Difference between revisions of "Callum al'Thalda"

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While loading bolts of fabric into the back of a cart he watched a group of children playing in the street, a wistful smile on his face, and memories of doing the same thing when he was young playing in his head. They were playing a game he wasn’t familiar with and were completely wrapped up in it, and so they didn’t seem to notice a horse-drawn carriage bearing down on them. The horses were wild with fright, and the carriage was completely out of control.
 
While loading bolts of fabric into the back of a cart he watched a group of children playing in the street, a wistful smile on his face, and memories of doing the same thing when he was young playing in his head. They were playing a game he wasn’t familiar with and were completely wrapped up in it, and so they didn’t seem to notice a horse-drawn carriage bearing down on them. The horses were wild with fright, and the carriage was completely out of control.
  
He was too far away to be of any real help, but he sprinted forward anyway, his hand held out, his voice booming a warning they had no time to hear. Suddenly a flare of power ran through him, and a torrent of fire and ice spread through his veins. He watched as wisps of something flew from his hands, and formed a barrier in before the children which the horses narrowly missed, but upon which the carriage smashed into matchsticks.
+
He was too far away to be of any real help, but he sprinted forward anyway, his hand held out, his voice booming a warning they had no time to hear. Suddenly a flare of power ran through him, and a torrent of fire and ice spread through his veins. He watched as wisps of something flew from his hands, and formed a barrier before the children which the horses narrowly missed, but upon which the carriage smashed into matchsticks.
  
 
He collapsed to his knees, eyes wide in shock, and his whole body trembling as the power left him. His mouth had gone completely dry, and his breath came in heaving gasps like he’d been dunked in a frozen lake, but none of that registered as his mind whirled around the fact that he had just channeled. He stayed that way for some time, sat back on his heels, knees in the muddy street, and his mind simply ran away on its own.
 
He collapsed to his knees, eyes wide in shock, and his whole body trembling as the power left him. His mouth had gone completely dry, and his breath came in heaving gasps like he’d been dunked in a frozen lake, but none of that registered as his mind whirled around the fact that he had just channeled. He stayed that way for some time, sat back on his heels, knees in the muddy street, and his mind simply ran away on its own.

Latest revision as of 23:53, 29 December 2021

Callum al'Thalda
Callum al'Thalda
Kahluhm al'Thawlduh
Created by Carl
Information
Gender Male
Occupation Soldier
Affiliation The Grey Tower
Nationality Andoran

Callum al'Thalda is a Andoran Soldier of the Grey Tower.

Description

Tall, and trim, with a powerful, muscular physique, Callum cuts a distinct figure as he moves through a crowd. His curly hair is kept short, and he wears a full beard. He has caramel-colored skin that belies his mixed ethnic heritage, though he has no idea what that heritage is, really. His dark eyes are piercing, and soulful, and can be at once highly expressive, and then completely closed off depending on what best suits the situation at hand. He is a young man, though he does appear to be roughly in his late twenties.

His normal style of clothing is very prim, and proper. As an Andoran, he tends towards breeches, a long-sleeved shirt, and a jacket, though he does add another bit of flair, with a vest beneath the jacket, and sometimes a kerchief around his neck, tucked into the vest and held with a pin. He favors the color blue and has since he was a teen. Since he has a bit of family wealth, from his adoptive parents, he was trained from an early age to protect himself well, and so he does regularly have a sword at his hip, though most definitely not one with a heron mark upon it. He is capable but is by far and away not an expert.

When one meets Callum, one may, at first, believe him to be a bit dim, or perhaps arrogant. He doesn’t speak much, and when he does it is with a measured tone to his deep voice. This is, simply, because he prefers to be careful with whom he associates, and what information he shares. He is slow to trust, due to his upbringing and the situation that brought him to the al’Thalda household, and so he is very cautious at all times.

Once he does, however, befriend someone he can be an intensely loyal friend, and his life will slowly open to those he trusts until he can be read like an open book. He can be a bit arrogant, though it is completely unintentional, and due to his adopted mother’s acerbic wit many find him to be quite bluntly honest. When this is mixed with his innate sense of irony and sarcasm, he can be quite off-putting, to say the least. He does, however, have a heart that is open to sharing compassion and love, and a fiery drive to ensure that fairness and justice be done in all matters.

Biography

Callum was born in the city of Caemlyn, though he did not grow up there. Very little is known of his origins beyond the fact that he was left, in a basket, outside the door of a weaver’s shop in Whitebridge, with a bag full of money, and a note, explaining that his mother was unable to care for him as she should and that his father was gone. The money was obviously from Andor, and the particular ways the person who wrote the note phrased things made Caemlyn the most likely point of origin for both mother, and child. He was taken in by the weaver and her husband, Myrwin and Aldric al’Thalda, and given a warm home, and the family he would likely never have had otherwise. He grew up warm, and well-fed, and never wanting for much of anything due to his mother’s brisk business as a weaver of fine cloths which she sold to merchants, tailors, and seamstresses across the country.

The fact that he was adopted was never hidden from him, would, in fact, have been impossible to hide. While both of his parents were blue-eyed, with blonde hair, and fair skin, Callum was dark-complected, with wiry black hair and dark brown eyes. As he grew other obvious differences appeared, such as his height. Both Myrwin and Aldric were shorter people, and once he reached adolescence Callum sprouted well above them. The fact of his adoption never bothered Callum, however. He never really thought of it, once it was explained to him when he began to ask questions around nine of ten, and he accepted that what was best was what had happened, and he was loved and cared for. It was almost as if he simply put the entire concept out of his mind, and decided his life was just fine the way it was.

All was normal with Callum and his parents. He grew up helping around the shop, playing with other children in the streets of Whitebridge, and doing all the other things little boys are wont to do on a regular basis, from getting into tussles or being brought home by a constable for snatching a pastry when he thought no one was looking. It was, in all honesty, a completely average life. Until it wasn’t.

When Callum was eighteen his father fell ill, deeply ill. A Wisdom was brought in but was unable to discover the cause of his illness. An Aes Sedai was brought in next, of the Yellow, and she did all within her power, but still, almost a month later, Aldric passed on. This was a massive blow to his mother, Myrwin. She had married Aldric when she was barely old enough to do so and had been with him her whole life. She was in her sixties now and getting to a point where her work was becoming too difficult. She wasn’t even sure she could carry on much longer, and she was honest with Callum about this.

Within a year of his father’s passing the business had been sold, and his mother had used the money to purchase a smaller home, without the shop attached, and he had been given the freedom to do as he wished. He stayed with her, not having any prospects for a job or a romance to distract him, and he sat, and watched as her will to live simply began to fade. A year and a half later he buried her as well.

An orphan, at least as far as it came to the parents he had known all his life, Callum found work doing what he’d done all his life. He went back to work in the same weaver’s shop he’d spent most of his life in, helping to weave fabrics, load them, and in some cases even deliver them to various places across Andor when the need arose. He would continue to do this for almost six years until he was twenty-five, and then his entire life would change in the blink of an eye.

While loading bolts of fabric into the back of a cart he watched a group of children playing in the street, a wistful smile on his face, and memories of doing the same thing when he was young playing in his head. They were playing a game he wasn’t familiar with and were completely wrapped up in it, and so they didn’t seem to notice a horse-drawn carriage bearing down on them. The horses were wild with fright, and the carriage was completely out of control.

He was too far away to be of any real help, but he sprinted forward anyway, his hand held out, his voice booming a warning they had no time to hear. Suddenly a flare of power ran through him, and a torrent of fire and ice spread through his veins. He watched as wisps of something flew from his hands, and formed a barrier before the children which the horses narrowly missed, but upon which the carriage smashed into matchsticks.

He collapsed to his knees, eyes wide in shock, and his whole body trembling as the power left him. His mouth had gone completely dry, and his breath came in heaving gasps like he’d been dunked in a frozen lake, but none of that registered as his mind whirled around the fact that he had just channeled. He stayed that way for some time, sat back on his heels, knees in the muddy street, and his mind simply ran away on its own.

When he finally came back to his senses he stood, brushed as much of the mud as he could from his trousers, and walked away. He took only what he could carry from the home his mother had left him, and his horse, a beautiful grey he’d been given for his sixteenth birthday, and which he had often enjoyed riding outside of town. When he rode into Hama Valon several weeks later, dressed in the clothing he’d left Whitebridge in, and almost completely exhausted, he went straight to the Tower to sign himself into the ranks of Soldiers for his training to begin. It was as if he’d been fated for this since birth, no other possible path had opened for him in his mind when he’d channeled that day, only this, only Hama Valon.

Career History

  • Soldier (19 December 2021)