in his darker half. He spent a lot of time thinking
about his own nature, and wondering if he could maintain this strange
idea of balance.

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