Viviana
Eternal
The Hammer
Warrior
NAME: Calder Icehammer
FACTION: N/A
RANK: Knight
SPECIES: Beorni
AGE: 186
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 10'
WEIGHT: 554 lbs.
EYES: Blue
HAIR: White
SKIN: Pinkish White
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
As a Beorni Calder holds immeasurable strength that can dwarf a Wookie.
Talk first, act only if necessary. It's a good way to make friends.
Just like his ancestors, Calder has learned how to shape ice around him, and even infuse it with the blessings of the Spirits.
He's bulky and slow.
It's very difficult for him to enter most rooms and homes outside of his island. Most places aren't meant to accommodate a ten foot bear.
While his fur is resistant to the cold, it's very flammable.
When compared to him, everything is small.
Standing at just ten feet tall the gentle giant dwarfs all but his own species, and some of the much larger beasts of the galaxy. Just like all Beorni Calder very much looks like a bear walking on his hind legs with thumbs, and it wouldn't be far off from the truth. Just like many of his species his fur is a sheen of white, perhaps more than the average.
Unlike most of his species however Calder wears metal and hide armor. His species is a peaceful one, having outgrown the need for weaponry and armor, but recent events during the Netherworld crisis caused this once peaceful fisherman to learn the secrets of his ancient people and craft their armor for himself.
He carries with him two sets. One of leather, and one of metal. The leather tends to be his formal wear these days, while the metal is donned only for battle, or if the threat of such an event is clear. While peaceful and still trusting of the good nature of others, he no longer can afford to be caught off guard.
My life began as many Beorni's had. I was born into the loving arms of my father and mother, and I only knew love and kindness until the much more recent years of my life. They said my first words were 'love you mummy and daddy.' Adorable right? I always thought so when I heard it. They taught me how to talk, eat, everything a parent would do. They also taught me to fish.
Fishing is my life. From the first day I lifted up that pole I knew the spirits had blessed me. I caught my first fish after just one cash, and the fish was as large as I was at the time. From then on every day I went out fishing, and I always caught at least one a day. It was easy for my parents to understand. The spirits guided me. From an early age I could hear them, though I did not know it.
I was shown to the elders, and they confirmed it. Soon, I was taught how to feel the intentions of those around me, good or bad. They opened my eyes to the spirits, and every day since then I walked with them at my back, by my side, in my heart. For the next decades, as my parents grew older and I did too I never felt alone.
But, sorrow finds it's way into any heart. My parents, the rock of my life, those who showed me how to be who I was, died. Together, perhaps a blessing, they passed in their sleep, in each others arms. They were buried together, just out behind my home. For the first time in my hundred years of living, I was alone.
I had been content fishing alone. Content going home to help my parents cook our dinners and commune with the spirits for most of the day. Meditation, to hear the spirits of the wild and of the earth and ice. But now, I was truly and completely alone. For months I stayed in solitude, hoping to hear their voices through the spirits call. I never did.
It was after those months I finally left my home and went to the village, I place I never had a reason to go to. Many there knew who I was, yet I knew none of them. My parents seemed to have told tales of my exploits with fishing when ever they left for town. Soon enough, a crowd of young ones surrounded me and asked me to show them how good of a fisher I was.
And so I did. I pulled in a massive fish, one that was larger than even I, and watched the children's eyes fill with wonder. Was this what I was missing in my lonely life style? Crowds of people gathered around as I dragged the fish to the center of town, and without warning they all began to cheer. Why, I still don't understand. Perhaps because of the feast my prize had a center tray at. Most likely.
The food was wondrous, and it marked a weekly event that my people and I would partake in. The children learned from me how to fish as I did, listening to the spirits of the water and that of the fish, and soon even they were catching fish bigger than themselves. But, the good times did not last, as they never seemed to.
It was during one of the feasts something had gone wrong with the spirits. Their calls warped and twisted, alarming all of the Beorni. But what came next no one was prepared for. People disappeared. One moment they were there, enjoying their meals, and the next, they were gone. Just, poof. I soon learned where they had gone, for I too disappeared.
I awoke in what I can only describe as hell. The spirits were silent, as if they were gone. Wide eyed and panicked I looked around, trying to find the others. I found them, most of them, in an instant. Beasts, monsters. I know not what they were, but they were there. They were killing my people. Tearing them to pieces, and worst of all, eating them.
There were no weapons that could defend us properly. But many of us were not going to simply lay down and die. We were a peaceful people, but when pressed into a corner we were more than capable of defending ourselves. Scraps of metal, rock, even bone. We wielded what we could, and struck back. The young were gathered into a group, and the older stood on the outskirts, defending them to our lasts breath.
I don't know how many died in the days to follow. The beasts never stopped in this hellish place, but we soon found allies. Beings I did not know existed came, speaking to us in a tongue we knew as common. They wielded guns that shot fire, and blades made of the same, and they helped my people.
Finally, after days of unrest, we all had a moment to catch our breath, and mourn the loss of so many. Proper weapons of metal were made, each of us arming ourselves. I had chosen to craft a hammer, something that has stuck with me since. With these strangers we fought and survived. But, there was no hope of escape. One of the wielders of the plasma swords called this place the Netherworld, where the dead go when they die.
It was Hell.
Even Hell, however, did not last forever. After weeks of being stuck trying to survive beasts of nightmare and scrounging for food with our new allies, we were returned home. The living, the dead. We all went right back where we had come from. One moment, I hefted my hammer to strike at a beast, and the next I was returned to the village center, where we had celebrated with feasts of fish.
My hammer struck one of the tables, shattering both the head of the weapon and the wooden table. In disbelief I stared down at the broken wood, felt the cold against my fur, and heard the spirits once again. My eyes searched around, seeing the others who I had fought beside back. And the freshly fallen sprawled out on the white snow.
There was no feast this day despite our return, for only a handful came back when compared to the amount lost. So many dead and only a few to truly bury. We buried our dead, we shed our tears, but we did not succumb to this depression. Instead, we lifted our heads high, praised those who returned and those who died protecting the young who could not protect themselves.
It was then that I chose to no longer reside on this island. The allies I had met in that Hell were out there, somewhere in the galaxy. They told tales of worlds unheard of, and I was determined to find them. To the tomb of our ancestors I went, and there I learned. For years I stayed in seclusion after the hell I had gone through, and learned how to shape the ice of our world, and craft the arms and armor of a long past age.
I emerged from the tomb clad in a suit of metal armor even the elders had not seen outside of books. In my hand, the haft of the hammer I had made in hell, the head a crystal I had found in the tombs. It seemed to freeze the air around it, and in a way it did. The spirits had blessed the weapon, making it almost indestructible.
When they saw me, armed and armored, they gave me my name. Calder Icehammer, the warrior.
With their blessings I set out from our island that we had called home, to find the allies I had met, and learn of a galaxy I had not known existed.
Special thanks to [member="Tirdarius"] for the images!
Profile template credit: [member="Malok"] [member="Ra Vizsla"]
