|Portrayed by||Mads Mikkelsen|
|Affiliation||The Grey Tower|
Average, that would be the first word that came to mind if you had the chance to consider the stature and characteristics of Alrim. He sported no scars, no ruddy or chapped skin, just a fair palette upon which the tapestry will eventually weave itself. If he were to stand still he might fade into the background without much difficulty. The only thing that may grip one's attention would be the multiple braids, rough and matted almost into dreadlocks from lack of care, the end if each possessed a tiny silver bell. What dark brown hair was not taken up in these constructions flows freely about his shoulders. His eyes might be considered piercing if he took the time to truly focus but more often than not they seem hazed, as if he were staring through things instead of at them. A beard, rough but styled away from his lips and cropped a finger's breadth in length complete his face, little of note to gaze upon.
Just over average height he is of slightly more muscled stock than most courtesy of the martial culture he hails from. Lithe in form he certainly has room for further development around his shoulders despite his age, a late bloomer if ever there were one. Delicate fingers, dexterous but seemingly flimsy, will one day grasp sword hilts with a strength beyond their appearance. He moves like one who has yet to fully realize his own grace, almost awkward at times and with shoulders hunched as if trying to stave off the world.
Simple clothes are his taste, dark browns and greens where possible and leather make up half of his wardrobe given his station in life. Two swords, one over each shoulder, are one of the other givens of his ancestry, however he rarely wears them outside of the training yards, few have asked him why.
Twenty nine years Alrim has walked the lands, for better or for worse. He would be the last to suggest that he had made much of a positive difference but then he spent little time thinking for much of his life. Swords, they defined him more than he defined himself. Arafel was famous, of course, for their dual-wielding warriors but he was far from a noble stalwart. Truth be told he had found that his luck had run out and had had few places to which he could turn for solace, or survival. The North left its mark on everyone but in Alrim's case it had made him honourable enough to see the darkness of his own actions but not strong enough to live up to the ideals of his childhood.
Honour, duty, steadfast grit – these were the virtues to aspire to according to Alrim's father. All were good things, even now he can see that. Still it is an oppressive regime to a youth with the desire to do nothing but play and perhaps compos a ribald song or two. Taverns were his haunt, words were his preferred weapons. Shame to his father and family were his destiny. He tried, he did, yet men are just that – men. A wrong crowd always fills the vacuum, wherever one might be. Alrim was too foolish to see it for what it was.
However, scoundrels exist in all corners and he had allowed himself to fall into those habits of lesser people, taking small things at first but growing bolder as time passed. With myriad problems across the land – The Blight, the movement of armies, gathering shadow and rumours of more dangerous events Alrim was more concerned with where the next coin might come from. It didn't matter from where. Eventually he was discovered, not by hunters or warriors, by his own family. That, perhaps, cut deepest.
Driven out he sought a place for both solace and possible redemption. The Grey Tower beckoned. White, Black – both were places for certainty. Grey appealed and rumour cam through, for once. One day he stepped across the threshold, dirty and filled with nothingness. Redemption seemed far off from where he was standing.
- Drin (7 February 2017)
- Ji'val (25 March 2017)
- Gaidin (30 June 2017)
- Gaidin Captain (17 November 2017)