Username Celtic Soldier
Character Name: Agardir
Race/Species: Wood elf
Gender: Male
Age: 110
Career: (if any) and Skills Career: Eternal Guard
Skills: Survival craft, he can and has lived outside of civilisation for decades at a time. This includes the ability to fletch his own arrows, mend his own armour, et cetera. His bow skill is exceptional, even for an elf.
Weapons: Longbow, elven double glaive.
Attire: Despite not constantly being surrounded by forests any more, Agardir still dresses as he always has. A hooded green cloak drifts down his back and he wears a tunic of a slightly darker green, crisscrossed with browns and blacks, while his forearms are covered with leather vembraces. Beneath his cloak and tunic, he wears leather armour that covers his chest. His quiver of arrows sticks out over his shoulder, while the two halves of his double glaive rest in black sheaths at his side. (The blades he uses are straighter than in the picture). Despite sticking mostly to his traditional elven roots, some of the trappings of a mercenary life are just visible to those who look. His boots, once crafted from raw hide, are now knee-length calf skin items any noble would be proud of (They're quieter too) and a small, silver amulet in the shape of a spear glistens round his neck.
Equipment/Other: His ivory coloured bow, almost as tall as Agardir himself, is powerful enough to punch through the thickest Bretonnian plate (as many an unfortunate questing knight can attest to) and since leaving Athel Loren he has taken to using more deadly steel tipped arrows. His double glaive is, unusual to say the least. Crafted of gleaming steel, it would be more realistic to say that it had been crafted in the soaring cities of Uluthan, that the dark forests of Athel Loren. He also carries with him a slender dagger, and a delicate quiver with flowing patterns embossed on it's surface. (Another side effect of the mercenary life.)
Physical Description: Like any elf, Agardir is tall and willowy, naturally dextrous and adept at moving through the forest. Most people whom he comes across are transfixed by his gaze as like all elves, Agardir possesses an ethereal beauty, and most who look at him find that it is not easy to escape the penetrating gaze of his jade eyes.
However, most would say that his beauty is marred by a ragged black scar running from the scalp just above his ear, down to the bottom of his jaw. Were he to remove his tunic, as well as the sinewy muscle and battle marks common on any mercenary, you would see a similar scar, but this one a dark, corrupted circle, resting over his heart.
His hair, unusually for wood elves, is of the purest white, and he wears is quite short, and it often sticks up in jagged, messy spikes.
Mental Description/Personality: As can be expected, for a wood elf at least, Agardir is very withdrawn and distrustful of others, even if they are clearly only trying to help. He can be very aggressive if rushed or pressed, or even by someone just being over friendly, and it is not uncommon for him to lash out if someone just doesn't get the message. He is arrogant, and often believes his abilities are far superior than any around him. However, those who do earn his friendship or even, somehow, his respect, will find no more loyal companion, and he will fight fiercely to protect those he calls friends, even if it kills him.
Background/History: Born into one of the lesser families of Athel Loren, his snow white hair was taken as an men, though no-one knew what the omen meant. From his youth, Agardir easily excelled above the few other children in his area, be it sword, bow, fist or feet. He proved, even, to be better than many a good century older than him and, seeing his potential despite his youth, he was recruited into the local eternal guard at the tender age of 75. It was here that his customary arrogance and pride solidified, and he was often insufferable to the other members of his guard, not made any easier by the fact that he repeatedly beat them in the training ground.
However, it wasn't long before his life took a turn for the worse. One morning, it was decided that one of the Local Nobles should venture into the deep wood, and quell disturbances that appeared to be brewing there, as it was winter, and the forest was less able to defend itself. Agardir's Lady volunteered, and organised a force of her best guardsmen to defend her while she renewed the spells set within the heart of the deep wood, which kept the malevolent spirits it contained weak. Their path cleared by the way watchers, the moved in. During the trip, Agardir was taken by an arrogance the exceeded what even he was normally capable of. Desperate to prove himself in the eyes of his lady, Agardir demanded that he scout the surrounding forest alone, insisting that others would simply slow him down. Before anyone could question the wisdom of the decision, he dashed off the path and into the wood. The others, sincerely hoping that he perished, assured their Lady that all would be well. It wasn't.
Just as he was about to head back, Agardir entered an unusually large clearing, some of the shrubbery round the edges blackened and burned. Moving to the centre of the clearing, Agardir could see tracks. They had been covered well, any normal man would have been fooled, but Agardir was no man. They were hoof prints. Beast men. No sooner had he made the connection than the forest exploded around him, the foul creatures pouring at him from every angle. With an inhuman speed and grace, Agardir slipped off his bow and twanged arrow after arrow into the approaching hoard. When they got to close, he swiftly formed his double glaive and spun it in a pattern so tight and fast, that not a blow could touch him. Say what you like about Agardir, but he's good. But it was only a matter of time. Suddenly, a charging Gorebull appeared out of the shrubbery, and Agardir only just avoided it, it's lowered horns ripping a long scar down his jaw, which sent him spinning into the undergrowth. Their leader approached him, and laid one hoof on his chest, before driving his spear straight into Agardir's heart.
Agardir awoke to feel the flow of foul magic through his veins. The thing that surprised him most was not that he'd come back from the dead, but that he'd failed. He never failed. Ever. When he eventually found his way back to the group, he found their mangled corpses lying on the road. Not one beast man lay dead. An ambush, a slaughter. And it was all his fault.
Afraid to confront the elders with his failure, as well as his possible brush with chaos, Agardir set out to find a possible cure for his condition, to find a way to remove the chaos from his body, before it corrupts his soul. Naturally, he gravitated towards Tilea, with rich scientists, ready pay, and slightly more tolerance of chaos than the witch hunter ridden empire. Far more grounded by his failure, and now permanently angry at himself (and by extension, the world), Agardir will do all in his power to ensure that he will never again fail those worthy of his protection.
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