About & History:
His
name, meaning Pledge in some old language or other, signified the new found
alliance between two English families. Not because they had been at war or any
such thing, but merely because other families they were allied to were. Their
alliance was meant to be a sign for other families to also come together and
forget all animosity between one another, be it for blood, money, or grudges of
people long dead and rotted. They had many hopes and dreams hanging on this,
hoping that from this long ongoing wars and brawls would forever end. Instead,
they found the families turning on them completely and absolutely. Few of them
made it out alive, and the possessions they kept were miracles from the Gods.
Few of the two families survived, but luckily both lady and lord of the new
estate made it out alive, if only to live a life that would make a noble wish
they had remained and taken the consequences of such an act of benevolence.
Arlen was merely a babe when this, a year or two old when everything was taken
from them, so he has never remembered feeling like a noble. But his mother’s
bedtime stories unfolded fairy tales in his mind. He could not imagine sleeping
in a bed larger than his cot, or having a room as big as two of their small
cottage put together. He could not imagine having gold embroidered into his
clothing when what he wore now were itchy pieces of cloth that hung from him.
Whatever they could find, that was what they lived with. His father was a
miserable man who often beat his wife and his son. But regardless, Arlen did not
lose love for him, not before the incident.
Arlen’s father never forgave his mother for what happened. And it was his wife
he blamed for their misfortune. He did not quite hate them, but he begrudged
them for all he had lost. He was out a lot, ‘working’ he said, day and night,
only coming home to sleep the few hours necessary to be up and at it again. But
no matter how hard he worked or how he made his money, they never seemed to have
enough to buy much more than the few necessities. It might have been his grudge
against them that made them do it, or maybe it had been his twisted way of
‘fixing’ it; making things ‘get better’. Arlen was a young lad, just freshly
turned eighteen, almost to the fruits of adulthood when his father returned late
one night. Arlen had been out, practicing his crossbow ‘skills’. Arlen had never
been taught to use any weapon for other than hunting, not even self defense.
They lived too far off and too poorly to worry about that. Regardless, with
nothing to do and no money, Arlen had begun to hear tales of ‘bounty hunters’
killers of evil men and creatures, they would make money off finding evil and
killing it. It was a daydream, he knew, he thought. That night, of course, would
change it.
It wasn’t rare that his father came home late, so watching his father walk into
the house so late at night did not make him think anything was wrong. He simply
hid his crossbow in the usual place and ran inside to see if there was any food
to be had with his father’s return. Tonight, instead of angry, his father was
apathetic. Tonight, instead of tired, his father looked as if he was about to
drop dead. Tonight his father sat in silence and stared at the cold soup in
front of him and ate none of it when other nights he would wolf it all down. No
one questioned it off course, they figured he had had a bad day and would rather
leave it at that than have him take it out on them. Later in the night, once
Arlen had fallen asleep, he heard the struggle, the screaming, and the door
breaking open and then slamming shut. At leaving his room, he found his mother
on the floor, two bite marks on her jugular, and his father nowhere to be found.
Gone, everything was gone. Sobbing shocked and confused, Arlen took his mother’s
head on his lap, damning all their luck, and wondering if his name should be the
one who bears bad luck rather than Pledge. He found comfort in sleep, finally,
only to 
awaken a few
hours later, his mother’s body gone from his lap and sitting out at the small
porch. He sat with her, overjoyed that she was alright; she sat him
down besides her and began talking, just conversing. For
hours they talked about life, about their memories and their favorite moments in
life, sharing secrets they had never shared before. So long and so intently they
spoke, that as the sun crept from the horizon, Arlen was left completely
unaware. Only when his mother’s skin began to burn and bubble did he realize
what was happening, but she would not let him move her. She simply sat in her
chair, watching the sunrise as he sobbed and pleaded for her to live. He watched
his mother turn to dust, a smile on her face.
And since then, Arlen has become a Hunter, a Slayer. He makes money off killing
vampires, but he will also kill creatures of all sorts, as long as the pay is
right. Doing this is exactly how he acquired his…. ‘power’. He’s very often
ridiculed for such a useless power, especially by the very ones he hunts. Being
an illusionist is truly useless when you hunt grander prey than yourself.
Regardless, Arlen is a passionate man, if he’s been traumatized or scarred by
his life he does not show it at all in his cheery exterior. A mischievous
charlatan of sorts, a boyous smile and a child-like charm. He loves women, song,
and drink. A gambler and an inventor. Because of his ‘human state’ he’s had to
rely on other sources to exterminate creatures like vampires and demons. And so,
he’s found many imaginative ways to create weapons from what few useful items he
can find.