Post by Baldric on Jun 16, 2013 21:16:02 GMT -5
The basics:
Name: Baldric
Race: Human.
Age: Somewhere in his 20's
Country: Aras.
Status: Peasant.
Basic appearance:
His overall appearance is that of a meager man of average height. Usually he carries himself with an upright and confident stature, though as a due sign of respect for anyone he believes to be upper-class normally dip down, if slightly so, and avoid any kind of eye contact that might be seen as a challenge or defiance.
His hair goes down to his shoulders, and is just a slight tad darker than blonde, making it a light brown.(or perhaps a dark blonde?) His eyes are light chocolate brown, amidst a "sharp," masculine face.
Family:
Parents: Baldwin, known as "Crooknose," and his wife Elenor.
Siblings: Brothers Edwin, Leofric, Wolfric, and sisters , Edelwynn, Winfred and Elena.
Other relatives: Of course. ;D
Most noticeable of Baldric's various relatives in and around towns is probably Aunt Grimauld; his father sister who never could get married.
Baldric remembers her as a slightly scary, wrinkly old woman with a shrill voice who always smelled of prunes, and had the nasty habit of appearing out of the blue with a ghoulish grin on her unpretty face; giving Baldric and his siblings (as well as his father, though the man would never admit it) quite a fright each time it happened.
Childhood best Friend: Belethorn Creuss.
Romantic interest: His friend Belethorn's intended wife Lady Isabel has quite caught Baldric's eye...
History:
The story of farmer Baldwin "Crooknose" and how he at last came to marry the fair maiden Elenor would have been quite the tale of it's own, and would surely be one worth listening to. It wouldn't have been about love at first sight, in fact they despised each other from the moment they met.
The two of them had grown up by the same little village in Aras, and the events of their childhood turned out to be the cruel tale of hardship and endurance; that of a cold-hearted bully and his unfortunate victim. Young Baldwin was never a very kind boy, unless you could outwit him or prove you were stronger than he was, and even then you would be wise not to bet your money on his reliability.
Elenor was on the other hand a gentle soul who possessed the most desired qualities of the ideal daughter and future housewife, but very little besides.
The years going by did not make Baldwin a kinder man than he'd been a boy, neither did they learn Lenore to be stronger and stand up for herself, against her father's unsurpassable authority.
As a young man Baldwin instead gained himself a low reputation, and the nickname "Crooknose" by which he'd since then be known to his fellow men. Nevertheless, for reasons one could perhaps understand, though you might not agree, if you were to hear the accounts in detail, this was the man the fair, young Elenore was engaged to marry.
As was custom, the newly-weds settled down on the husband's now late father's farmstead, naming their first born son Baldric, once the infant had reached the turn of a year.
He was a bit of a rascal, like so many boys were at his age. While his parents worked on and about their little farm all day just to keep up with the necessities of life, Baldric's childhood years went by in a blaze of seeking adventure and returning home to his mother again with blisters on his toes and his knees full of scars and scratches.
When given some time it become very obvious that during these adventures the boy had developed a certain kind of charisma and adaptableness who'd allow him to pick up the company of a son of a thief or beggar just as easily as a nobleman's child.
Although his mother Elenor encouraged her beloved son to seek out a good kind of company, and his ghastly aunt Grimauld made sure to warn him of what fatal sort consequences that might come from seeking the not-so-good kind, his much admired father seemed indifferent to whom his little boy sought to accompany himself with and as such did little to persuade him into either direction.
Then again the infamous Crooknose's own moral compass were in a pitiful condition at best; and in his poverty and despair he would scheme to take advantage of the little robber as well as he would the little lord.
Baldric of course; young as he still was at that point in life, would never guess what his father was up to for many years to come. These were still the years of his innocence, though already now the wheels that would turn him into the grown man he was to become was already set in motion..
The first thing that would turn Baldric's life in an entirely new direction happened one day of running errands for his parents. He was now old enough that his family expected him to see to his siblings, who one by one had started to present themselves, or as the case was this particular day, try to persuade the folk around town to agree to exchange for food and other stuff Baldric and his family needed.
He met no sort of goodwill on his travel, though; rather he was soon enough surrounded by angry scowls and calls for arms. When young Baldric could not inform them why his family could never seem to pay their debts, the townsfolk looked about ready to strike him down.
But just as he started to believe his last moment had come, some figure fast as lightning detached itself from the angered crowd, putting itself between Baldric and his pursuers.
Upon a second glance the figure seemed to be about the same height as himself, though not quite so meagerly build. It was a boy whom Baldric did not recognize right off the spot; nevertheless he addressed to adults with defiance in his youthful voice.
That, along with his choice of words, which was alot more refined than what could be heard among the peasant class, revealed that the brave rescuer was of higher birth.
But of course, who else would dare to speak to an adult in such a way? (Especially when said adults where in this mood) It could only be someone who never had to family was way-up-high.
This was certainly not the last time he'd met up with the young Belethorn Creuss, and from that day on, the adventurous heart of a mere peasant child cherished the sacred dreams of knighthood and chivalry; preparing to ride fearlessly into battle on the family donkey. Somehow he knew that he was not meant to spend his life on a penniless farm, the soil of which became poorer and more difficult to grow by each passing year.
Though as the years passed by they would gradually transform him from a foolhardy little boy to a young man of poverty who would find it all the harder to nurture his friendship with the young knight-to-be.
One winter season passing by did in particular curse the family with a fatal wound; one marked with the face of death. A long life of hard work, bitterness, and whatever else had left his parents vulnerable against illness. On top of that, Mama Elenor was once again carrying child. Any attempt on behalf of Baldric and his siblings to resolve the situation on their own were to no avail. Turning to father turned out to be fruitless as well, and no village doctor would have the time or patience to listen to the pleas for help of peasant children. Especially not when their father was named "Crooknose."
He hoped then, in all his despair, that an old friend, who just happened to be a knight in training, could help make them listen, but all he found as he sought out said friend was a family with a tragedy of their own. Belethorn's brother had been found dead under suspicious circumstances, and though the remaining brother might have wanted to help a friend in need, the attempt of doing so (If it ever came) was much too late.
Baldric's mother and the unborn child had joined the youngest member of the Creuss family in the afterlife.
Baldric was crushed. His childhood fancies which had once appeared so real, like all he had to do was to reach out his hand and grasp them, faded until they seemed the mere mother-gooseries of a simple-minded toddler against a bitter reality.
And the reality was this; he was born a peasant in a world ruled by those with money and a title, and he would live and die all but penniless; and no glory or greatness would ever befall him.
Justice always turned out in favor of those of high birth, and mercy was for those who could afford it. Not only because it was what his father and his mother had said to each other (and to him) all along, but more so because it was something he could observe with his own two eyes.
He could never be a knight of honor like his friend Belethorn had made him believe.
And then, as if just to hammer another nail into the coffin of their once-companionship, came Lady Isabel.
The delicate young noblewoman who had been engaged to marry Belethorn captured Baldric's eye from the moment he saw her arrive in town, and much like his fancy of knighthood had his boyish heart afire when he was still a child, Lady Isabel became like a new obsession holding his heart and mind in her dainty little hands. But the things Baldric wanted was always for someone else to have, why would the woman with whom he had fallen in love be a different matter?
Among Baldric himself and his brothers it had turned out over the years that Edwin, only a couple, three years younger than himself, had the greatest love of agriculture, and all the qualities that made a good farmer; while Wolfric had all the inventiveness and idealism that might still put fruit into an empty basket, even though the soil from which said fruit were supposed to grow had become exhausted. Whereas Baldric might be his father's oldest son, even the old man could plainly see (to the degree he could see plainly at all) whom ought to take over the farm, now that his health no longer allowed him to be the head of the family.
Baldric could hardly blame his father's choice; after all the farmstead and the life of a farmer that his father and the two younger brothers seemed to put so highly had never been one Baldric had cared much for at all.
For the first time in his life, Baldric was free. The young man could hardly wait to get away from everything; away from the dreary old farm and grim old Grimauld with her ominous talking of some future to be feared if he kept going down the road he had started and blah blah blah.
But most of all it was Lady Isabel and the tought of her together with Belethorn who drove him to travel so far from his home in Aras as he could possibly get, allowing fate to guide his direction.
As one might understand, traveling could be a most hazardous business indeed. Especially so when one allowed fate to guide you directly into enemy lands, which by chance was exactly was Baldric was doing.
It went as it might, that he crossed upon enemy men; high-born knights whose colors on their capes and armour were not ones that the knights of Aras would wear. What a strike of fortune it was then, that in the eyes of these men, all men who did not wear a knight or nobleman's attire looked all the same.
They could see very well that this man who chanced upon them when they were drinking boisterous and jolly around a campfire was a peasant, but all peasants were the same weren't they? And that a peasant would imagine to leave his peasant home and travel farther away than from the nearest town ahead was not something that would ever cross these men's minds.
similarly, it would not cross Baldric's mind to say anything that might remove the idea from their heads that he was a peasant from said town, on the way to the market of the town behind them to tend to his simple peasant business.
Nevertheless, they were actually not below letting said peasant sit down with them a while and share a toast to the grandness of their king who had granted them their knighthoods only the day before as a part of a scheme of war against Aras.
Their king, Baldric learned, was the sort of monarch who could never be happy with just his own little kingdom, but always deeply sought to put more land under himself, and Aras especially had been a thorn in the man's eye for the longest time.
As often happens when merry men are sharing a drink, one drink became many more, and eventually those merry men would be fast asleep.
Baldric, whose father "Crooknose" had earned his nickname during a bar fight, had already seen this happen many times and more. He was still nurturing his second or so drink when the last of his company toppled over, and all the time he'd been piecing together all that he'd learned of the relationship between this kingdom and the one he came from, and ideas started bouncing inside his mind. The ideas then formed themselves into a scheme so barbaric and cruel that later he would always regret making it a reality.
Unfortunately for Baldric himself and for all those around him, he could not so easily let go of an idea once it had settled in his mind, which was why, when he at last put his drink down and rose, the fate of Aras was already sealed.
The peasant man relieved one of his drinking comrades for his robes and armour as well as his horse, (if it was his) and following their tracks, he set off in the direction the knights had come from.
Still posing as a knight it was an easy business to gain entry into the royal castle, and eventually also be granted a meeting with the king himself.
True, his position would have been in grave danger should the men he'd met that night returned, but whether it might be because of some mission they'd been sent to (Baldric knew exactly what that mission was, as they'd been kind enough to tell him when they were drunk) or because they didn't want to embarrass themselves by returning in such a shape as Baldric had left them in, and have to admit themselves outwitted by a mere peasant, the case remained that he never did see or hear about them during his stay in the city.
Suddenly the events had turned all in his favor.
He had become a knight at long last; it didn't matter that he'd had to make him so all by himself. He was slowly gaining the access to and favor of the king who would soon also be the king of Aras if things turned out the way each of them wanted. Baldric had no reason to believe they wouldn't, as long as the king's thirst for conquest was kept alive all the way through the initial progress towards such a thing actually happening, (which was an easy task) and as long as Baldric showed himself as skilled and resourceful a schemer as the high and mighty ruler himself.
Soon the plains of Aras filled with fierce enemy-warriors. Mad with blood-thirst they turned into savages who stroke down as many of their enemies as they could, and who showed no mercy towards women or children. The people of Aras were slaughtered all the same. Many did flee while others fought to the last drop of blood in the attempt to drive back their foes.
Baldric found himself amidst the brutal scene, trying to block out the sight of blood and sounds of screaming, whilst attempting to locate familiar faces. It was not hard, familiar faces were all around him; the butcher's wife and daughters who tried to shield each other while being brutally murdered, the young son of a farmer who were snatched up by enemy arms, and so on.
Only, he could not at once locate the face of someone particular beauty his heart still hadn't forgotten.
Perhaps Lady Isabel was no longer in town. That could very well be the case, especially if she had not yet married Belethorn.
Oh yes she was. Wasn't that the lady herself, that frightened woman being ripped of her gown just as he passed the corner of an alley? A group of men had surrounded her, and Baldric could tell as plain as the look in their eyes that they were up to no good.
Without thinking about how, he flung himself against her assailants, trying his hardest to beat them senseless.
The next thing he knew was a sharp pain piercing through his body, and then everything faded into blackness.
He could still feel the pain in his body as he slowly regained consciousness, only to find himself lying in the midst of a pile of corpses. Once he freed himself from the dead bodies he found that he could still stand, albeit weakly.
He put one foot before the other, and slowly started to make his way out of there..