Since the onslaught of Outworlder hate, Calder has become a ferryman of sorts for those that refuse to conform and be branded. He discretely collects, protects and relocates any that come to him seeking help.
Logically, he has close ties to any underground "smuggling" operations, ear to the ground with great ease to move things and not be seen because of his shipping capability. The open water has no rules, even in the budding rebirth of law and order.
Close to six foot, Calder is lean but all muscle. Long dark blonde hair is often pulled in a ponytail, braided in a plait or pulled up into a topknot. He sports a scruff beard, growing it out a bit longer during winter months but always meticulously kept. Expressive eyes are unusually light, matching his moods and picking up the color of whatever he’s wearing; they can shift anywhere from greens, to blues and grays.
Clothing is utilitarian, button ups over sleeveless shirts in the summer, Navy pea coats, henleys and Irish sweaters in the winter. Every once and a while he can be in a tee shirt, jeans and barefoot on his houseboat. On the rare occasion he does dress up, it suits him; manners so refined they seem to contradict a well-kept blue collar appearance.
He has several tattoos earned from various events in his life, and often wears talismans on cords that he finds interesting and remind him of his former life.
Compressed, intense, yet oddly easy going.
Calder is a formidable warrior and magic wielder, and with that came fierce confidence and presence. He commanded the power of water, and was unbeaten in the raging wars that were tearing his world apart. Through storms and vicious ocean, he controlled his fate on any ship, any high sea. Wind, rain, hurricane, he could rip the storm clouds from the sky to fill his sails. Any ship, any distance, he always seemed to know the way.
Now, the skill of his hands is all he possesses and he is lost. Still unmatched in as many forms of fighting styles as he can collect, anger pushes him forward; searching for a way back to finish the wars he could not afford to lose. He knows the people in this world are not to blame, he treats them with as much kindness as he can muster. Still, he is reluctant to build relationships in case there is a chance he discovers a way to return home.
Hiding who and what he is, there is an inkling of his old ways; playing with the rim of his glass and making the water move, parting raindrops in his path, it's still an embarrassing demotion to who he was before. He focuses on his physical skill in hopes when he returns there will be a fight in his hands no one has ever seen before.
He at the core has a good heart, but has no problem rising to the occasion of violence when something he deems just is threatened.
Collection of master swords and fighting weapons from various cultures.
The native clothes, weapons and leather armor he was wearing when ripped through the Nevus.
Modern small freight vessel (with human npc crew) capable of making coastline and small gulf trips. It was moored in the same dock where he worked, later convincing his 'boss' to allow him to return it to service and eventually purchased the smaller vessel through his work. When the 'company' went belly up, he retained it and now works freelance.
Modern houseboat docked in the 79th Street Boat Basin.
"Draugr Atgeirr", the Ghost Spear, his Outworlder ship that passed through with him. It is made from traditional wood of his realm, a beast of an "evergreen" only growing in the northern realms similar in size to the Earthen Sequoia. Enchanted by the properties of the tree, it is able to reflect the water once polished and made watertight into the longship hulls- giving it an invisible appearance until it nears land and hits shore. After breaking the Veil, it seemed to retain the ability regardless of where it was; it grew stronger as he had grown weaker. It is essentially a ghost ship, taking its namesake to heart. It is moored on a beach just north of the city.
Role Play Sample
In the silence of her garage, all she could hear was noise. It was all noise, the sound like a hurricane crushing at her skull. Jacob was right on her tail, speaking to her, glitter of perspiration in his peppered high and tight… his words warped and unintelligible. Stepping off the ramp, she heard her name shouted before she fell, the sound of pounding military boots toward the ramp safely out of view of the crowd back in their personal prep garage.
“Reid!” Gav scooped her up, the completely limp woman’s eyes flickering under her hummingbird’s lashes. “Jacob! Doctor now!”
“No, no!” the large man was old but he could move, trotting down the ramp after her from above, “no doctor.”
“What?!” Gav’s normally gentle voice was incredulous, turning back to Reid as he patted her cheeks. “C’mon, Reid… wake up… why are we not getting a doctor?!”
Jacob hurried past him, brushing through to the workbench to pick up her mouth guard and making it back in record time. Stuffing it in her mouth, he reached behind her ear, flicking the iridescent buttons hard with his fingernails. Her surge was painful, enough to make Gav jump, back arching as her gloved fingers clutched his biceps enough to leave bruises.
“Let her go,” Jacob stood, pulling the stunned Sergeant back away from the seizing woman, “or she’ll rip your skin off…”
Gav's light eyes furled in horror and disbelief, tearing off his fatigue green battered jacket and rolling it up to place under her head to protect her skull from the seizure. Flail sent him backward, her gloved fingers locked on the railing of the ramp, clutch so hard her body trembled.
“That would have been you…” Jacob said under his breath.
“Reboot,” Jacob’s cigarette bobbed in his lips, “happens sometimes. Usually not after a hard shut down like tonight was.”
Brow downward, Gav knelt next to her, holding her head until the muscles spasms passed and pulled her hair back when palm hit the metal grate to push up the battered body and wretch nothing over the side of the ramp, the mouth guard clinking on the floor.
“Is this what happens after fights in the dressing room?”
“Not usually this bad,” Jacob nodded once before his footfalls clanged slowly downward to fetch her some water. “She doesn’t want anyone to see it.”
Gav pulled her up, holding her head up as he checked her pupils.
“You can’t get me dressed after a fight… you’ll look at my ass,” she murmured.
His smile was tepid, exhale relieved. Her large pupils still worried him, they usually were almost normal by now. Helping her up, she drank the entire glass of water, holding it out to Jacob for another as he walked with her down the ramp to a bench.