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Character Statistics Edit

Character Name: Darial Da’Shan
Subgroup: Dreadies
Country of Origin: Saldea
Age: 19
Height: 5’7
Weight: 130 lbs

Physical Appearance: Darial has his father’s crystalline blue eyes, set in his mother’s tilted sockets, giving him an exotic look even in his home of Saldea. Still more of his face shows his mixed bloodline of Cairhien and Saldea. His mother’s angled cheekbones on an alabaster face, shaved impeccably clean. Though the last is more a result of the inability to grow the moustaches of the men around him, than anything else. His body is made up of lithe muscles, perfectly honed to riding a horse, though he never quite got the hang of fighting from horseback, or even on solid ground.

Personality: Darial is a bit cold with spite to boot. Though he doesn’t have the explosive rage typical of those who share that quality. Instead he has a cold rage, like a winter storm, striking fast and hard like the lightning off the sea. He is difficult to truly excite, but easily fascinated, often taking up projects and crafts with the intent of mastering them. Though in truth, he hardly ever follows through with that desire, his attention shifting quickly.

Character History Edit

The slight boy grew up in a small town close to the World’s End, the son of a Saldean woman and a Cairheinin father. Why his father was that far north, carrying a small chest filled with silks with a slash of color here and there, no one except perhaps his mother could quite get out of him. Though Darial had always suspected it was because of his mother, the pair seemed helplessly in love. Though far from wealthy, his family lived comfortably, inheriting a large ice pepper farm from his mother’s father, and for as long as the boy could remember he had worked it with the hired help.

That was where the trouble arose. The older boys teased him without mercy about his mixed blood, calling him a schemer and a ghost, among others. Hatred began to form in his heart, but he controlled it, letting it smolder and then freeze, becoming a permanent part of him. That cold rage was his fuel, as he nearly silently went through his tasks of working the fields, learning to ride, one of the few skills he truly tookto, and his studies. When allowed to, he learned history, studying what was known of the age of legends, and the great Hawking. Though more often than not, he was forced to learn ledges and accounting, being the only child his parents conceived. His father could not fully let go of his roots however, and taught his child the basics of the great Game of Houses, though Darial could only ever be called a novice by Cairheinin standards.

As he grew, he began playing small tricks on those that tormented him, the level of the prank varying upon how much they had picked on him over the years. They ranged from the innocent throwing of ice peppers at someone’s head, to the mild of hiding their coats in the middle of the bitterly cold Saldean winters. Of course they retaliated, and a vicious cycle began, ending with Darial slitting the throat of one of the children’s horses.

When he was accused, he didn’t deny the claim, and the by then full grown drew a sword. Darial turned running a short distance but being brought up short, a smoldering hatred burning in the eyes of those that surrounded him. At that moment he knew he was going to die, and the cold that had filled his heart for so long seemed to flow through him. He was nearly paralyzed with the feeling, but it was odd. Mixed in with it was a molten heat, and a taint that was perhaps the most sickening thing he could have ever imagined. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew he loved it.

Especially when he turned back to his assailant, instinctively making a throwing motion with his arm, sending forth shards of ice. Everyone around them was stunned, none more so than Darial himself. He felt the power drain from him, and wasn’t sure if it would come back. As such, he did the only thing he could think of, and ran. He ran for the stables, mounting his ink-black horse and dashing out of there at full gallop.

He was caught at the edge of town, a hook taking him from the saddle. He landed with a loud [i]thud[/i], and a man in a black cloak stood over him. “You are a killer boy, no one will accept you ever again, accept for perhaps, one place. I can take you there… but first you must tell me, what are your thoughts upon the Light?” Darial wracked his brain, trying to think of what this man wanted to hear, knowing he needed his help. After a few moments of coming up with nothing, he decided on the truth. “It has never done anything for me.” A small smile crept over the hooded man’s lips, and together, they set out for the north. For the Blight.

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