"If not me, then who?"
â«â«â« Built to Last | Redlight King â«â«â«
â«â«â« Vox Populi | Thirty Seconds to Mars â«â«â«
Name: Artorias Pendragon
Pronunciation: art-TORR-re-us penn-DRAG-on
Age: 31
Race: Human
Height:6'2"
Build: Militant and rigid. Broad is the simple term to use, a wall of muscle and strength if you want to get fancy. Basically, Artorias paints the very picture of a "Hero-King"
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Just watching Artorias move and you can see that he is something more than just a mere man. His stature, his build, even the way he walks just screams that this man was born and breed in the military. His spine is made of stronger stuff than iron, and steel will bend before he does. He walks with a straight gait with no hitch and an intensity rarely seen in mortal men. He's taller than your average man, though not ridiculously so, even if it seems that he towers over you. He's imposing, is the better way to describe it. Broad muscles shoulders supports a great weight, but he carries it dutifully and proudly. A wide body houses bands and bands of rippling muscle. He is built for power though, and not looks. Do not expect chiseled abs under his military dress, but there is little fat there as well. His arms are large and branch like, in keeping with the "Hero-King" persona. Strong arms to lift up his people and guide them into a new age. A nice bit of metaphor, but the point still stands. He could wrestle a bear into submission if he had to.
High cheekbones and a strong nose grace his granite face. His nose has a bit of a crook to it, and the bridge is bunched up due to the sheer number of times he's had it broken. A pair of thin, colorless lips construct his mouth. He has a lantern jaw hiding beneath a chinstrap beard. His eyes are actually a light blue and not the void-black many seem to think. This is usually because of the shadows that always seem to fall upon his iris due to their deep set. Get enough sun in them though and they will sparkle just like they did in his youth. His hair and beard is a wild blonde color, and if left unoiled is completely uncontrollable. Due to his station as King though, he'd been in the habit of oiling it more often, though now it's begun to return to it's natural shape. He's also grown a chin-strap beard. Despite the wildness of his hair, he somehow makes it seem... Neat, like something a King or a soldier could wear. Or perhaps no one had the gall to tell him otherwise.
He's very clearly military, and that discipline seeps into his dress as well. He wears military style dress, just a clean and pristine as it was in the military. A thick blue overcoat with steel shoulder pads sits on his shoulders. An aquamarine jerkin resides under the coat, with chain mail under that. A golden belt buckle keeps his dark tan breeches in place. A red scarf sits around his throat to complete the assemble, which doubles in keeping sand out of his nose and mouth. Golden buttons adorn his coat and a leather sling crosses his chest which holds both his sword and his rifle on his back.
His complexion is of a tanned leathery consistency, marking him as a sand rat who once scurried underneath the hostile suns of Albion. Those suns hardened him into the man he is now. Sunspots and wrinkles line his skin, though there is one artifical marking. On his arm, coiling around his bicep is a snake-- a viper to be exact, ready to strike at a moments notice. Underneath the coil is a banner with the words "7th Viper Regiment" printed under it. Under that lies their slogan "Strike fast, strike first, strike last."
However, this makes him see a gray world in black and white. He sees right and wrong where the lines between them are muddied. When presented with a gray choice, he chooses what he believes is right, and leaves the regret at the door. He owns everything his does, his victories, his accomplishments, his failures, and his mistakes. He holds himself against a strict and rigid standard of conduct. He expects the same out of everyone around him, though he is not so foolish as to believe everyone will match his immaculate standards. At the very least, he expects others to try and do good. He expects others to own up to their mistakes as he does, at the very least. An honest thief will win his respect far faster than a lying hero.
Even draconian as he is, he's not a cold man. In fact, he's warm and open to those who manage to win his respect and earn the right to call him friend. There is a fine line between a King and a Tyrant. He's a fair man. The punishment always fits the crime, but the praise too fits the accomplishment. He knows the worth of comradiere, and knows the power of bonds. It's something he learned in his days of military. You either trust the man next to you with your life, or you both die. Humor can come to the man when the time calls for it, but he does not outright joke. A wisp of a smile can find it's way to his lips and the odd quip can escape them if the time is ripe. However, like everything else, these emotions are on a tight leash. More often than not, a stern countenance is laid upon his face, ready and willing to bare whatever is thrown his way.
Now the fun bits. Anger is a foreign concept to Artorias, never expressing much more than severe disappointment if the slight is egregeous enough. The corner of his mouth will slip down and honey eyebrows dip into his eyes and he glares through sky blue oculars. He commands any room he walks into and he knows it. He milks it for all it's worth and to get his point and policies across. If he doesn't command the room, he backs off and tries a more civil route. If civility is then thrown out the window-- well, he was and always will be a soldier. He walks with a strong gait, and his spine never bends nor does it waver. He has a soft side when the occasion arises. He's fond of honest working men and women, and loves kids as well. He is also lover of animals of all kinds and sizes.
Quirks: That singular drive and intensity often times makes him forget that he is, in fact, human, and will forget to eat and sleep until he's nothing more than a walking zombie. He is also a perfection and has a relentless need to organize and tidy things up. It's why all of his suits are immaculately prim and proper. He expects nothing but perfection in everything he does, and will display only disappointment if it does not play out that way. Others are exempt from this rule, but he does expect that those that would call themselves his allies try to always put their best effort forward.
Fears: What does Artorias Pendragon fear? If you would ask him, he would reply with a resounding nothing. A king cannot fear anything, he has to have the strength to overcome fear and protect his people. A soldier does not have the luxury of fear. Artorias the King fears nothing. Artorias the Soldier fears nothing. But Artorias the man fears many things. He's afraid of losing everything he worked for. He's afraid of losing his people to the the corruption he fights. He's afraid of being in a crowd and being alone.
Role: Soldier
Weapons of Choice: Once upon a time, before hero, before king, Artorias was a Viper. An elite soldier in the late King's service. As such, he's able to use almost any form of weapon, including his own hands. Though he prefers a thick two-handed broadsword and a clockwork rifle. He also keeps a dagger in his boot and a two count of flintlocks in his coat. The man is prepared for anything and everything.
Armor/Apparel: He's equipped rather light, seeing how armor would broil him alive in Albion's heat. A thick quilted overcoat, a thin collared shirt, and a series of leather plates that would deflect a knife wound but not much else.
Fighting Style: Quell the threat, and quell it completely. Fighting is a last resort, but if pressed he will make sure the offending party doesn't have the strength to get up and fight again. Though he's equipped for a stand and deliver approach, several areas of training has forced him to realize the importance of flexibility. His style changes depending on his environment. When all you have is a hammer though, he plinks from afar with his rifle and swings his two-handed broadsword with a controlled fury.
Place of Birth: Sand Ocean
Social Status: Soldier and King. What have you done lately?
Personal History:
The man who would be lead a rebellion and usurp the throne for himself wasn't born with any grand aspirations. In fact, Artorias was born without a home in the ordinary sense. His home was the rolling dunes of the sand sea. Before the mantle of King was drawn over his shoulders, Artorias was a simple sandrat. His people were nomadic in nature, so home never really had the same definition for him as it did others. Home was wherever his people were. The circumstances of his birth were... Unfortunate, but his mother loved him despite it all. His tribe accepted him for what he was, but it didn't mean that it sat well on his broad shoulders. He felt the need to prove himself, to prove that he wasn't a mistake. He was eager to serve his people, to be a part of the whole.
He found enjoyment in working hand-in-hand with the others of his tribe. Even from such a young age, it was clear that Artorias was going to grow into a solidly built man. Even as a child he had a serious nature about him, and an intensity rare in children his age. The suns and sands quickly chiseled at the man, carving broad shoulders on a sturdy frame, both of which he used to carry his tribe's lot across the expanses of the Sand Sea.
The boy aged into a teenager and proved himself to be a fearsome warrior. Calm and cool in even the most harrowing of situations, Artorias had a knack for the art of warfare. More than once he'd be part of a group who fended off raiders and pirates withou a loss. The handle of a pistol and the hilt of a sword fit well in his hands, and he took to the instruments like a musician. He was a soldier and a warrior, through and through. The tribe was his top concern, always and completely, with the fate of his enemies the last. Anyone who dared threaten him or his tribe often found themselves at the mercy of his blade.
The teenager son became a man, with all the changes that entailed. A man who once was a sandrat soon found himself bereft of tribe and family, so he feld north alone. He had spent a time wandering the northern cities throwing himself at odd jobs to keep food in his mouth. It wasn't until he threw himself into the King's Army that he found stable work. While it was far more organized that he was used to, he adapted quickly and became a decorated soldier. It didn't matter who or what the enemy was, Artorias and his soldiers always prevailed.
Throughout his time in the army, he cultivated contacts and the wisdom that would one day see him through to throne. He began to see how the upper levels of the military was rife with corruption. He could only watch as the Kingdom accepted kickbacks from the Deluge underworld. After being privy to one too many bribes, and sitting by and watching all the work he did go up in smoke. He started the Rebellion, and at the end he sat upon the throne. And thus, he began his greatest task to date. Clean out the criminal element from Albion.