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Charakter ProfilAlden Merrick
Ist zur Zeit online Beschreibung des CharaktersKeine deutsche Fassung vorhanden  ne look at Alden told you he was no lordling. His features were hewn from coarser stock—a strong jaw, plain brown eyes, and short, dark hair that never quite lay flat. Though pleasant enough to look upon, his face was defined by the pale slash of a scar across his right cheek. Sun and sea-salt had weathered his complexion to that of a seasoned deckhand, hiding the last vestiges of a youth's rosy flush beneath a perpetual stubble. He had the broad-shouldered build of a man who could haul a mast, yet his gaze held a sharp, attentive quality that missed little. This contrast was Alden in his entirety: the raw strength of an ox paired with a smile so disarming it suggested no danger at all, only a young man eager to make his mark on the world, gods willing.
Geschichte des CharaktersKeine deutsche Fassung vorhanden  lden was born to the soil, on a nameless farmstead tucked away in some forgotten hamlet. Ask him the name of the realm, and he'd offer naught but a shrug; all that mattered was that the liege-lord was distant, content so long as his tithes of grain were met and his levies filled when the banners were called. His youth was one of simple toil. A wasting sickness claimed his mother when he was but a boy, and a brother he barely knew was swallowed by a war that left his father maimed, though still breathing. Yet, for all its sorrows, it was a peaceful life. The land was fat, the winters oft-forgiving, and no orc-band or reaver's torch had ever troubled their door. Upon reaching manhood, the truth of his station settled upon him like a shroud: he was a son of the soil, and should he stay, he would die a son of the soil. His lord offered two paths—take up the spear, as his family had before, or take a berth upon the merchant ships. Seeing no glory in dying facedown in the mud for a lord he'd never met, Alden chose the sea. For a few seasons, the salt spray was his companion. He saw strange harbors in stranger lands, but the sea is a fickle mistress. A tempest of singular fury met his vessel in Syrita Bay. A helmsman's folly, a cracked mast, and the ship was dashed to splinters against the cliffs of the Northern Islands. Fate saw him cast ashore upon the docks of Galmair Harbor, a man with naught but the wet clothes on his back. Like the forgotten farmstead of his youth, he never looked back. He is a man practically without history, ready to forge a new destiny with his own two hands.
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