Character Name: Arcon Dadread
Place of Birth/Raising: Cairhien
A small man, who doesn't appear to have an ounce of fat on his lithe frame. His raven black locks are often unkempt, to the horror of his parents, and those dark blue eyes of his lost in the pages of a book. His clothes are often ruffled, no matter how often the maids tend to him, and it almost seems like he targets those four slashes of black and yellow stripes upon his clothing. His skin is paler than even that of his native kin, and his narrow face sunken in. He never cared much for his physical body, always it was his mind that needed to flourish. A pecular scar rests over his left eye, especially considering the boy never seems to see the sun. It runs from the center of his forehead, across his eye, and only ends as he runs out of face. Though if one manages to get those unkempt cloths off of him, they might notice that it continues for a few inches down his chest.
Now, after a few years in the Fortress, and time spent upon the dreadful Merry Pauper, the unkempt boy that he was has been nearly lost. His silks are kept pristine, and he always keeps those beautiful raven locks cut short and combed. He has learned the virtue of a grand appearance, though in truth he still looks like a specter, and the silk eye patch covering his left eye does nothing but add to that look. The eye lost in a training accident aboard the Merry Pauper, where he has learned to wield the sword on his left hip, not to mention the dagger in his left sleeve.
The child of two minor nobles, raised in silks, and taught the infamous Game of the Houses until every breath vied for a greater standing. Yes, he did appear to be a great son, and a worthy heir to the Dadread High Seat. Along with the force fed lessons from his parents, he had a seemingly sweet nanny, who had been with him since infancy, Alice, a young girl from the Foregate.She was trusted by his parents, and seemed a sweet gal, and was Arcon's first crush.
She humored him for a bit, when alone to allow the young boy of seven to hold her hand, and rest his head in her lap. She began cooing to him, though not traditional words of love, friendship, or even praises to the light, but of the shadow. "My young Arcon, you and I, we could live eternally if we please the Great Lord, would you like that, being with me forever?" Always, the young boy nodded his head. He was fed the shadow through a set of full, pink lips.
As he grew, he began to read more, filling his head with the histories of the nations, and all that he could of the breaking, the Age of Legends, and most of all of Saidin. His dreams were filled with thoughts of channeling the one power, that would please the Great Lord of the Dark, and another step towards immortality with his love Alice.
One night, Alice was discovered. A servant saw her poring a small vile into Arcon's fathers spiced wine, and it was discovered to be poison, Arcon was eighteen. She confessed to being a Darkfriend, and Arcon watched everyday as the Gallows were constructed, each nail driving doubly into the wood, and his heart. He began studying harder, praying to the shadow to grant him the ability to channel, trying every day to grasp at a source he wasn't sure was there.
Finally the day arrived, and he watch Alice climb the gallows, her eyes scanning the crowd, and cursing the Lightfools with every step. Her eyes locked on Arcon's as the rope tightened around her neck. She mouthed, "I love you," as the trap door opened.
A scream was wrenched from deep within the boy, and suddenly, he was filled with life. A molten chill, covered with a taint that made him want to empty every meal he would ever eat. Though he hardly realized it, as fire flew from his outstretched hand, unfortunately for him, he was reaching towards his love, and all that remained of a heart consumed by shadow, and one dedicated to him, was a small cloud of black ash.
The shock didn't last long, as an officer of his house, with a heron marked blade leaped fourth, the boy fell back, taking a wound that ran from his forehead to his chest. He punched at the man who'd he known all his life, and another fireball took the man's head.
He ran, using only the gold in his pockets, only being able to grasp the source again in dire need. He used a fake house name, but his silks got him most places, though he hardly took care of them, spending most of his coin on books about the source, constantly searching for a circle of Darkfriends, and once he did, he used them to find an elder Dreadlord, who took him to be trained, and left him be. Now he stands at the lowest level in his training, every day trying to work around what his teachers called a 'block'...
Arcon Da'dread has learned many valuable lessons in the Fortress, not the least of which is to gather allies around him. True to his roots, he has been spending his years there manipulating his peers and gathering disposable allies, with very few exceptions. As he has risen to rank to the level of Adept, his strength in the One Power has been growing, but to his disapointment not as quickly as those around him. Still, he has taken his unusual strength in spirit and trained himself in it's arts, knowing it's subtleties are the key to his success as a Dreadlord.
To supplement that knowledge, he now wears a longsword on his hip, and a dagger up his sleeve. Though he is far from gaining any title like Blademaster, he shall continue to train, and hopefully in better conditions than where he first learned, the Merry Pauper. Under the dreadful eye of Mr. Sweeper, may squids writhe in his intestines, he has not only lost an eye, but allies. Still, the trade off of being an extreme opportunist swordsman, never drawing his dagger until needed, may very well have been worth it. Though you'll never hear him admit it.
As for the people he has gathered, most fall into a category known as the Pit Fiends, a group of men and women that were forced to clean the dark hound pits, before the new Peace of the Shadow. They figure they owe their lives to Arcon, and he would have it no other way. Of special note however, is Terra Cyrene, whom the adept has taken under his wing, and is training in the subtleties of Daes Dae'mar.