Harkon, The Chosen Son
Race: Aasimar (Sossrim)
Age: 34
Height: Slightly over 1,90 m
Weight: Ca. 86 Kg
Eyes: Bright white
Hair: Silver
Facial Hair Style: Shaven, almost clean.
Personality Profile: An orphan with very evident signs of celestial heritage, Harkon has never been able to truly "fit in", exception being the Church of Torm, as the clergy considered him a godsend. Loved by his friends and hated by his enemies, his uncompromising fight against evil in all forms, zeal and devotion get, at times, in the way of his diplomacy, which remains very high. Loyal and dutiful, he also created bonds of alliance and friendship with extraplanar creatures of various kind, especially his angel kin. Usually calm and collected in demeanor, yet blessed with the battle fury of his patron, he can be as caring and compassionate in peace as he is a fearless, implacable foe in war.
General Health: Excellent
Deity: Torm
Initial Alignment: Lawful Good
Profession: Guardian of the faith, protector of the weak, servant of the people.
Habits/Hobbies: Reading (especially planar lore), strategy and tactics, Lanceboard
Languages: Common, Celestial, Rashemi, Elven among others
Weapon of Choice: Morningstar, Mace, Greatsword
Background
Raised by local lumberjacks a short ride away of Winterkeep (Naupau), he has never known his real parents, nor the exact circumstances in which they found him. His adoptive parents called him Harkon, which means both "The Chosen Son" and "Good Omen" in their language, and treated him like a wonderful, divine gift. Farming, hunting and gathering in the asperities of the Glacier was hard work for the young Aasimar, but it was his duty, and he performed it with passion and dedication. His natural resistance to the elements and supernatural abilities made him invaluable in the coldest months of the year, when prolonged exposure to the weather could mean death even for the hardest men. And then, one day, right before his fifteenth birthday, the Walking Dead came. It was one of winter's darkest days, during a storm not even a Jotun would dare challenge. The zombies came out of a blizzard no living creature would have survived, sieging the farmhouse. Surprised by the weather as he was out checking his father's traps, Harkon had taken refuge in a cave, oblivious to his family's fate. Eventually, the storm subsided, and he returned home...or at least, to what was left of it.
Falling to his knees in shock and horror, the rotting carcasses moving towards him, he felt hollow, powerless to react. When the monsters were almost upon him, though, he heard a voice within. It spoke words of searing power, commanding him to stand. It spoke of honor, valor, duty. It spoke of deliverance. His stupor broken, he buried his axe into the first one's skull, kicking the second closest one into the third immediately behind it. But it was too late. He was surrounded, and when he saw the one he had cleaved still moved with its head split in half, he knew it was over.
It was then, when all seemed lost, that they all began bursting into a brilliant white conflagration of sort, subsequently falling limp to the frozen ground. When the very last one fell, he turned around to behold three knights on fair mounts, pure white capes on their shoulders and sacred symbols around their necks. It was his first meeting with members of the Church of Torm, and it was destined to not only save his life, but change it forever.
He spent the next decade training with the handful of wandering servants of Torm ended up in Winterkeep, performing missions in the Glacier itself, and then deeper and deeper into Vassa, Damara and Narfell. When they left, he became a beacon of light and hope for the people, a bulwark against cold, darkness and its denizens. He helped train the local militia, scouted the magically gifted, healed the sick, assisted in repelling assaults. Then, after seven more years, a vision of death, destruction and hellfire compelled him to embark in a two-year-long journey across the world to reach the Sword Coast.
A journey concluded yesterday.
Goals: His primary goal is to put an end to the infernal lords of Dragonspear Castle and their invasion. Fighting evil in all its forms and protecting the innocents, serving the people, leading by example and serving The True in every conceivable way are overarching objectives throughout his life. He also is extremely curious about his heritage, attracted to other Aasimars and other celestial beings, as well as to Planar Lore in general, in the hope of finally unraveling the mistery of his own existence.
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts: He traveled far and wide across Vassa, Damara, Narfell, the whole coast of the Moonsea, The Ride, across the Border Forest and into the Anauroch on the Black Road, through the Graypeak Mountains and the trading cities of Llorkh and Loudwater, and on along the Delimbiyr, north of the High Moor and the Misty Forest, to Daggerford and subsequently to Baldur's Gate, following the Trade Way between Dragonspear and the Troll Hills. It was a 2-year-long Odyssey, in which many friends and enemies have been made, and that can justify any number of plot hooks for the character.
In addition, anything related to fighting the Dragonspear Devils would be extremely relevant, as well as anything tied to the Church of Torm, or even the mystery of his real family. His bonds of friendship with many celestial beings could even play a role in this regard.