Acgrim Cadeyrn

Name: Acgrim Cadeyrn

Age: 18

Weight: 235lb

Height: 6'4''

Gender: Male

Personality
Acgrim is often a man of few words, not quite shy, but unspeaking nonetheless. He tends to become more talkative as he becomes better acquainted with an individual. His stubborn attitude can make him hard to deal with at times, but he is generally a pleasant person. His attitude is often carefree and cheery, yet his anger turn this around quite easily. Though difficult to invoke, his rage is frightening. When pushed, he sees red. His mind goes blank, and his body takes on a primal course of action, attacking his aggressor. However, he is generally level headed. He keeps his calm through the heavy turmoil in which he may be involved, be it mental or physical. Despite this calm, he can be quite headstrong, making discussions with him heated if one does not give at all in an argument. All in all, Acgrim is a pleasant, intelligent man with quite a temper.

Appearance
A handsome, but not gorgeous, man, Acgrim is rather large, though not quite muscular, and white skinned. His muscle is toned, but not overly so. His face is proportionate to his body. His jaw squared. His eyes are a pale, sea foam green, and a disheveled, medium length of golden hair sits atop his head, matching the broken golden halo that lies around the black of his pupils. His shoulders are broad, and his collar defined, only marred by a scar about four inches in length on his right side, extending down toward the center of his chest. His clothing is black, the right side of his shirt being sleeveless, made so with intent of mobility in his sword arm, and the left encased in derelict, iron armor which extends to cover the left side of his chest.

Fighting Style
Though he has a mind for tactics, Acgrim tends to attack head on. Not being small enough for subterfuge, he uses his size and determination to his advantage in order to intimidate or overpower his opponent.

History
Acgrim grew up on a farm. His life was nothing special. He worked hard day in and day out with his family. He brought in harvests with his father. He helped his mother and younger brother tend to the animals, and he often cooked and took care of the house. The work was hard, but he didn’t mind. He was happy to be with his family, and they with him.

The boy’s father was a retired guard of the nearby town, and as a result, he owned an old set of armor and weaponry. He taught Acgrim not only how to use a blade, but also spears and bows as well as the proper and most effective ways to wear armors. The boy had been brought up to work hard and to protect those around him, but he’d never had to use what he’d been taught about weaponry.

Around the age of fifteen, the boy’s father insisted that he had the skill to be a knight, and requested that the boy be the squire of one such knight passing through the town. The knight tested the boy, making sure that the skill and strength of which his father spoke was not falsified. Though rare, the knight accepted a farm boy as his squire.

For two years, the boy trained and traveled. Caring for the horses, polishing and sharpening metal, both the knight’s and that which his father gave him, the boy worked ceaselessly. One night, the boy was roused from his sleep by a loud “CRACK”. He awoke at the inn in which they were staying, an orange glow enveloping the town around it. The boy heard screams from downstairs, though they could just as easily have come from outside. He looked over to his mentor only to see that he was gone. The trunk at the foot of his bed was crushed by a fallen beam, his father’s armor shattered inside. Only the left side remained intact. The boy grabbed the armor and what few valuables of the knight’s he could and ran. The hallway was in a blaze, yet there was no other way out of the building. Sprinting through the flames, armor held tight to his chest, the boy’s skin was licked by the flames, his arm cooked thoroughly. Nearly to the stairs, the boy’s heart lifted in his chest. Then the floor below him collapsed.

He awoke not a minute later on top of a shattered table, still clutching his father’s armor. He saw with a quick glance the bodies around him, one of which was the knight, cloven nearly in two by his own claymore. The boy quickly dislodged the large blade from his former master with solemn determination, almost retching at the sight. He then ran as fast as he was able, armor kept close by his burnt, reddened left arm while the right held the large, heavy sword over his shoulder. He ran through the bodies and the blood and the flames, not stopping to look back.

After his escape, the boy had no idea where he was, not being one for navigation, so he followed the roads until he collapsed. When he awoke, rain and mud soothed the burning in his left arm. The boy lie there for what seemed to be hours before he stood to his feet. For days he stumbled, the pain in his arm dulling as its nerves died. He eventually came upon a city. Selling what he had salvaged, he treated his arm and fitted the derelict, shattered armor to his body. For the next year, Acgrim survived on odd jobs and mercenary work. He never knew what had caused the carnage a year prior, neither did he care. What had happened was in the past, and there was no way he would be able to find out the cause.