sans eyepatch, ignore clothing sourceName: Askeladden
Nickname: Ash, Ashy, Askeladd, Ladd, Laddy
Age:Believed to be 19
One of the more important parts of your CS, give me a good taste of what your character is like.
Being a slave from the time he was a toddler, Askeladden has an inherent work ethic necessary for his survival. If there's a job to be done, he is often the first to work on it, without complaint or mention of it. Askeladden, despite his new found freedom, anticipates beatings from authority figures or those above him at the drop of a hat and will often wince or look away when he is anticipating them. He tends to not speak unless spoken to and even then is cautious of the action. If he feels threatened by someone that he does not see as an authority figure, he will often by the first to strike out of habit.
He lost trust the same day he lost his eye. Kind words and affection are met with great skepticism and if at all possible he will avoid people that he suspects to be trying to lower his guard. He has a love of telling stories and a greater love of hearing them. The way to his heart is to let him tell a story or two, either from his own experiences, or second hand from one of his patrons. Even faster is to tell him a story. His complete lack of education can add a bit of child-like wonder to him when he learns new things or experiences something he's only heard about in stories. Unfortunately, his lack of education also means that social faux pas are often lost on him. At the very least, a life of being dirt poor and having to rely on himself has taught him how to be resourceful.
Backstory:Son of a whore, he was born a bastard and left with no surname. He was found lying in the dirt behind The Drunken Mare, a tavern on a connecting road between Edessa's capital and one of its southernmost cities. The bastard was brought to The Drunken Mare's master, Thors Brant, by one of the tavern's maids. Brant instructed the woman to care for the infant and have it learn a skill if she wanted it to live. For his dirty appearance, skin gray from the dirt, Brant named him Askeladden or "Ash Lad" in his native language. Askeladden was raised as a regular child for the first few years of his life until the maid began to grow ill. She passed him off to the Tavern's cook and died shortly after. Askeladden can't even remember her face.
The cook was strict, but generally fair. Failures were acceptable once. Any more resulted in a beating, first from the cook, and then from the master. "Everyone fails, only idiots unfit to live fail again," The cook had told him as a young boy. He had learned to take the saying to heart shortly afterward. He first began handling food at the age of four, fetching ingredients for the cook, delivering the small servings and occasionally drinks to patrons. He had begun to admire the cook at that age. The master was his owner, but the cook was the closest thing he had to a father. The cook often spent time speaking to him once the tavern stopped serving food, his words kind and bubbly as he drank himself into a drunken stupor.
He first handled a knife when he was eight, getting to chop vegetables and help with the morning prep-work. Slowly more responsibilities were handed to him until by the age of thirteen he was operating at a level slightly below that of the cook. It was around this age that he was expected to start dealing with the rowdier of guests. Slap them around a bit if they were making asses of themselves or wrestle them to the floor and hold them down until the cook or the master could step in and take care of the guest. The cook had been showing him how to handle himself in a fight after the master requested it. Askeladden also got a chance to learn more about the cook; that he had been a soldier in the Edessa military, that he had been a massive drunkard, that Brant bought him for a nightly allowance of liquor, and that he still was a drunkard. A drunkard that could have trouble controlling himself.
"You think you can fight?" The cook screamed at him one night after Askeladden had broken a man's arm. "This is what they'll do to brats like you!" The cook wrestled Askeladden to the ground and pinned his face against the ground. "I am being generous, boy. Anyone else would take both to teach you a lesson." An object moved into the vision of his left eye and for a moment the touch against his eye was warm and clammy. And then it was just white-hot.
He spent the night curled up in a corner clutching his eye. The next morning he was handed a bottle of alcohol and a handful of bandages and was told to take care of it and get to work. Brant never questioned what happened to Askeladden. The cook never brought it up. Askeladden never walked without a knife again. Two years later Askeladden ran the kitchen alone, the cook dead and left in the woods after he came at Askeladden one night with a cleaver. His tears for killing the cook were beaten out of him by Brant. With the cook dead, Brant took on the role of the punisher for Askeladden's mistakes and did his best to make up for the cook's absence. Over the years Askeladden learned to cook with a broken arm, broken ribs, fractured hands, and a near swollen over eye.
One night Askeladden saw a man writing on a piece of parchment at the tavern and stared with fascination. The man offered him a lesson either out of courtesy or pity and he accepted whole-heartedly. Askeladden went on to practice writing in his free time, despite having no idea of how to read what he wrote. Parchment was expensive, as was ink, so he made do with what he had. Pigs blood as ink and either apron or his skin as parchment. In one of the many attempts to write his own name on his arm, he found himself on the ground clutching his wrist, holding back cries of agony as his skin felt as if it were on fire. The tankard scribbling on his arm began to faintly glow and a sensation grew with him that felt oddly familiar and horribly cold as if he were laying in a bed of snow. Brant entered the kitchen and looked around for him, walking past him, screaming and fuming that he could neither find nor hear the slave. When the strange feeling abandoned his body, he collapsed to the ground and emptied what little content he had in his stomach into the pot. The beating for slacking off and dirtying a pot was almost dwarfed by the excitement of what he just discovered.
Almost.When the call for the caravans came, Brant forbid it. Brant wanted to profit off of the invading forces needing a place to stay. Askeladden cracked him over the head with pan and beat him until he stopped moving. And then he ran.
And he ran until his feet bled.
And he ran some more.
Skills and Abilities:Untrained Ritualist - When Askeladden was still attempting to learn to write, he often would use whatever he could to learn. Ink was a luxury for someone like him, so he turned to animal blood when it was available. Parchment being equally difficult to find required him to write where he would not receive a beating for. His apron, his clothing, or his own skin. It was by accident he discovered anything at all when attempting to spell his name on his wrist. The clumsily written letters burned on his skin like metal out of a flame and with that came a new sensation he had never experienced. The manager walked into the kitchen looking for him and passed right by, unable to see or hear Askeladden. The moment the unfamiliar sensation disappeared, he fell ill and expelled the contents of his stomach into a nearby pot. He was beaten severely for hiding from his master and for dirtying a pot.
Novice Reader & Writer - Askeladden was not trained to read nor write and had to make do with picking up whatever he could from patrons.
Novice Storyteller - Every man has a story and in Askeladden's line of work, he often hears every story a passing drunk/traveler/hunter/soldier/mercenary has to share. People tend to get eager to share when good food and flowing mead is at the ready and Askeladden always has an open ear to the patrons. He's also gotten particularly good at remembering other's stories, but he still needs work on telling them.
Adept Brawler - Not every fight in his life has been with a knife and prior to losing his eye, he had fought with his hands. He once used a chair in a fight and was beaten relentlessly by the tavern owner for damaging the owner's property, forcing him to rely on only his own hands in a brawl. He's best when fighting someone larger than him, speed being his biggest asset in fights. If there's not a tremendous difference in size, he would tend to try and pin them to the ground and either threaten to break something or, in some cases, in fact break something.
Journeyman Medic - For someone as prone to beatings as Askeladden, learning how to patch himself up was a necessity. Askeladden can treat most cuts, nurse broken bones, sew wounds, properly clean wounds, and prevent infections.
Professional Knife User - Askeladden understands how to properly and efficiently use and maintain a large variety of knives, ranging from a paring knife to a cleaver and everything in between. His time with a knife has not solely been for cooking and butchering, but for defense as well. Askeladden has been in many fights through his life, a fact of life when dealing with drunkards on the regular. He's been in more knife fights than he's comfortable admitting, but it has left him a competent fighter capable of protecting himself.
Professional Cook - Much of his life has been spent in the back of a tavern whipping up food for travelers. He's well versed in a wide variety of foods, having prepared many game animals brought into the tavern by hunters, as well as every livestock to walk Lucenrai. Askeladden is well versed in making meals from scraps, having to rely entirely on scraps left over from patrons to feed himself, as well as whatever he can steal without drawing the eye of the owner. As long as it's still edible, Askeladden has both prepared and eaten it or can figure out how to.
Accomplished Butcher - When a group of hunters drag in a bear carcass and demand that it be ready to eat by that evening, Askeladden is the one in charge of making that a reality. He's able to skin and hack apart most Lucenrai wildlife with ease. He's learned to navigate around stubborn muscles, how to peel off furs without damage, and how to remove, organize, and prepare every bit and piece of wildlife he's ever had the chance to spend an afternoon hacking up. He highly recommends a dish of his invention involving sheep's stomach, liver, heart, and tongue. To this date not a single person has taken him up on the offer.
Equipment: Burlap Sack - Two straps have been sewn on. Large enough to hold a horse's head.
Leather Knife Roll Bag - Used to hold the knives Askeladden ran off with. Made by his own hands.
Meticulously Sharpened Varyan Steel Knives - The majority of his knives are made of iron or steel. His selection includes: Chef's, Cleaver, Paring, Boning, Serrated, Butter, Peeling, and Carving.
Honing Bar - Used to straighten knives. Made of iron. Stored in his pack.
Sieve - Used to properly wash herbs and vegetables. Shallow and uses of a mesh of burlap.
Pestle & Mortar - Used for grinding herbs. Stored in his pack.
A bottle of whiskey wrapped in bandages - The alcohol is meant purely to clean infections and the bandages are nearing their third year of age. Washed carefully, they still have some stains from previous wears.
Sewing kit - For maintenance of equipment and maintenance of self. Running low on unused thread. Most is recycled from old wounds. Smells of alcohol.
Eyepatch - Black, sheep's skin leather, soft, aged. Only worn during the day or when before a flame, Askeladden's blind eye being sensitive to light and heat.
Member
Prosaic
StarBoi
Skai