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Lord Arik Halfshav

He who still draws breath remains yet undefeated.

Social Rank: 4
Concept: Sword of Whitehold
Fealty: Redrain
Family: Halfshav
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Religion: Shamanism
Vocation: Warrior
Height: 6'2"
Hair Color: Sun-streaked Copper
Eye Color: Frost gray
Skintone: Fair

Description: A tall frame and muscular build conspire to make this man seem even more massive than he truly is. Broad shoulders, a square jaw, and an imposing presence lend him the air of a warrior from tales sung in the icy North, and indeed the scars on his calloused hands tell tales of their own. His features would be easy to describe as ruggedly handsome, were he ever to shave the formidable beard that covers the lower half of his face. Still, there is no hiding the glint of confident, casual violence in his pale gray eyes, nor the subtle, nigh-perpetual smirk that promises the same.

Personality: While perfectly capable of interacting with southern nobles in a manner that doesn't inspire unspoken dread, Arik doesn't often bother. A warrior through and through, his is a life ruled by the sword, and it shines through in his every action, whether it be his sharp wit, piercing gaze, or willingness to thrust himself into glorious battle. The broad side of the sword has its uses however, and in Arik this can be seen through his blunt honesty and sometimes narrow-minded disdain for things that don't fit into a worldview honed by ice and stone.

Background: To hear his father tell it, Arik was born in the coldest hour of the coldest night of the year, the temperature so low that the boy came into the world coated in ice that never melted from his gray eyes. An unlikely tale, but it can certainly be said that Arik was built for the rugged cold of the North.

A born warrior, Arik led men into battle against tribes of Abandoned as young as 14 years of age, collecting victories the way some boys collected bruises, and he certainly collected his fair share of those. No tactical genius, his talents rested more squarely in the realm of physical combat, his unrelenting determination driving him forward against crushing odds.

This proficiency at head to head combat earned him the respect of warriors that came before him, and so it was that Arik was named Sword of Whitehold, the heirloom weapon passed down from father to son, an unorthadox move as the title is generally not hereditary. Champion of his family name, Arik wields the sword against those Abandoned tribes cultured enough to respect the rite of duel to settle conflict.

Oft-victorious, still this appointment did not come without its trials. Arik has long-suspected that his uncle, the Duke of Whitehold, doubts his accomplishments are truly worthy of the title of Champion. Seeking to prove himself, Arik found himself in a duel against a knight whose fealty was sworn to Valardin, and after much boasting and blustering, the long and horrifically fought bout was called in a draw. After the bout, and after seeing the other fighter and realizing she was both younger than him and not as physically strong as him but significantly more trained, he realized he had to refocus his efforts to be the best warrior he could be. He has since headed to Arx, allegedly to seek refinement in his craft to complement the brute strength he already wields for the glorious honor of Whitehold.

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