Baelor Karatus
May 30, 2013 20:54:32 GMT
Post by Baelor Karatus on May 30, 2013 20:54:32 GMT
Name: Baelor Karatus
Age: Born 255 AL. 44 years old.
Place of Birth: Blackhaven
Current Place of Residence: Dragonstone
House: House Karatus fealty to House Baratheon
Family: Lyle Karatus: Father; deceased
Amelia Karatus: Mother; deceased
Corwin Karatus: Younger Brother; living, 37
Rosalyn Baratheon: Wife; living, 38
Dashiel Karatus: Son; living, 19
Emma Karatus: Daughter; living, 14
Appearance:
Garb: Showing the truth of his humbler beginning Baelor is rarely seen in anything considered flashy or 'court-orientated'. Spending most of his time clad in his boiled leather and chainmail, though the one defining aspect to his wardrobe would be his pelt. Baelor is always seen with the pelt of a great black bear upon his shoulder, the head coming to rest upon his left breast. Fastened in place by great iron rings linked to his leather breast piece. The leather and chain are all dyed and stained black and grey, though red shows upon his breast as fealty to House Baratheon. Simple yet well-made leather boots protect his feet with leather leggings tucked into them.
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 215 lbs
Personality: Baelor in no way holds up to the pious nature of his name. Considered a brute by many he has met, the man is loud, fierce, and course. His formative years lacked all the proper training as he himself lacks the proper breeding to be considered 'knightly' by the classical sense. Devoutly proud of his Lord, Baelor is a man engrained with a deep set sense of honor and loyalty; though such feelings are aimed at House Baratheon and not strictly at the Iron Throne.
A soldier at heart, Baelor is crass and loud, his booming voice always carrying above those around him. He speaks with a soldiers tongue and not that of a nobleman's, his words having more than once seen him excused from the presence of Stannis and his Lords. Offering little in the way of respect to those he feels ride the title they have been born to instead of earning it, Baelor is a man who has been known to call his fellow commanders out upon their plans, though he shows enough political knowledge to do this in private, only rarely challenging the authority of his betters before soldiers.
Bravery is a key component of Baelor, a man who sees a death in battle a glorious demise as opposed to one aging and waging the war of politics. Never afraid to rush headlong into combat, he has been called foolish in his fierceness by some, though in his eyes it is merely being a true warrior. It is a trait that has earned him respect among the common soldier and an attitude that has not endeared him well to the knights. His attitude and nature upon the battlefield long ago named him the name, "Baratheons' Bull" to the troops.
For all intents and purposes, Baelor is a family man. He enjoys his wife, Rosalyn, affectionately calling her Rosy. This, however, does not stop him from falling into the beds of other women, though his sense of honor has kept him from ever bringing another into the marriage bed he shares with her. In his eyes there stands no woman that could compete with his precious Rosalyn, however. No matter where he may find himself, or with whom he has shared his bed, his wife with always remain the one women to who his heart belongs. He sees her as not only his wife, but the mother of his children, children who he loves dearly. Dashiel and Emma stand as the only living two that gave him pause before following Stannis into war. His son being his greatest source of pride and his daughter the only reason he has found to embrace the notion of being gentle.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Weapons: Mail-Breaker: A large double-headed battle ax forged of castle steel. The dual heads are lovingly engraved to show a pair of bulls coming together where the heads meet, horns locked. The fire-hardened oak wood of the shaft forms a powerful heft capable of parrying sword blows upon. The shaft has been oiled and polished to a near black sheen, the bright steel standing out and almost looking silver upon it. A large and powerful weapon capable of crushing and hacking through all but the most protective of armor, Baelor has carried it lovingly since it was gifted to him by House Baratheon upon his ascension to Lordship.
Armour: Simple but durable boiled leather and chainmail are all Baelor clads his body in. The visage he has crafted as a fearless Captain hinges upon the ideal that he has always placed himself in the heat of battle without much armor.
Skills: Combat Prowess: Powerful of body Baelor wields the massive ax Mail-Breaker as another man may use a simple longsword. Having mastered the art of warring with an ax he is capable of both devastating offense and surprising defense with the weapon. However, it does not end there, he is also dangerous when left only with his hands. Powerful gripping throats and snapping necks, hammering his fists into the unprotected faces of soldiers and never being afraid to slam his own head into the nose of another upon the battlefield. He is truly a Bull upon the battlefield leaving carnage and mangled corpses behind him.
Morale Booster: When Baelor the Bull stands upon the front lines, blood-soaked ax in his hands an voice booming the merits of House Karatus and urging his fellow soldiers forward he stands as a paragon of morale. His defiance to injury, to death has become something of a favorite story told around the fires by Karatus soldiers, a man who will march into the heart of combat with little to no armor and laugh in the face of his adversaries. He also has a keen eye for spotting a soldier on the brink of terror and placing himself beside him, urging the man on with words and deed.
Weaknesses: Born A Commoner: Because of his humble birth Baelor lacks certain tact at the game of politics. He has little understanding of the subtlety employed by his fellow lords to achieve their ends. Because of this he has never risen beyond the rank of commissioned officer, serving as a Commander at the lowest of levels and having no real say in battle plans. He is seen as a weapon to be unleashed by his fellow lords, not as a mind to be listened to when preparing for the battle itself.
Bull Headedness: Baelor will speak his mind whether it is foolish or not. He has been shouted at, sent from council meetings of commanders and even flogged before the soldiers for it. However, he lacks the tact and rhetoric skill to say one thing while meaning another, instead choosing to blurt out what he means and deal with the consequences that inevitably follow such a decision.
Constant Target: Because of his near legendary effect upon the Baratheon soldiers and the aura of his very presence upon the battlefield Baelor has become a target while serving in engagements. He has been struck by arrows, bolts, and attacked by multiple foes nearly everytime he takes the field. His resilient nature and the love of his troops who willingly sacrifice themselves to keep him fighting are the only things that have kept him alive up until now, a fact he ignores at his own peril.
Faith: Baelor has more than once found himself at odds with another since coming to Dragonstone over this new Red God. His faith in the Seven is unshakable, having been named for Baelor himself. For the most part he has been left alone by all but the most faithful, though it is one of the few topics he bites his tongue on. He understands that in matters of Faith seemingly intelligent men can become ravenous fools, and he has no desire to fall from the graces of Stannis or find himself fed to one of the many fires.
History: Born to humble beginnings on a small farm in Blackhaven to Lyle and Amelia Karatus, Baelor was a man that has risen far beyond his station. As the son of commoners, he had grown up with a hard life, but one his parents did their best to make him happy with. As a child he was always boisterous, finding himself in scuffles with other farm boys, chasing after young girls from the village and learning a love of ale at a young age. Followed almost constantly by his younger brother, Corwin, much to his dislike. It was a life that although far from the grandeur one would enjoy having been born into one of the privileged Major Houses, one he had been content with.
At the age of fourteen, compliments of a large frame and seemingly endless reserve of stamina, Baelor had begun work as a lumberer. Accompanying other men each morning before the dawn had broken and felling trees through the long hours of the day served to give him a powerful body, and the camaraderie of his fellow workmen instilled within him a deep sense of enjoyment when working alongside other men. One that would one day come to surface as a Captain upon the battlefield.
Baelor had long been aware of the madness that was whispered to grip his King, of the horrible things done behind closed doors, but like most peasants it was beyond his station to care. One King or another, things never changed much for the lower classes. As long as the fields produced wheat and the livestock was left to grow fat for slaughter seemed to the furthest reaches of his care. However, all that changed when his Lord Robert Baratheon began his rebellion. It was one that gripped the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, one that ran rampant from house to house as families chose where their loyalties stood. It was a rebellion for any man, all bodies willing to join the cause being welcome. It was here that Baelor saw his chance at something else, a life outside constant toiling, perhaps to make something of his own name. Dreams that he had thought foolish, though dreams he had been unable to shake once they had settled upon his heart. It was from these dreams that he decided to take his ax, and instead of following the other men into the trees, go to where Robert called all men of Storms End, all men loyal to House Baratheon.
It was in the grip of war that Baelor learned his passion in life, what he had been created to do. Men fell before his ax, soldiers begged for mercy from a peasant who under other circumstances would have been just as likely to kill him and his family to loot their home. It was an empowering feeling, it gave him a sense of being, of purpose. He no longer felt like one of the masses, merely living life to see another sunrise of work. With each battle his name grew among the soldiers, the name of a young man barely able to grow stubble upon his chin, but one who fought as if a demon had settled upon his soul.
Baelor had been there, at the Battle of the Trident, to see his Lord strike down the Dragon Prince himself. It had been moment imprinted upon his soul for all time. The pride that had swelled his chest that day had been unlike any other feeling before. Robert Baratheon had stood every inch the King he claimed to be in that moment, and Baelor had thanked the Gods themselves he'd marched out with him. It was in that battle that Robert himself would later come to learn of Baelor, the young farmer who had killed six knights with only his tree cutting ax. The man who had rushed the front lines wearing the garb of a peasant to meet armored foes, spurned on by loyalty, pride and nothing else.
Later, before the Iron Throne, Baelor had knelt to receive his reward for that day and his actions in the battles leading up to it. Robert had spoken Baelors' name, addressed him as the peasant he was, and on his knees, humbled before his King, Baelor had been both Knighted and named a Lord. To the eyes of others it had seemed a small thing, the land minuscule and poor, no soldiers being granted, but to the newly named Lord it had been the realization of dreams themselves. He had stood Lord Karatus, never to be a commoner again. It was that same day he was gifted the mighty ax, Mail-Breaker. The weapon proof that Robert had not only known him by name, but by deed. To cement the loyalty of the new Lord, a deed that had already easily been accomplished, Baelor was wed to Rosalyn Baratheon. A minor name in the family from an off-shoot of the family, but the marriage nevertheless forging his fate forever to House Baratheon.
Baelor had returned from King's Landing to Blackhaven upon the back of a beautiful war-horse, a gift granted because he was told no Lord should ever walk. He had returned to his ancestral home with his new Wife beside him carrying the title of Lord and the weapon to prove his service upon the battlefield. However, what should have been a joyous occasion was cut short with the knowledge that his father, Lyle, had passed away during the war. It had been of natural causes, his heart giving out while trying to force the draw horses through the field, but the pain of it had stung him deep. Burying his father had always stood as one of the most difficult days of Baelor's life, and upon it's completion he had taken his family to the new home he had been gifted, a minor keep not even boasting a proper wall, but still one that he could call his own. The Domain of House Karatus.
Baelor, with the help of his brother Corwin, had proven himself an able enough Lord. Never learning to read and never having a mind for numbers, Rosalyn had been of dire assistance, her help in those early years forming a bond that would lead to a strong love between the two of them. Corwin learned both numbers and letters from Rosalyn, coming to serve as what would amount to his Steward, handling the day to day affairs of the small village House Karatus presided over. Baelor himself often found himself in the court of young Renly Baratheon, serving as a Captain to his Army and drilling the men in combat. A love of war had been born within Baelor that he could not shake, and even in times of peace he contented himself with sparring and drilling the soldiers, always bettering himself and those placed under his care. It was through this devotion to House Baratheon and her Army that he rose to the rank of Captain, finding soldiers placed under his care to fight beside him in the Vanguard.
As the years wore on Baelor found himself blessed by the Gods with the birth of a son, Dashiel. It was in him that he truly saw the generosity of Robert's gift. Never would his son toil away in a field, never would he live the drab life of a commoner. Knowing his numbers and letters at a young age, he saw in him the future of his House, an odd thought but one that swelled his heart with pride. He had been given a legacy, he had a name to leave to his Son, a future cleaved into the histories that his Son could stand upon and build upon. With the birth of Emma he learned of true love upon sight, he learned of a gentle nature existing within himself beneath the battle-hardened warrior. It was from her he had learned he could be of all things a pushover, allowing her to populate his keep with all sorts of animals ranging from wounded ravens he'd ordered put down to more cats than he could learn the names of had he cared. In her he saw a boundless caring that could have only come from her Mother. In those years Baelor, the Baratheons' Bull, had learned what it meant to be content. To find something akin to harmony. However, nothing lasts.
As time has a way of doing, he found his friends falling away. One by one, and the hardest hit to his heart of all had been the knowledge of Robert Baratheon's death. Baelor had traveled with Rosalyn to King's Landing for the funeral, and it was there he had seen Joffrey Baratheon for the first time in years. It was in his eyes Baelor saw something he did not like, something that almost struck him as fear. It was a kind of cruelty he had seen in the eyes of soldiers during the Rebellion. However, out of loyalty to his Lord, he had bent the knee that day and sworn the same oath unto death he had sworn to Joffrey's father, despite the sour taste it had left upon his tongue.
As if to prove a fortune-teller of him, the ravens began to fly in to Karatus Keep bearing the news of first Eddard Stark's fate, a man he had never truly known but had felt a sense of kin-ship to through shared hardships upon the battlefield. Baelor had always known him as a just man, honorable to a fault, and the news of his death had been hard to swallow, hard to grasp. Eddard Stark a traitor? The thought had seemed completely insane to him, but that had been the story. Soon after the Young Wolf had begun his march South and all hell had broken loose upon the Seven Kingdoms.
Within Renly's court he had learned more and more of Joffrey's madness, of his limitless cruelty. It had been a difficult thing to hear, but he knew it to be true. War was coming, and he had no choice but to answer her call. However, that problem, looking back upon it, had seemed like nothing compared to the turmoil within his heart when both Renly and Stannis had declared for King.
The Raven arriving at his Keep had spoken of vile things in regards to the Lannisters, knowledge that Joffrey was a monster born of incest. To this day Baelor doesn't know if he truly believed it at the time, but it had been a way out of serving him and it was an opportunity he'd jumped up. Leaving Rosalyn and Corwin to attend to the matters of his House, Baelor had gone with his scant men he'd trained over the years, numbering no more than twenty, and taken them to Renly's court. It was there he would come to understand the true scale of this war. The sheer size of Renly's host had been breath-taking. However, the awe was quickly stripped away as knowledge came to him that the first fight was not to be against Lannisters or Starks, but instead to meet Stannis in the field.
The night before the battle was to be fought had been one of inner-turmoil for Baelor. How was he to honor his debt to House Baratheon? He was making war upon Stannis! The idea of it was almost too much to grasp, but remembering his oath to Renly he had been prepared to march in the Van the next morning, to kill troops loyal to the same House as he over an argument between brothers. To his horror and happiness he was spared the decision with the news that Renly had been killed in the night. Some had whispered that Stannis had done the deed, though Baelor could and would never believe such nonsense. He had known Stannis, if only through reputation, and the man was honorable to a fault. The idea that he would use an assassin in the night as insanity. However, it had brought him over to the cause of the one true remaining Baratheon, and with it the War had finally become simple. Fighting beside Baratheon troops, killing the enemies of his Liege-lord was a deed he had been created to carry out.
The Battle of Blackwater Bay had been one of monstrous proportions. The use of wildfire had been something he'd never seen upon the battlefield, and it was a memory he'd never forget in all his years. The screams of men burning alive, the stench of cooking flesh hanging upon the wind; all of it had painted the picture of a war being waged in the Hells below. However, as he had landed upon the beach all such things had been forgotten in place of his bloodlust. At the front of the troops, Baelor had fought beneath the walls before the Mud Gate. He had watched as The Hound hacked apart good men Baelor had known for years, an it still leaves a bitter note in his heart that he hadn't been able to reach the man before he'd fallen to the safety behind the gate. Fierce fighting had continued, Baelor's booming voice urging the soldiers on as men fell beneath his ax. It is only with difficulty he recalls how quickly things had changed. The sight of Renly's ghost upon the battlefield, marching beside Lannister troops of all things! The sound of the horns singing the retreat.
It had been a total defeat, one torn from the jaws of victory.
Falling back to Dragonstone with his Lord, Baelor began to drill what remained of the Baratheon host. He would not slip away in the night like so many other cowards serving Stannis had done. He had pledged himself to the True King, and it was a pledge he would see through or would go to death carrying upon his shoulders. Such was his loyalty to House Baratheon.
RP Sample: How had things come to this? How had times fallen so low, when only weeks before victory itself had seemed so certain? The thought of his King sitting the Iron Throne had been one he had almost seen come to truth. He had nearly been there to see a second Baratheon ascend the Iron Throne, and what was there now? Destruction, death, morale flagging to the near point of desertion. Looking upon the troops drilling in the yard, rain falling down upon them, Baelor felt his hands ball tightly into fists as anger gripped his heart. This wasn't how things had been meant to go, but the Gods in their infinite fickleness had seen fit to rob them all of what had seemed such a certainty. Feeling a deep growl rumble from his chest, Baelor adjusted the mighty bear pelt that hung upon his shoulders, shielding himself as best he could from the rain that ran so freely down his face.
As he often did when his mood turned upon a sour note such as now, Baelor found his thoughts drifting to thoughts back home. Was Rosalyn singing, smiling her beautiful smile as Emma regaled her with the latest news of her many, many pets? No, it couldn't be, she was nearly a woman grown despite the memories of a black-haired girl running barefoot with a kitten in her arms. A small smile played upon his lips at the memory of her as she had been, the way she would shout out, 'Father!', over joyed to show him her latest addition to their ever growing population of animals within the keep.
Or what of Dashiel? He was of an age to nearly be complete as a squire? Was he ready to take the holy vows and become a Knight? Was he ready to take the oath of loyalty unto death to House Baratheon as Baelor himself had in what seemed a lifetime ago? Pride swelled within him at the thought of his only son. The boy was everything he had never been; refined, calm, sharp as a valyrian dagger. He would make a great Lord one day, one that could take House Karatus beyond even what Baelor had dreamed. Yes, he would be a great Lord one day, calm and intelligent like his Mother, fierce and just like his Father. He truly was the future of his bloodline, and he could think of no one better to carry the burden.
Tearing his mind free of such daydreams, Baelor turned his attention back to the men below drilling in swordplay. Their efforts where half-hearted at best, but he couldn't find it within himself to bark at them for it. What more could he expect at the moment? Those below had watched as many of their friends, brothers even, had burned alive upon the Blackwater. Their was a time for pride and unchecked arrogance, and now was not it. Descending the stone steps to the yard, Baelor unclasped the heavy bear-pelt and handed it off to a squire, striding out to the practice yard among the drilling men. As he looked upon them each, he saw a small light of defiant fire ignite in their eyes as the Bull looked upon them. They weren't beaten, not yet. Wounded maybe, but was a wounded animal not the most dangerous?
"Is this the sword work that brought us what we deserved beneath the walls of King's Landing?!" Baelor's voice boomed out, seeming to be what shook the fortress and not the thunder splitting the sky above. "If so it's easy to see why we where thrown aside like last night's whore!" A small smile graced his lips as the words fell from his throat, letting his men know he wasn't truly upset with them. Spurts of laughter greeted his words, soldiers trying to look strong before a man they saw as their very rock. Reaching out he took a sword from the practice rack, and offering a few practice swings, began sparring with the men. It was an exercise he had learned long ago boosted morale. Not only having a Commander training alongside them, but it was common knowledge with a sword he was no Jamie Lannister, and the prospect of besting the Bull was enough to pull many of them from their slump, if only for the moment.
The sound of metal striking metal soon began to fill the practice yard again, Baelor's voice shouting out insults to make even the most crass pirate blush. Spirits slowly began to rise as first one than another bested him with the sword, laughter falling freely from their lips. Tonight it wasn't important for them to see him as a force to be reckoned with, but as a man who shared in their defeat, as a shoulder to carry the weight for them so that they might find comfort for the night.
As first one hour passed than another, Baelor finally called to a halt of the sparring. They where all thoroughly soaked, the rain having never let up. " Be gone the lot of you! Find what ale you can in this pile of rocks, and maybe if the Gods truly smile upon you, you'll find a maiden willing to share her bed with you. Though I can't imagine such a pathetic and desperate creature in all my dreams!" Rough laughter followed his words as they pulled off training armor and replaced swords upon the rack to retreat within to the warmth and limited comforts of Dragonstone. To some it would seem madness, speaking of 'Gods' where so many pledged loyalty to the one Red God, but Baelor had the heart of the common soldier and none questioned him upon his beliefs. When all had left the yard, Baelor found himself standing alone, sword still clenched in his hand.
They weren't beaten. Not yet.
Player: Nero
Other characters played: None
Any plans in mind for the character? I' open to just about anything, though I would like him to become close to all members of House Baratheon.
Do you agree to the rules: Of course.
Who invited you to the site? I found the link affiliated to another site.
Age: Born 255 AL. 44 years old.
Place of Birth: Blackhaven
Current Place of Residence: Dragonstone
House: House Karatus fealty to House Baratheon
Family: Lyle Karatus: Father; deceased
Amelia Karatus: Mother; deceased
Corwin Karatus: Younger Brother; living, 37
Rosalyn Baratheon: Wife; living, 38
Dashiel Karatus: Son; living, 19
Emma Karatus: Daughter; living, 14
Appearance:
Garb: Showing the truth of his humbler beginning Baelor is rarely seen in anything considered flashy or 'court-orientated'. Spending most of his time clad in his boiled leather and chainmail, though the one defining aspect to his wardrobe would be his pelt. Baelor is always seen with the pelt of a great black bear upon his shoulder, the head coming to rest upon his left breast. Fastened in place by great iron rings linked to his leather breast piece. The leather and chain are all dyed and stained black and grey, though red shows upon his breast as fealty to House Baratheon. Simple yet well-made leather boots protect his feet with leather leggings tucked into them.
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 215 lbs
Personality: Baelor in no way holds up to the pious nature of his name. Considered a brute by many he has met, the man is loud, fierce, and course. His formative years lacked all the proper training as he himself lacks the proper breeding to be considered 'knightly' by the classical sense. Devoutly proud of his Lord, Baelor is a man engrained with a deep set sense of honor and loyalty; though such feelings are aimed at House Baratheon and not strictly at the Iron Throne.
A soldier at heart, Baelor is crass and loud, his booming voice always carrying above those around him. He speaks with a soldiers tongue and not that of a nobleman's, his words having more than once seen him excused from the presence of Stannis and his Lords. Offering little in the way of respect to those he feels ride the title they have been born to instead of earning it, Baelor is a man who has been known to call his fellow commanders out upon their plans, though he shows enough political knowledge to do this in private, only rarely challenging the authority of his betters before soldiers.
Bravery is a key component of Baelor, a man who sees a death in battle a glorious demise as opposed to one aging and waging the war of politics. Never afraid to rush headlong into combat, he has been called foolish in his fierceness by some, though in his eyes it is merely being a true warrior. It is a trait that has earned him respect among the common soldier and an attitude that has not endeared him well to the knights. His attitude and nature upon the battlefield long ago named him the name, "Baratheons' Bull" to the troops.
For all intents and purposes, Baelor is a family man. He enjoys his wife, Rosalyn, affectionately calling her Rosy. This, however, does not stop him from falling into the beds of other women, though his sense of honor has kept him from ever bringing another into the marriage bed he shares with her. In his eyes there stands no woman that could compete with his precious Rosalyn, however. No matter where he may find himself, or with whom he has shared his bed, his wife with always remain the one women to who his heart belongs. He sees her as not only his wife, but the mother of his children, children who he loves dearly. Dashiel and Emma stand as the only living two that gave him pause before following Stannis into war. His son being his greatest source of pride and his daughter the only reason he has found to embrace the notion of being gentle.
Likes:
- House Baratheon: Baelor owes all he has become and all that his family enjoys to that of Robert Baratheon. It was he who gave him the small parcel of land and the title Lord after his service in the Rebellion. It was he and His House who raised Baelor from the peasantry and made possible for him the life he leads and the opportunities his children find themselves with. However, on a personal note he saw in Robert Baratheon a kindred spirit, a noble who acted as a man and warrior instead of a dressed up politician. It was from these parallel attitudes, from the blooding of men together, and because of the rewards that Robert endowed upon Baelor that he holds House Baratheon above all else. He would march upon the Seven Hells themselves if only ordered.
- Warfare: Baelor is a man born to be a soldier. It really is as simple as that. The notion of death upon the battlefield has never been one to give him pause, in fact only adding to his love of combat. The feeling of immortality as he takes the lives of his enemies and survives himself has always been something close to a high for the man. Bloodlust was what he was once told takes over him. Leading men into battle is why he believes the Gods put him upon these lands, standing shoulder to shoulder with men and facing down those that would wish to take everything from them. It is from his love of war and this attitude towards it that he wears the name "Baratheons' Bull" proudly.
- Family: Despite the truly brutal and fierce nature displayed by Baelor upon the battlefield, the harsh and crass attitude he takes when with his men and the countless infidelities he stands guilty of there is truly nothing he cherishes more than that of his wife and children. The day Dashiel was born was the only time as a man he had felt tears sting his eyes. The sense of elation and love he'd felt watching Emma learn to walk, when he'd heard her giggle for the first time. It is with them that the man within emerges and only them.
Dislikes:
- Lannisters: As a whole Baelor has never enjoyed House Lannister. From one point of view he saw them as cowardly during the Rebellion, waiting until the last moment to chose a side and only when they could be sure of the victor. As a youth he had thought Tywin a coward, though he now sees him as simply devious. Jamie's actions in regards to earning the name 'Kingslayer' only added to the fire. The Mad King needed to die, but he saw the actions of Jamie as mirroring the attitude of his House in general, keeping to the winning side despite where loyalty and honor has placed them. However, on a more personally note his dislike of House Lannister can also be traced to simple jealousy. Their seemingly limitless wealth, their power, the opportunities they can provide for their children and kin all showing what he himself lacks as being only a Minor Lord.
- Joffrey Baratheon: As much as it had pained him, Baelor had never been able to place much heart in Joffrey. He saw in him a similar madness that plagued the last Tyrant they had been forced to stand against. It was only out of love for Robert that he kept his mouth shut, that upon his friends death he continued to honor the Iron Throne and the boy-king. It was with a heavy heart, but a sigh of relief that Stannis called his banners an afforded Baelor a way out of service to Joffrey without dishonoring House Baratheon.
- The Sea Baelor has never been fond of any situation in which he has no control, even if it is to be a small amount, in the outcome. Sailing and the sea have always stricken deep within him, causing something akin to fear, though he would be damned to ever admit it.
Weapons: Mail-Breaker: A large double-headed battle ax forged of castle steel. The dual heads are lovingly engraved to show a pair of bulls coming together where the heads meet, horns locked. The fire-hardened oak wood of the shaft forms a powerful heft capable of parrying sword blows upon. The shaft has been oiled and polished to a near black sheen, the bright steel standing out and almost looking silver upon it. A large and powerful weapon capable of crushing and hacking through all but the most protective of armor, Baelor has carried it lovingly since it was gifted to him by House Baratheon upon his ascension to Lordship.
Armour: Simple but durable boiled leather and chainmail are all Baelor clads his body in. The visage he has crafted as a fearless Captain hinges upon the ideal that he has always placed himself in the heat of battle without much armor.
Skills: Combat Prowess: Powerful of body Baelor wields the massive ax Mail-Breaker as another man may use a simple longsword. Having mastered the art of warring with an ax he is capable of both devastating offense and surprising defense with the weapon. However, it does not end there, he is also dangerous when left only with his hands. Powerful gripping throats and snapping necks, hammering his fists into the unprotected faces of soldiers and never being afraid to slam his own head into the nose of another upon the battlefield. He is truly a Bull upon the battlefield leaving carnage and mangled corpses behind him.
Morale Booster: When Baelor the Bull stands upon the front lines, blood-soaked ax in his hands an voice booming the merits of House Karatus and urging his fellow soldiers forward he stands as a paragon of morale. His defiance to injury, to death has become something of a favorite story told around the fires by Karatus soldiers, a man who will march into the heart of combat with little to no armor and laugh in the face of his adversaries. He also has a keen eye for spotting a soldier on the brink of terror and placing himself beside him, urging the man on with words and deed.
Weaknesses: Born A Commoner: Because of his humble birth Baelor lacks certain tact at the game of politics. He has little understanding of the subtlety employed by his fellow lords to achieve their ends. Because of this he has never risen beyond the rank of commissioned officer, serving as a Commander at the lowest of levels and having no real say in battle plans. He is seen as a weapon to be unleashed by his fellow lords, not as a mind to be listened to when preparing for the battle itself.
Bull Headedness: Baelor will speak his mind whether it is foolish or not. He has been shouted at, sent from council meetings of commanders and even flogged before the soldiers for it. However, he lacks the tact and rhetoric skill to say one thing while meaning another, instead choosing to blurt out what he means and deal with the consequences that inevitably follow such a decision.
Constant Target: Because of his near legendary effect upon the Baratheon soldiers and the aura of his very presence upon the battlefield Baelor has become a target while serving in engagements. He has been struck by arrows, bolts, and attacked by multiple foes nearly everytime he takes the field. His resilient nature and the love of his troops who willingly sacrifice themselves to keep him fighting are the only things that have kept him alive up until now, a fact he ignores at his own peril.
Faith: Baelor has more than once found himself at odds with another since coming to Dragonstone over this new Red God. His faith in the Seven is unshakable, having been named for Baelor himself. For the most part he has been left alone by all but the most faithful, though it is one of the few topics he bites his tongue on. He understands that in matters of Faith seemingly intelligent men can become ravenous fools, and he has no desire to fall from the graces of Stannis or find himself fed to one of the many fires.
History: Born to humble beginnings on a small farm in Blackhaven to Lyle and Amelia Karatus, Baelor was a man that has risen far beyond his station. As the son of commoners, he had grown up with a hard life, but one his parents did their best to make him happy with. As a child he was always boisterous, finding himself in scuffles with other farm boys, chasing after young girls from the village and learning a love of ale at a young age. Followed almost constantly by his younger brother, Corwin, much to his dislike. It was a life that although far from the grandeur one would enjoy having been born into one of the privileged Major Houses, one he had been content with.
At the age of fourteen, compliments of a large frame and seemingly endless reserve of stamina, Baelor had begun work as a lumberer. Accompanying other men each morning before the dawn had broken and felling trees through the long hours of the day served to give him a powerful body, and the camaraderie of his fellow workmen instilled within him a deep sense of enjoyment when working alongside other men. One that would one day come to surface as a Captain upon the battlefield.
Baelor had long been aware of the madness that was whispered to grip his King, of the horrible things done behind closed doors, but like most peasants it was beyond his station to care. One King or another, things never changed much for the lower classes. As long as the fields produced wheat and the livestock was left to grow fat for slaughter seemed to the furthest reaches of his care. However, all that changed when his Lord Robert Baratheon began his rebellion. It was one that gripped the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, one that ran rampant from house to house as families chose where their loyalties stood. It was a rebellion for any man, all bodies willing to join the cause being welcome. It was here that Baelor saw his chance at something else, a life outside constant toiling, perhaps to make something of his own name. Dreams that he had thought foolish, though dreams he had been unable to shake once they had settled upon his heart. It was from these dreams that he decided to take his ax, and instead of following the other men into the trees, go to where Robert called all men of Storms End, all men loyal to House Baratheon.
It was in the grip of war that Baelor learned his passion in life, what he had been created to do. Men fell before his ax, soldiers begged for mercy from a peasant who under other circumstances would have been just as likely to kill him and his family to loot their home. It was an empowering feeling, it gave him a sense of being, of purpose. He no longer felt like one of the masses, merely living life to see another sunrise of work. With each battle his name grew among the soldiers, the name of a young man barely able to grow stubble upon his chin, but one who fought as if a demon had settled upon his soul.
Baelor had been there, at the Battle of the Trident, to see his Lord strike down the Dragon Prince himself. It had been moment imprinted upon his soul for all time. The pride that had swelled his chest that day had been unlike any other feeling before. Robert Baratheon had stood every inch the King he claimed to be in that moment, and Baelor had thanked the Gods themselves he'd marched out with him. It was in that battle that Robert himself would later come to learn of Baelor, the young farmer who had killed six knights with only his tree cutting ax. The man who had rushed the front lines wearing the garb of a peasant to meet armored foes, spurned on by loyalty, pride and nothing else.
Later, before the Iron Throne, Baelor had knelt to receive his reward for that day and his actions in the battles leading up to it. Robert had spoken Baelors' name, addressed him as the peasant he was, and on his knees, humbled before his King, Baelor had been both Knighted and named a Lord. To the eyes of others it had seemed a small thing, the land minuscule and poor, no soldiers being granted, but to the newly named Lord it had been the realization of dreams themselves. He had stood Lord Karatus, never to be a commoner again. It was that same day he was gifted the mighty ax, Mail-Breaker. The weapon proof that Robert had not only known him by name, but by deed. To cement the loyalty of the new Lord, a deed that had already easily been accomplished, Baelor was wed to Rosalyn Baratheon. A minor name in the family from an off-shoot of the family, but the marriage nevertheless forging his fate forever to House Baratheon.
Baelor had returned from King's Landing to Blackhaven upon the back of a beautiful war-horse, a gift granted because he was told no Lord should ever walk. He had returned to his ancestral home with his new Wife beside him carrying the title of Lord and the weapon to prove his service upon the battlefield. However, what should have been a joyous occasion was cut short with the knowledge that his father, Lyle, had passed away during the war. It had been of natural causes, his heart giving out while trying to force the draw horses through the field, but the pain of it had stung him deep. Burying his father had always stood as one of the most difficult days of Baelor's life, and upon it's completion he had taken his family to the new home he had been gifted, a minor keep not even boasting a proper wall, but still one that he could call his own. The Domain of House Karatus.
Baelor, with the help of his brother Corwin, had proven himself an able enough Lord. Never learning to read and never having a mind for numbers, Rosalyn had been of dire assistance, her help in those early years forming a bond that would lead to a strong love between the two of them. Corwin learned both numbers and letters from Rosalyn, coming to serve as what would amount to his Steward, handling the day to day affairs of the small village House Karatus presided over. Baelor himself often found himself in the court of young Renly Baratheon, serving as a Captain to his Army and drilling the men in combat. A love of war had been born within Baelor that he could not shake, and even in times of peace he contented himself with sparring and drilling the soldiers, always bettering himself and those placed under his care. It was through this devotion to House Baratheon and her Army that he rose to the rank of Captain, finding soldiers placed under his care to fight beside him in the Vanguard.
As the years wore on Baelor found himself blessed by the Gods with the birth of a son, Dashiel. It was in him that he truly saw the generosity of Robert's gift. Never would his son toil away in a field, never would he live the drab life of a commoner. Knowing his numbers and letters at a young age, he saw in him the future of his House, an odd thought but one that swelled his heart with pride. He had been given a legacy, he had a name to leave to his Son, a future cleaved into the histories that his Son could stand upon and build upon. With the birth of Emma he learned of true love upon sight, he learned of a gentle nature existing within himself beneath the battle-hardened warrior. It was from her he had learned he could be of all things a pushover, allowing her to populate his keep with all sorts of animals ranging from wounded ravens he'd ordered put down to more cats than he could learn the names of had he cared. In her he saw a boundless caring that could have only come from her Mother. In those years Baelor, the Baratheons' Bull, had learned what it meant to be content. To find something akin to harmony. However, nothing lasts.
As time has a way of doing, he found his friends falling away. One by one, and the hardest hit to his heart of all had been the knowledge of Robert Baratheon's death. Baelor had traveled with Rosalyn to King's Landing for the funeral, and it was there he had seen Joffrey Baratheon for the first time in years. It was in his eyes Baelor saw something he did not like, something that almost struck him as fear. It was a kind of cruelty he had seen in the eyes of soldiers during the Rebellion. However, out of loyalty to his Lord, he had bent the knee that day and sworn the same oath unto death he had sworn to Joffrey's father, despite the sour taste it had left upon his tongue.
As if to prove a fortune-teller of him, the ravens began to fly in to Karatus Keep bearing the news of first Eddard Stark's fate, a man he had never truly known but had felt a sense of kin-ship to through shared hardships upon the battlefield. Baelor had always known him as a just man, honorable to a fault, and the news of his death had been hard to swallow, hard to grasp. Eddard Stark a traitor? The thought had seemed completely insane to him, but that had been the story. Soon after the Young Wolf had begun his march South and all hell had broken loose upon the Seven Kingdoms.
Within Renly's court he had learned more and more of Joffrey's madness, of his limitless cruelty. It had been a difficult thing to hear, but he knew it to be true. War was coming, and he had no choice but to answer her call. However, that problem, looking back upon it, had seemed like nothing compared to the turmoil within his heart when both Renly and Stannis had declared for King.
The Raven arriving at his Keep had spoken of vile things in regards to the Lannisters, knowledge that Joffrey was a monster born of incest. To this day Baelor doesn't know if he truly believed it at the time, but it had been a way out of serving him and it was an opportunity he'd jumped up. Leaving Rosalyn and Corwin to attend to the matters of his House, Baelor had gone with his scant men he'd trained over the years, numbering no more than twenty, and taken them to Renly's court. It was there he would come to understand the true scale of this war. The sheer size of Renly's host had been breath-taking. However, the awe was quickly stripped away as knowledge came to him that the first fight was not to be against Lannisters or Starks, but instead to meet Stannis in the field.
The night before the battle was to be fought had been one of inner-turmoil for Baelor. How was he to honor his debt to House Baratheon? He was making war upon Stannis! The idea of it was almost too much to grasp, but remembering his oath to Renly he had been prepared to march in the Van the next morning, to kill troops loyal to the same House as he over an argument between brothers. To his horror and happiness he was spared the decision with the news that Renly had been killed in the night. Some had whispered that Stannis had done the deed, though Baelor could and would never believe such nonsense. He had known Stannis, if only through reputation, and the man was honorable to a fault. The idea that he would use an assassin in the night as insanity. However, it had brought him over to the cause of the one true remaining Baratheon, and with it the War had finally become simple. Fighting beside Baratheon troops, killing the enemies of his Liege-lord was a deed he had been created to carry out.
The Battle of Blackwater Bay had been one of monstrous proportions. The use of wildfire had been something he'd never seen upon the battlefield, and it was a memory he'd never forget in all his years. The screams of men burning alive, the stench of cooking flesh hanging upon the wind; all of it had painted the picture of a war being waged in the Hells below. However, as he had landed upon the beach all such things had been forgotten in place of his bloodlust. At the front of the troops, Baelor had fought beneath the walls before the Mud Gate. He had watched as The Hound hacked apart good men Baelor had known for years, an it still leaves a bitter note in his heart that he hadn't been able to reach the man before he'd fallen to the safety behind the gate. Fierce fighting had continued, Baelor's booming voice urging the soldiers on as men fell beneath his ax. It is only with difficulty he recalls how quickly things had changed. The sight of Renly's ghost upon the battlefield, marching beside Lannister troops of all things! The sound of the horns singing the retreat.
It had been a total defeat, one torn from the jaws of victory.
Falling back to Dragonstone with his Lord, Baelor began to drill what remained of the Baratheon host. He would not slip away in the night like so many other cowards serving Stannis had done. He had pledged himself to the True King, and it was a pledge he would see through or would go to death carrying upon his shoulders. Such was his loyalty to House Baratheon.
RP Sample: How had things come to this? How had times fallen so low, when only weeks before victory itself had seemed so certain? The thought of his King sitting the Iron Throne had been one he had almost seen come to truth. He had nearly been there to see a second Baratheon ascend the Iron Throne, and what was there now? Destruction, death, morale flagging to the near point of desertion. Looking upon the troops drilling in the yard, rain falling down upon them, Baelor felt his hands ball tightly into fists as anger gripped his heart. This wasn't how things had been meant to go, but the Gods in their infinite fickleness had seen fit to rob them all of what had seemed such a certainty. Feeling a deep growl rumble from his chest, Baelor adjusted the mighty bear pelt that hung upon his shoulders, shielding himself as best he could from the rain that ran so freely down his face.
As he often did when his mood turned upon a sour note such as now, Baelor found his thoughts drifting to thoughts back home. Was Rosalyn singing, smiling her beautiful smile as Emma regaled her with the latest news of her many, many pets? No, it couldn't be, she was nearly a woman grown despite the memories of a black-haired girl running barefoot with a kitten in her arms. A small smile played upon his lips at the memory of her as she had been, the way she would shout out, 'Father!', over joyed to show him her latest addition to their ever growing population of animals within the keep.
Or what of Dashiel? He was of an age to nearly be complete as a squire? Was he ready to take the holy vows and become a Knight? Was he ready to take the oath of loyalty unto death to House Baratheon as Baelor himself had in what seemed a lifetime ago? Pride swelled within him at the thought of his only son. The boy was everything he had never been; refined, calm, sharp as a valyrian dagger. He would make a great Lord one day, one that could take House Karatus beyond even what Baelor had dreamed. Yes, he would be a great Lord one day, calm and intelligent like his Mother, fierce and just like his Father. He truly was the future of his bloodline, and he could think of no one better to carry the burden.
Tearing his mind free of such daydreams, Baelor turned his attention back to the men below drilling in swordplay. Their efforts where half-hearted at best, but he couldn't find it within himself to bark at them for it. What more could he expect at the moment? Those below had watched as many of their friends, brothers even, had burned alive upon the Blackwater. Their was a time for pride and unchecked arrogance, and now was not it. Descending the stone steps to the yard, Baelor unclasped the heavy bear-pelt and handed it off to a squire, striding out to the practice yard among the drilling men. As he looked upon them each, he saw a small light of defiant fire ignite in their eyes as the Bull looked upon them. They weren't beaten, not yet. Wounded maybe, but was a wounded animal not the most dangerous?
"Is this the sword work that brought us what we deserved beneath the walls of King's Landing?!" Baelor's voice boomed out, seeming to be what shook the fortress and not the thunder splitting the sky above. "If so it's easy to see why we where thrown aside like last night's whore!" A small smile graced his lips as the words fell from his throat, letting his men know he wasn't truly upset with them. Spurts of laughter greeted his words, soldiers trying to look strong before a man they saw as their very rock. Reaching out he took a sword from the practice rack, and offering a few practice swings, began sparring with the men. It was an exercise he had learned long ago boosted morale. Not only having a Commander training alongside them, but it was common knowledge with a sword he was no Jamie Lannister, and the prospect of besting the Bull was enough to pull many of them from their slump, if only for the moment.
The sound of metal striking metal soon began to fill the practice yard again, Baelor's voice shouting out insults to make even the most crass pirate blush. Spirits slowly began to rise as first one than another bested him with the sword, laughter falling freely from their lips. Tonight it wasn't important for them to see him as a force to be reckoned with, but as a man who shared in their defeat, as a shoulder to carry the weight for them so that they might find comfort for the night.
As first one hour passed than another, Baelor finally called to a halt of the sparring. They where all thoroughly soaked, the rain having never let up. " Be gone the lot of you! Find what ale you can in this pile of rocks, and maybe if the Gods truly smile upon you, you'll find a maiden willing to share her bed with you. Though I can't imagine such a pathetic and desperate creature in all my dreams!" Rough laughter followed his words as they pulled off training armor and replaced swords upon the rack to retreat within to the warmth and limited comforts of Dragonstone. To some it would seem madness, speaking of 'Gods' where so many pledged loyalty to the one Red God, but Baelor had the heart of the common soldier and none questioned him upon his beliefs. When all had left the yard, Baelor found himself standing alone, sword still clenched in his hand.
They weren't beaten. Not yet.
++OOC Info++
Player: Nero
Other characters played: None
Any plans in mind for the character? I' open to just about anything, though I would like him to become close to all members of House Baratheon.
Do you agree to the rules: Of course.
Who invited you to the site? I found the link affiliated to another site.
