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[b]Name:[/b] Callum “Callous” Greyjoy, the Butcher of Blackcrown
[b]Age: [/b]51
[b]House/Affilitation: [/b]House Greyjoy, the Iron Islands

[b]Description:[/b]
Callum is a big, physically imposing man who has a great many scars, including such curiosities as a wound through his stomach and out his back from a duel with Ghiscari champion wielding a spear. He has many scars over his asymmetrical face, a bent often-broken nose, and a big notch out of one ear. Bearded like a robber, his hair is greying at the temples and fringes, age finally catching up with him. His most noticeable scars, and the source of his name are his tormented hands and forearms - burnt, slashed, chafed. Thick marks like coiled snakes wrap around his forearms, where the coarse rope had dug into his flesh. Holding fast on the lines of the mast during a heavy storm had stripped Callum of most of his skin and flesh, but earned him a name. Even so, Callum has long clever fingers, a tangled mess of rough ginger hair, and deeply set dark blue eyes beneath a heavy brow.

Callum has led a gruelling life according to the Old Ways, raiding and pillaging from the Sunset Sea to the Spice routes of Essos. He has been to Slaver’s Bay, visited Qarth, forayed into the jungles of Sothoryos and the Summer Isles. He has berthed in all of the Free Cities and drank in every inn and fucked in every whorehouse from Lannisport to Volantis. Callum killed his first man, a Rills’ crofter, at the tender age of thirteen, when his bellicose uncles took him along as a deckhand but instead found a talented killer in him.

Ever since, Callum has contributed to the dark history of the Ironborn himself, writing entire chapters in the blood of his enemies... and as an Ironborn, the world was your enemy. There is not a coast that knows not his name, not a graveyard without a corpse that he put there. Blood, gold, booze and girls, those were the deities worshipped by Callum the Callous for decades. A veteran raider, Callum is both capable of instinctive actions during a fight and employing calculated tactics.

Now an aging Ironborn, time and his conscience are catching up with him. He has, every year, always found himself with less friends and more enemies. Blood has only led him to more blood, a fact Callum is sick of. He is hoping to become a better man than he was, serve his kinsman the Red Kraken in a different way. Since his last raid, when he and his crew sacked a sept filled with innocents, Callum has started thinking on his life. He has lost all pride and vanity, discarding all the trinkets and golden jewellery he had paid the iron price for. The veteran now dwells on his failures and regrets.