[hider=Aaron Willum Cordathion] [center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171122/bb831611f63373e1f8c464e76e56d6f2.png[/img][/center] [hider=Image] [center][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/ba/38/c6/ba38c6b88314f67d0db447dfe426ab09.jpg[/img][/center] [/hider] [center] [color=9e0b0f][b]Name:[/b][/color] Aaron Willum Cordathion, The Scarlet [b][color=9e0b0f]Race/Faction[/color][/b]: The Kingdom of Cordath [color=9e0b0f][b]Age:[/b][/color] 19 [color=9e0b0f][b]Description:[/b][/color] Prince Aaron is a young, handsome man in his late teens. He’s not particularly imposing at a moderate 5’9, but he carries himself with an air of granted authority. His hands are adorned with many jeweled rings and perched on top of his crop of black hair is a circlet of gold. He’s often dressed in gilded clothes of bright red, with a falconers brace on his left arm. Strapped around his waist is an ever present sword and dagger, both ornate and clumsy due to the absurd amount of gold and jewels bedecking them. [color=9e0b0f][b]Class: [/b][/color] Prince and Heir [color=9e0b0f][b]Motivation: [/b][/color] To ensure there is a kingdom to rule once his time to reign comes. As much as Aaron enjoys the leisurely palace life surrounded by riches and luxuries, he knows (when the time comes) that any threat to his rule must be dealt with by the sword. Not his of course, his is for show, no, by the blood of the Vanguard and the Bannermen whose duty is to fight at his whim. [color=9e0b0f][b]History: [/b][/color] First born son of the high king and first of his name Aaron Willum Cordathion was set aside from birth to be something greater. From his first gasping breath he was treated to the comforts and responsibilities of his mighty station. Only the best tutors, instructors, and philosophers were allowed to teach him in the arts and sciences. Generals and advisors filled his head with knowledge of past battles and great conflicts of both the sword and pen, grooming Aaron to be a great prince, and a greater king. The King had been blessed with a sharp child who swiftly learned of his power and used it abundantly. At age ten Aaron took partial control of the palace estate under the steward’s supervision, running it with surprising success at a first attempt. At twelve his father began training him in matters of state, even allowing Aaron to travel alone on an important diplomatic meeting. Impressed by his son’s competence the king began sending Aaron on far more diplomatic trips, even at his young age. One of Aaron’s many pastimes, and easily his favorite, was hunting, falconry, and riding. He grew adept at the sports, and has amassed a collection of favorite horses and falcons, and hounds. When he wasn’t on one of his trips, or working at his studies he could almost always be found in the local woodlands, pursuing some quarry or another in the company of other young nobles and ladies and his ever present shieldman Iben. [color=9e0b0f][b]Strengths[/b][/color] An accomplished falconer and rider: Hunting and falconry is the preferred pastime for many nobles, and it is no different for Aaron. He is especially skilled at training and hunting with his falcons and horses. [color=9e0b0f][b]A Trained Tactician: [/b][/color] All Princes must prepare for war, as is their purpose. Aaron was trained by the best in the ways of war and battle. While he is no military prodigy, he knows his way around the battlefield. [color=9e0b0f][b]Diplomatically Inclined:[/b][/color] Bribes and politicking comes easy to Aaron. Controlling snobby nobles and obstinate officials is almost second nature, after all he can do much with the Vanguard jumping at a word and the Royal treasury backing him. [color=9e0b0f][b]Weaknesses[/b][/color] [color=9e0b0f][b]The Stammer: [/b][/color] Laughing at a Prince, even behind his back is risky, but many a cruel heart cannot help themselves when they realize Prince Aaron has a stammer. Something he is mortally embarrassed of. Arron often forces himself to talk slowly and carefully at all times, but should he speak in rapid utterances, or be nervous his stammer can resurface. [color=9e0b0f][b]Nearly Defenseless: [/b][/color] What Prince leads his army from the front, and what noble crosses steel? Certainly not Aaron. While he has been trained in the basics of combat Aaron has shown little interest and even less skill at blade work. Should he not have his trusted shieldmen with him in dire circumstances, the young prince might find himself spitted on a warrior’s blade. [color=9e0b0f][b]Precedence:[/b][/color] The ideas must come from him. Aaron is determined to be relevant in all his decisions, not deciding everything off the advice of a counselor. Except he all too often takes this too far, not heeding any wisdom from anyone, determined to find victory and solve problems on his own. [color=9e0b0f][b]Madness: [/b][/color] Insanity creeps at the corners of Aaron’s disturbed mind, seeking to gain dominance over the young prince. Throughout the ages the kings of old whisper in his mind, seeking control. Though he is sharp witted, and not without understanding of his family’s history of insanity he might one day sink into the sucking cesspool of madness. [color=9e0b0f][b]What is the most important thing to know about your character?[/b][/color] He is the heir to the throne, a truth that shapes nearly his entire identity and self-worth. Even though he is the king’s second born, he is the eldest and only male son making him the future ruler of the kingdom. [color=9e0b0f][b]What is your character's greatest flaw? [/b][/color] His unwillingness to listen to the counsel of his advisors and commanders or even his father, an attitude derived from his vanity and self-assuredness and determination to be relevant and set apart from his ancestors. [color=9e0b0f][b]Why should your character be in a position to influence an entire country?[/b][/color] As the Prince and future King he is a major player in the story to come. [/center] [hider=Oneshots] Turning in his saddle Prince Aaron switched his gaze from scanning the sky and looked down upon the two men below him. The first was his imposing shieldman Iben, the six foot tall guard who swore his life and sword to defend Aaron. The other, a peasant of little consequence-that was until he got caught poaching in the king’s forest. “Do you know the punishment for poaching serf?” Aaron spoke in slow deliberate sentences as if each word was well thought out. “A loss of limb for every animal slain, for you are stealing from the noble hunt.” Aaron looked expectantly towards the woodsmen who caught the poacher, while Iben drew his broadsword. “M’lord, mercy! I was tryin’ to feed me family. Surely ye could find it in ye heart to forgive a hapless sinner whose stomach got th’ better of him.” The peasant dropped to his face groveling in the grass beneath the horses’ feet, tears staining his muddy cheeks. Aaron ignored the man, instead marveling at his hunter mare’s steadiness. She was new and young, and when most horses might’ve been startled by the sudden pile of filth sobbing under hoof she remained steady and unmoved. Aaron made a mental note to gift the stable hand who trained her. “Three dead rabbits ‘ere ye lordship.” The woodsman said doing a quick count of the poacher’s kills, his rotten teeth set into a nasty grin. “That’s two feet and a hand by my reckonin’. Hehehe.” “Or two hands and a foot,” Iben growled pinning the peasant down with an armored boot. “At your leave majesty.” Aaron’s attention returned to the sky where a small black dot could be seen circling above. A smile played at his lips and he waved a hand towards Iben. “Yes, yes carry out the king’s justice, just over there away from the ladies and courtiers.” The doomed man’s sobs grew louder as the woodsmen and Iben dragged him away. Aaron turned towards the disturbance, a malicious light dancing in his eyes. “And oh, it just came to me. Get him home to his family with all his severed limbs, perhaps they can eat those. They are hungry after all.” Chuckling at his own morbid joke Aaron trotted his horse away, raising an arm to greet his returning falcon, a dead rabbit clutched in her talons. ~*~ “Your feet highness, remember your footwork!” “Stop yelling at me!” Aaron, fought back furiously against his opponent, who to the trained eye looked as if he was struggling to present a challenge without striking the wildly swinging prince. Aaron’s practice blade wove confused patterns making the air hum. His feet shuffling in short clumsy steps, sweat dripping from his nose. They’d only been sparring for a short while, and already his arms were weary. The blademaster, Aaron’s tutor gnashed his teeth in frustration, unable to truly correct the prince’s form, afraid of offending the young ruler. Not only that, but by cruel fate the Prince was born left handed. Normally the blademaster would force his students to train right handed, at least with the sword, but the prince would have none of that. The blademaster was stuck on the sidelines both literally and figuratively unable to properly train his student. “Keep your sword up, your opponent could take your head off…” The blademaster gave an exhausted sigh, watching as Aaron’s sword dipped lower and lower. Decapitation would more than likely be the result should Aaron ever face even a remotely competent warrior. On rare days Aaron fought like a wild thing battering down any that faced him giving the blademaster hope of progress. But the very next day he would once again be fighting as if he’d never held a sword before. The blademaster watched on as the two battled across the castle courtyard, clashing together and apart, one testing the other struggling. Then Aaron slipped, whether it was a patch of moss, or his lumbering feet the blademaster could not say, but he ended up on one knee a surprised look on his face. The prince’s opponent halted in mid swing, showing remarkable skill and self-control. Placing his sword on his shoulder he glanced towards the blademaster for instructions. Before a word of warning could be sounded Aaron’s dull blade snaked out, striking the other man on the temple. The blademaster winced at hearing the dull thud, feeling his own skull spasm in empathy. “Haha, fool. I am the better fencer!” Aaron sneered, kicking his downed adversary who stayed where he was, holding his ringing head, a pained moan escaping his lips all memory of his earlier misstep forgotten. Treading over his sparring partner Aaron joined the blademaster, taking a long drought from his wineskin. “How was that then?” He asked, wiping his mouth. “You are improving my liege.” The blademaster lied, to cowardly to say otherwise. [/hider] [/hider]