Valero de Barachan
" The Islander "
Character Info
Name : Valero de Barachan
Alias : The Islander
Real Name : Unknown (only available through RP)
Race : Human - Of Zingaran heritage
Age : late 30's Sex : Male Orientation : Heterosexual
Alignment : Chaotic Neutral
Faction : Bloodsong Clan : The Empty Sheath - Clan Leader
Class : Stalker
Primary Order : Cloaked Daggers Secondary Order : Sacred Woodlands
Primary Profession : Forger Secondary Profession : Chef
Appearance : Tall, lithe and darkly tanned. A powerfully athletic frame with a myriad of scars across his body. Dark haired, bearing an almost feral appearance, normally sporting a beard of some sort. Signs of burns are barely visible beneath his tan…
Generally wears leathers varying in complexity, mostly of a Blue, Black or Green shade. Normally armed with an exquisite bow, daggers and one ’handed curved blades. His Quivers, Hooded Cowl and permanent scowl an unmistakable trait. Powerful in his movements.
Mannerisms & Quirks : Either quiet for extended periods and eccentric or a very engaging conversationalist when least expected. An avid reader across many topics. Philosophical and free thinking, often seen talking to himself. Often seen to appear aloof and coldly pragmatic. Appears truly content fishing or on the waters, he is a true lover of food, one of the few things that brings forth emotion from this normally sombre man.
Fighting Style : Survival. Despite being a blade master, his style is not dictated by honour or fame. He fights to win. A skilled Archer and brutal close combatant, he picks whatever method ensures another sunrise
Background
The young carefree islander has vague memories of happier times in his early youth. With next to no memories or knowledge of his parentage, other than that his mother was from the region of the old world formerly known as Hyperborea before being conquered by the Padrian Empire, it wasn’t long before this lad found himself working the decks and rigging of various ships captains, some more nefarious than others, though they all had one thing in common. At some point, they pushed the young Zingaran too far, once too many times. Finally of age and with a penchant for surviving whilst others …didn’t, he spent years living off his sword arm or in the deepest recesses of the nearest shadows, preying on those who never even realised that death stalked them. Blessed by the Mistress of Death since his earliest years, the now Master Assassin had lived many lives bearing numerous names, having discarded his own birth name long ago. A lone wolf, working for the highest bidder, the name Cazador (The Hunter) was barely whispered for fear of drawing Deaths gaze. Used as an instrument to carry out the will of others, he finally acknowledged what he had always known. The civilised world and Padria was sick… tainted…. ….doomed. Never satisfied and always longing for that freedom and joy he had once known, or so he believed, he simply disappeared from his known circles. Years later rumours surfaced a one fitting his description, although now carrying a different name, now a smith, and a gifted one at that, that lived deep within the wildlands on a remote coast. Before long the carrion of his past drew ever closer … seeking the one who had pleased Death so many times before. Valero, as he was now known, looked to the horizon... to the tales of a distant land… a new world….. far… far… away…Veldnar.
RP Hooks
Slave : Having once dorned the shackles and weight of servitude against his will, Valero abhors Slavery & Slavers. That said, he has little time, patience and no respect for anyone who simply gives into their fortune, resigning themselves to their 'fate'.
The Islander Code - The Empty Sheath : He has no tolerance for politics and is a savage defender of his clans' way of life. Freedom above all. Respect and strength, where everyone pulls their weight and contributes towards a better life in some form, are values he firmly holds onto. They live and breath for the clan, defending their ways, each other and the Natural Law by any means.
Bloodsong : He is a stalwart defender and long-time member of the bloodsong faction. He is utterly devoted to their way of life and will protect the Bloodsong at all costs, even against itself and its leaders if required.
The Heart of the Beast : As one of the oldest surviving of his kind within the Bloodsong ranks, he has seen and lived through much that has happened in Veldnar. He considers his pack and clan as closer than blood could ever be, and will defend and guide them till his dying breath.
His Past - The Mistress of Death : Very little is known of his past by any still living in Veldnar, bar his long-time friend Olof Siggurdson. Valero is very conscious of his past, his true name, history and reputation catching up with him and harshly affecting those around him.
Cloaked Daggers : Members of the Cloaked Daggers will know of the Islander, as one of their own.... and as one to avoid. He doesn't bother with petty crimes or foolish pursuits, with no obvious desire for material wealth or power. His past and what drives him is shrouded in mystery and he guards it's secrets at all costs. An enigma....
The Wildling Lass : He has a very close affinity with a particular wildling lass and is very protective of her for some reason. Details of their bond and history are not known by any bar one other.
Stories
- Dancing with memories .....
Gallery
Coming soon...
Music
Dancing with memories..
Bare feet dangled over the edge of the ledge, high up on the rocky outcrop above the Sheath village. Tanned, muscular legs swayed to and fro to some imaginary beat. His usual leathers drying and set in his cabin, now wearing lightly oiled half trousers and an open salt bleached shirt which loosely danced about his athletic frame. His hair let loose angrily fenced with the morning breeze. His blazing eyes roamed over the bustling village below, pausing to take in some interactions, before carrying on with their introspective inspection. His gaze lingered fondly on a familiar figure as she hovered sniff sniffing near Ger, who was cooking up his usual mountain of varied foods for those that could grab a fleeting spare moment to eat something. The villagers always managed to make time when Ger was cooking. He smiled briefly, before his attention was drawn back to the small, perfectly balanced black blade he was absentmindedly tossing up and down with his left scarred hand. A deadly remnant from his past, along with others like it. He had kept them packed away for so long. He didn't even remember when he had ended up taking one of them out of the old, worn wooden trunk again and carrying it with him. He stared into the dull black metal of the expertly crafted simple blade, almost entranced as it seemed to suck the sunlight into it. It, like its brothers, had normally only ever left its sheath for one reason, and which after having delivered its silent message, was discarded to never be sheathed again. Its purpose fulfilled. His smile slowly faded at the memories..........
Movement below interrupted his thoughts, his sharp gaze took in the ol seadog Sigg directing more crates that would soon be heading to the river market in Driftwood. He knew the clan seneschal was spreading coin around furiously, garnering support, gathering ears and eyes that were seeking for any word or sign of the elusive ship, The Ellena. It was only a matter of time. Time........ Despite the crisp coastal air, the bright beautiful view that greeted them every morning on the coast, dark storm clouds warred within his mind, his memories and thoughts. Building....... refusing to calm. An image of the wildling lass getting her hair braided in the depths of the mad scientists caverns. Her laughter intermingled with that of Sanuras'. A ghost from his recent past in the form of the young Ranger Flint's brother, Farodin appearing. The blood spilled, troubles and hardships shared across the width and breadth of Veldnar. For what....... the Alliance? His usual scowl darkened his visage once more.
A gull screeched and he blinked, ripped from his darkening thoughts. His eyes took in the clear waters of the vibrant bay before him, the scent of salt lingered in the air. He almost smiled.........almost. Claws latched onto thoughts and dragged them to the fore, of Batavia and the efforts of some to secure the then fledgling alliance. Of what had almost happened there to destroy it...... His fingers rubbed his neck, slowly tracing the deep white scar that had never fully healed. The efforts of the one called Kailee to ....to what. To draw them in! All the while...... a low growl escaped his throat. The bitch and her lover were back! His fingers subconsciously clenched around the dull black metalled blade. The recent happenings at the Wolfsong. Cold fingers in Bloodsong lands, and not peacefully....... They taunted, they threatened! All the while expecting others to adhere to the calling for an Alliance. Blood trickled down the side of his mouth, he glanced down and noticed more blood seeping between his fingers. he buried the black dagger to the hilt in the hard ground of the rocky ledge and roared. His scream scattered the gulls and beasts nearby. Startled glances were drawn to the high ledges. He pulled back from the ledge and rose to fix his gaze, not out over the bay and open waters, but inland.... out over the jungle towards the rest of Veldnar...and the North.......
Dropping coin on more than just rebuilding ..
The morning sun neared its zenith as the back breaking work was finally finished by the sun-kissed villagers. None to soon either, as dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon, angrily amassing as they prepared to unleash their deluge upon the Eastern region of Veldnar. Fresh water was passed around, some opting to open wineskins filled with rum and other grog brewed in the nearby village of the Empty Sheath. Weary but proud faces looked upon each other and smiled. None so more than the old seadog and clan Seneschal, affectionately known as ol Sigg. He took a swig of wine from his own skin, savoring the unique taste.
Heads shook in disbelief as they noticed the form of the Islander, clad in his usual green and white leathers, cowl pulled low, already jogging across the white sands in the distance, a heavy pack strapped to his back, in the direction of Raiders Refuge and the mage portal that would take him to the growing riverside port of Driftwood.
“By the old ways, that man makes me feel like I’ve done nothing, and I feel near broke in two,” a grizzled clan veteran moaned, no malice in his voice, but his exhaustion clearly evident and felt by all nearby as well. “I swear I saw him wrestle those last blocks of cut stone into place on his own, never mind the fact he was at it since early yesterday before we got started and near worked through the night. “ the younger Cinzano, a skilled carpenter and fisherman and a clan favorite amongst them, groaned, “ and I want nothing more than to make love to my bedroll, nah uh…… he calmly hoists a double pack of wares for the traders, and sets off like he’s just up all fresh and ready. Hell the feisty wildling lass as well and that other good looking one that recently settled in with us, what’s her name ..Sunara yeah?” Another burly islander grinned and nodded, getting in on the banter, “ Yeah I never thought I’d see the day young Cinzano ere would come across someone who can turn wood better ‘an he can. Still get a good laugh every time she growls at him when he gets in ‘er way while he’s watching her at work. She’s bettered the woodwork on something on near all the village buildings if I ain’t wrong.” Cinzano nodded along with the others, “ That Sunara now, I thought she was all soft and all, ‘er being one of them casters, “ casting a glance at ol Sigg, “ no offense an all Sigg, but she’s harder than granite. She spent almost three days at that anvil of ‘ers, and the things she makes lads. I aint ever seen the likes before.”
Ol Sigg chuckled as the banter swayed to and fro, never divulging into anger, but filled with admiration and pride. “Ye lads be right about that, they be doing mighty fine work, but so to be ye’s.” Glancing across at the mighty stoneworks that framed the outposts and large drawbridges that spanned the waters approaching the village, their gaze one and all following his, “ that be mighty fine work indeed islanders, and it wouldn’t have built itself now. With all that’s been happening, that ..” as he pointed dramatically to the green hued bastions, “ be the next steps in rebuilding the Clan and the Sheath to its former strength and more. We don’t know what’s coming our way now in the times ahead, but we had better be ready for it……. and we’ve more to do. But judging by all ye, and the effort everyone is putting in, we will be!” his voice filled with conviction and strength, had everyone gathered picking themselves up from the sand, cheering and slapping each other on the backs.
He smiled as they all made their way back to the village, pausing to glance back the ways, his eyes going to the heavens and drifting across the waters of the bay, before he whispered to himself. “We’d better be.”
The rather eccentric islander trader Ladron smiled and waved at the sailor as he headed off down the docks in Driftwood, cradling a bowl of the delicious delicacy that enticed the stomachs of all he passed. He turned back to their stand, scowling at the newly arrived salesperson that was encroaching on their stand shooing them followed by a string of expletives to move over a little, then giving the no-nonsense yet alluring Silk, another islander trader a wink and slight nod. Silk stepped to the fore, chatting to all nearby, grabbing the attention of all who gazed longingly upon her. Lardon quietly slipped behind the stand into the palm covered alley, peering left and right. The familiar hooded form of the Islander, leaning back against the rear of the flower shop stirred, his cowl tilting in the direction of Ladron. “Well?” the trader was gruffly greeted with, but he knew the clan leader well enough and long enough to think nothing of it.
“Ah Senor el Capi tein, “ he replied with a flourish, although in a quiet voice, “the new wares draw many to the stand and business is good si so it is. It has taken awhile to settle in with the other merchants, but the food, si it has helped senor. That ..and Silk has a way with the more stubborn or lecherous ones,” his lilting accent disguising the sharp mind and ever observant nature of the trader. “We have heard nothing of yet about the slaver ship Ellena, Senor Valero, but it is early days yet. Word is spreading that we are willing and able to trade in ‘just about anything’. If they are about, ship or crew, we will hear of it eventually si si. Silk has also indicated, there has been nothing of note or suspicious passed along the docks about the Padrians, but that task will be more difficult to uncover them, especially if they have been here for some time. However sooner or later, every spy slips up Senor and we will be waiting.” The hooded Islander half growled, his scowl deepening, “Fair enough Ladron, use coin if ye have to, to help things along.” he said gruffly. He stepped from the shadows, glancing around. “Just don’t get yerself killed old friend. This land has taken too many already that have fought for her.”
Smiling broadly, slipping back into his extravagant persona, the islander ‘trader’ held his arms out wide in mock indignation, “ But Senor, surely you know. Every a one loves Ladron de Esposas….especially the fat merchants’ wives noh.” A gloved hand raised in greeting was his only reply as the Islander quietly slipped away into the midst of the bustling Driftwood. Ladron readjusted his outfit, checked his nails, and with a spring in his step and whistling a popular shanty, ambled back onto the merchant docks……
