Clark Sanderson

/-/Male/-/Straight/-/Single/-/

=|Extremely Aggressive|=

Clark prefers solitude. He carries no weapons, and has keen sight and hearing. His hands, wrists, arms, chest, back, and feet are dotted with many scars. He looks weaker than he really is. There is one scar in particular that clearly shows his heart had been removed. The only thing that even appears valuable of his is a small ring decorated with a carving of his heart. He wears ragged pants, no shirt, and can usually be found living in the Lagnish Mountains.

Heart: Formed in a small ring which he wears on his middle finger on his right hand. The ability is always active: Increased Strength, Stamina, and Agility. Although it is unclear, Clark has developed a hardy resistance to pain. Whether this came from the ring, or just from being wounded so many times is unclear.

The tragedy the light brought initially inflicted little upon Clark. He didn't care. People still wanted weapons. People still wanted to protect themselves. His life went on as usual. He made inexpensive, though low quality, weaponry. He sold it at a semi-fair price. It wasn't until a weapon failed did trouble find him. A man, about Clark's size appeared in his doorway. "Problem?", Clark asked, hardly paying attention to the visitor. It wasn't unusual for someone to enter the room, it was usually only to place an order and go. "My son...he purchased one of your blades." Clark nodded, but didn't respond. "He...was ambushed earlier today.", the man added. "Oh...and?", Clark asked, turning to face the man. The man lunged forward without warning, sticking a blade into the blacksmith's chest, and twisting, his heart should have been sliced in two, should have been destroyed. He should have died. No. Instead, his heart was torn from it's place,the blade having been stuck in it. The feature Clark was most surprised by was it's solidity, like a stone. He took the dagger, removing his heart from it's tip and tossing it aside. It had been but a few years since the blast, Clark was young, naive, and intrigued. He went to work molding, working, building his heart into something. He actually managed to compress the metal, form into into a ring, then he added an intricate design. It was his first, and last work of any real value. He never noticed the crowd gathering, villagers, most of them what people would describe as Reggs, who saw the living-dead Blacksmith as an omen. He put his newly made ring on, and felt a burst of energy, the power, it felt good. He clenched his hands into fists. "Begone, demon. Leave this place. The power of god repels you.", the priest, had appeared from nowhere, standing in the doorway. It suddenly reminded Clark that a man had stabbed him, attempted to kill him. He looked at the priest, who idiotically was throwing 'Holy' Water onto Clark. He stepped forward, seized the man's left shoulder, and the top of his head, giving one, extremely brutal twist. This was what real strength felt like. He looked at the crowd, they looked back at him, and suddenly screams emitted from every person who understood what they'd just witnessed, and fled. Clark heard the mustering of guards, and immediately ran back into the mountains his parents had brought him from, fleeing persecution and execution. The soldiers have found him more than once in his solitude, tearing at him with weapons of all kinds. He always found the energy to escape. He always would.