ALRIC TARYN KOENIG
AKA "Taryn"
"What is the price of happiness? He answered, 'Too high.'"
Name: Alric Taryn Koenig
Race: Velsign
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Height: 7'10
Weight: 425 lbs
Birthdate: Ash 3, Year 4594
Birthplace: Northradica, Radenor
Location: The Imperial Badlands
Raw Magic:
Baptism (Apprentice)
Nightfall (Apprentice)
Profession:
Mercenary
Titles:
N/A
Factions:
N/A
Enemies: N/A
Religion:
N/A
Partners: N/A
Sexuality: Bisexual
Languages:
Fluent: Gentevarese, Common
Race: Velsign
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Height: 7'10
Weight: 425 lbs
Birthdate: Ash 3, Year 4594
Birthplace: Northradica, Radenor
Location: The Imperial Badlands
Raw Magic:
Baptism (Apprentice)
Nightfall (Apprentice)
Profession:
Mercenary
Titles:
N/A
Factions:
N/A
Enemies: N/A
Religion:
N/A
Partners: N/A
Sexuality: Bisexual
Languages:
Fluent: Gentevarese, Common
DETAILS
.
“I am what I was born to be, a warrior and a weapon.”
Towering over the heads of humans and rivaling the stature of even a half-giant, Taryn is immediately noticeable wherever he goes. At a height of nearly eight feet tall, he can be seen scowling at practically everyone who encounters him. Upon looking him over from head to toe, violet eyes set against inky black sclera assess any who come to meet their gaze. Within them is a keen intelligence with a hint of willful curiosity from time to time. His hair is a warm brown, rarely allowed to grow very long but he often does possess a healthy dusting of stubble upon his face. Taryn’s face is possessed of distinctly Northradican features with a mix of Gentavarese refinement, owed primarily to his Velsign mother and disgraced Entente father. He has a sun-kissed complexion, with his skin bronzed from the many hours he has spent freely roaming the lands or soaring in the skies in daylight. From his back sprout a pair of broad black eagle feathered wings, built to carry him at high altitudes and allow for periods of soaring and sweeping maneuverability. Taryn possesses a robust musculature that has been honed over a life lived in service to his kin and country. He possesses a Northradican Guild-Mage brand on the left side of his neck.
Marks of Control
Mark of Baptism
The Mark of Baptism appears on Taryn’s right deltoid muscle. The silvery-white crescent moon is clearly visible whenever he is shirtless and is typically a few degrees cooler than the rest of his skin.
Mark of Nightfall
The Mark of Nightfall, when it does appear, is visible on Taryn’s left deltoid muscle, appearing as the converging dark bars that grant him power over the Umbralplasm he wields.
Mark of Baptism
The Mark of Baptism appears on Taryn’s right deltoid muscle. The silvery-white crescent moon is clearly visible whenever he is shirtless and is typically a few degrees cooler than the rest of his skin.
Mark of Nightfall
The Mark of Nightfall, when it does appear, is visible on Taryn’s left deltoid muscle, appearing as the converging dark bars that grant him power over the Umbralplasm he wields.
MENTALITY
Likes: Hunting, Reading, Sex
Dislikes: Kindred, Oppression, Chains
Merits: Loyal, Deep Thinker, Protective
Flaws: Drugs, Blunt, Territorial
Personality
Taryn is a man who does not particularly go out of his way to give the most inviting impression. If one can work up the nerve to speak to him in the first place, they are in for a rather brief conversation filled mostly with single word responses and perhaps a grunt or two. Between the Guild-Mark upon his neck, the legacy of his parents, and the shadow cast by his stature, he is accustomed to being avoided except when his services are needed. This is not to say that he is intentionally rude, he simply has little use for idle conversation and does not try to fill silence with meaningless prattle. He speaks his mind when there is room to speak it, wholly and without reservation where it is appropriate to do so. Growing up among the court of the gentry, he knows when silence is of better use than a vapid opinion. If a person can get past this somewhat abrasive exterior, they will find that Taryn is a lover of curiosities. He is fascinated by the written word. Whether poetry, history, fiction or whatever else gets put onto paper, he has an endless love of books and writing though possessing little talent for the art himself. He does not talk about his past with passing strangers and bluntly dismisses all inquiries into it. The most anyone not close to him sees of his past is the dark circles under his eyes from a night of nightmares or the rough tumble of a bed partner he finds while either drunk or drugged to forget his pain.
“Once, I was a good man. Once, I believed that good men could make a difference. But then all that I lived for was taken from me and I learned, the world has no use for good men.”
Taryn is a man who does not particularly go out of his way to give the most inviting impression. If one can work up the nerve to speak to him in the first place, they are in for a rather brief conversation filled mostly with single word responses and perhaps a grunt or two. Between the Guild-Mark upon his neck, the legacy of his parents, and the shadow cast by his stature, he is accustomed to being avoided except when his services are needed. This is not to say that he is intentionally rude, he simply has little use for idle conversation and does not try to fill silence with meaningless prattle. He speaks his mind when there is room to speak it, wholly and without reservation where it is appropriate to do so. Growing up among the court of the gentry, he knows when silence is of better use than a vapid opinion. If a person can get past this somewhat abrasive exterior, they will find that Taryn is a lover of curiosities. He is fascinated by the written word. Whether poetry, history, fiction or whatever else gets put onto paper, he has an endless love of books and writing though possessing little talent for the art himself. He does not talk about his past with passing strangers and bluntly dismisses all inquiries into it. The most anyone not close to him sees of his past is the dark circles under his eyes from a night of nightmares or the rough tumble of a bed partner he finds while either drunk or drugged to forget his pain.
HISTORY
“Who I was, I am no longer. That's all you need to know.”
Born in the town of Huldfhast to the local court mage, he was given the name Alric at birth with his father having long ago adopted his mother’s surname in order to distance himself from his past. The son of Marcel Lauraunt Koenig nee J’Savier and Lynsla Koenig, Alric’s earliest memory is of being held in his mother’s arms while feeling the cold north winds wrap around his body. His childhood was not unexpected for one growing up in the shadow of the local mage and his wife. His mother served as an extension of the resident Esquire’s knights. His father was often employed in putting his arcane skills to furthering the interests of his master, a fate Alric was told was a far better one than what waited for him in Daravin. When he came of age to begin grasping that what his father could do was not ordinary, Alric asked about the subject of magic. It is here where his mother and father’s opinions on the matter differed greatly. His mother never wanted him to become a wielder of magic. His father, having grown up among the Entente of Daravin, saw it as a fitting way for his legacy to continue even if it was only in service to the gentry of Huldfhast.
His parents eventually reached a compromise. Alric would follow in his mother’s footsteps, learning the ways of war, or battle, and the life of a hunter. If by the time he was thirteen years of age he still wished to take up the craft wielded by his father, she would give her blessing. The years passed and with it many winters, many hunts, and many raids from the nearby Kyngdom of Jorikford. When Alric was twelve, his mother did not return from one of those raids, losing her life in battle against the soldiers of the neighboring realm. That winter was one of the coldest that Alric can recall. It was also the year that he met Amalie, the daughter of another soldier whose life had been spared through the intervention of his mother, Amalie and her father came to pay their respects and immediately Alric was taken with her. The two became friends, with Alric being the quiet, brooding boy and Amalie being an outspoken and bright spirited adventurer.
When Alric turned thirteen, he approached his father about learning what he had to teach him. And so Alric became not just his father’s son but also his apprentice. He survived his initiation into Baptism at the age of thirteen, the same year he was given the mark of the Guild-Mage. At the age of fifteen he was put through the initiation of Nightfall. It was during this initiation that Alric almost died. He was spared that fate when, during a bout of illness as his organs were near failure, Amalie took his hand and begged him to hold on. For her, he did. For her, he pulled the darkness into himself and made it part of his soul. She visited him every day as he recovered and would spend hours reading stories to him from whatever books she could find. When he was strong enough to leave bedrest, his tutelage with his father continued. Early on it was clear that Alric would never be an arcane scholar. Nevertheless, he showed promise as he wielded the powers taught to him with the brutal precision expected of a Velsign. As a result, Alric began to train not just with his father but with the soldiers of the Esquire’s garrison. As he and his powers grew, he began to occupy the role of less of an arcane advisor like his father and more of an instrument of war, dispatched to deal with incursions from Jorikford at the border. By the time he was eighteen, Alric had become a capable warrior that his mother might have been proud of, wielding both sword and sorcery to keep his homeland safe.
That autumn, during a festival celebrating a particularly bountiful season both at sea and among what fields they had, many contests of strength and skill were performed. It was during one of these contests that Amalie approached Alric and declared that if she beat him, he would accept the privilege of becoming her husband. Dumbstruck but determined not to be outdone, Alric accepted. Expecting to engage in a wrestling match, Alric was soundly defeated when Amalie stunned him by kissing him fully on the mouth and then flipping him onto his back outside the ring. They were married that winter and Alric remembers clearly it being one of the happiest days of his life. Together, he and Amalie had two children; a son and a daughter.
The winter of Alric’s twenty-third year came. It was a harsher winter than most. Whether driven by greed or desperation, the town of Huldfhast received reports of increased raids from the neighboring kyngdom of Jorikford. Eventually, he and his father were called to action as the resident mages of the town, commanded to put their powers to use to quell the disturbances. When they went with the garrison to meet the encroaching forces, what awaited them was a curiously small force that was not as large as originally expected. After engaging the enemy, it quickly became apparent as to why. They were attacked from other angles and quickly found themselves on the defensive. The battle took a turn for the worse when a larger force of the enemy joined the fray. By the time the call for retreat was sounded, it was too late. In a last ditch effort, Alric’s father pushed himself to the limits of his powers, affording them an opportunity to return to the town and marshall a stronger defense. That was the last Alric saw of his father.
What awaited the remaining soldiers at Huldfhast was no better. The town was sacked. The buildings burned and Alric was forced to make a choice between saving the life of his liegelord or the life of his wife and children. He chose Amalie and his children as Huldfhast fell to invaders. He reached his home to find it ablaze and with Amalie and his children trapped inside. Before he could free them however, he was ambushed and restrained by the Esquire’s eldest son and some of his remaining soldiers. Alric begged. Without shame or reservation, he pleaded with the nobleman to spare his family and let them go free. The Esquire’s son judged him then and there, for his failure to do his duty to protect the noble’s family, Alric would lose his family. Filled with rage, Alric fought them. He fought them with everything he had. He pushed himself using his strength, his power, and his skill as he desperately tried to get to his family. In the end, it was not enough as Alric eventually found himself pinned beneath a collapsed support beam for a nearby building. He was left to drift into unconsciousness to the sound of his wife’s screams and the cries of his children as they were burned alive.
When Alric awoke…Huldfhast was no more. For whatever reason, whether by chance or by fate, he had survived the night. When he was finally able to move, he stumbled over to his charred and ruined home. Heedless of any lingering danger, Alric dug through the ruins. He dug until his hands bled…and found three charred bodies waiting for him. Alric screamed with every ounce of rage and fury inside of him and when finally he had no tears or sobs to give, he buried his family, with only the charred remains of Amalie’s bracelet to remember the life he had now lost.
Alric left. He turned his back on everything and everyone he had known. Alric Koenig was dead. Only Taryn was left. Lost and broken.
He has wandered ever since.
