Kingmaker Arndor Background

Concept sketch for Arndor [Background: Rostlander]

Family History
– Our family was influential in Rostland prior to the conquering.
– Descent had long passed through the female line; family legend had it that our foremother Hildirid was Iomedae’s older sister.
– When the barbarian conquerer Choral defeated the forces of Rostland, the Earl and Marchioness of Skaklis burned under the assault of his dragon allies, along with most of our family’s troops and retainers
– In the aftermath of that terrible defeat, the family’s heir was Gunnolf (a young man). He went into the woods for refuge, found a wood wife, and returned with a half-fey daughter
– Generations later, our family is still not large or wealthy; the best part of the land was seized and distributed among the barbarian’s followers, leaving us a hardscrabble remnant of our former estate

In My Day
– Arndor is the third child; his older sisters are Sigrun (the heir) and Katla (her spare).
– Our mother Estrith, married a local landowner, Ingebrit. She is the Marchioness of Skalkis… or at least what remains of it
– The powers of our foremother (the fey) spark in Arndor; the old woods magic has awakened
– The family was raised with tales of our ancient glories, careful stewardship, and ties to the land.

Arndor
Arndor is young (17), raised with the obligations of the nobility, but unlikely to ever inherit or exercise power. As a child, Arndor had little patience for studies–his ramblings were indulged, with servant’s whispers that his grandmother’s sap flows through his veins. His sister Sigrun will inherit the obligations and responsibilities of rule; as third, there is little chance Arndor would have to put learning to use. For the last four years he’s grown increasingly impatient; too noble to apprentice to a craftsman, but not bookish enough to be useful in administration. The path of knowledge doesn’t seem to be his; he has no talent for book learning.

For the last three years, he’s been a landless country lord, dependent on family. He has begun to circulate on his own and develop his own friends, many also superfluous sons and displaced nobility. These friends call him focused; what’s in front of him is what he pays attention to. He’s cultivated a reputation for wanderlust, so he can wander the woods (out of sight of spies), and show up unexpectedly at the houses and estates of allies without comment. So far, he’s all talk–moody, impatient with the world, not willing to understand the realities of modern Brevoy.

As a noble without an inheritance, Arndor wants to make his mark on the world. He desperately wants to restore the seized lands of Skaklis to his mother’s domain. He is cautious, knowing that the barbarians would seize the scraps of land left to his family if they were found guilty of treason. It is hard to wait, though, given the strange disappearance of House Rogarvia and the relocation of rule to distant Port Ice. Truth be told, Arndor needs bold allies to help restore his family and prosper in the looming civil war. To be worthy of such allies, Arndor needs to develop his powers, his heritage, to be a valuable ally.

Arndor values directness and bold speaking, considering weasel talk Issia’s vice. He’s quite vulnerable to pleas of having fallen on hard times; while he’s never been wealthy enough for extensive charity, he tries to aid and support any who suffer under Brevoy or Issian oppression. He’s confident that if the yoke of oppression was removed, starvation and privation would be a thing of the past. Despite that… he was raised in Iomedae’s church, and believes the righteousness is the correct path. While he’d be tempted to use demonic or infernal allies, he wouldn’t–the blazing glory of Iomedae demands their destruction.

Dressing with casual elegance, antique silver buttons flashing down the center of his jerkin, Arndor knows that his family’s wealth is quite limited. He carries himself as best he can, but patched trousers and a torn but carefully mended cape of forest green with his family’s coat of arms are the glories he calls his own. Buckskin boots lace high for careful forest travels. He often hunts with Bjorn, the manor’s kennel master, hawking or running the hounds to bring back meat for the table.

Not at all fond of cold, Arndor is particularly unhappy with snow and slush. In decorating, he has an irrational dislike for pottery, especially porcelain and clay fired–probably due to one too many childhood mishaps. Conversely, while his fellow nobles don’t appreciate them, Arndor is a fan of shepherd’s pipes. He also has a taste for lemon–its mere scent can jolly him out of a funk. He also whittles habitually–he’s not particularly good, but it calms him. He’s not good at math, particularly formal math for exact answers, but he’s estimates quite quickly. While he’s not a fast or strong reader, he does know over 1000 years of his family history–as brute force memorization.