Just call him Karl
He’s a showman at heart and on paper.
There’s not much to say about Carl as it is really more of an experience.
Carlebrembor had not known his mother. As his father had explained it, while relationships between humans and elves were common, his mother was exceptional in every way. This was made all the more clear when she was chosen by the gods to serve on the High Council of the elven peoples – the governing society that oversees all High Elven dealings in our world. The timing, unfortunately, could not have been more inopportune as all council members are sequestered for the fullness of their century long term – both to ensure focus on their sacred duties and also for their protection – and Carl’s mother was pregnant with a half elven child. When he was born, he would be sent to live with his human father now facing a life of single parenthood. While in terms of lifespan it was likely Carl would someday meet his mother, it was certain his father would never see the woman he loved again. While it was not the life he would have hoped for his son, Carl’s father did his best to raise him right while fulfilling his duties as the captain of the guard.
One day, just before Carl’s 15th birthday (young, even by human standards) his father took him to a music shop to pick out something for the occasion. Carl had a tenacious spirit and easily dove into hobbies and music was one that came especially naturally. Carl was eyeing a particularly beautiful mandolin with silver embossments as his father perused elsewhere in the shop when a dark robed figure came in and approached the clerk. Carl side-eyed the figure with caution. His father had always trained him to be especially situationally aware.
When Carl saw the figure brandish a very vicious looking blade at the clerk he blurted out for his father before he could stop himself. The robed figured spun on his heel and a wave of heat and force flew from his hand lifting Carl off his feet and throwing him into a display on the far side of the room like he was wadded paper. Carl caught the faintest glimpse of an orb, swirling with what looked like a purple-black liquid as it rolled off the highest shelf and shattered on the floor. The supposed liquid sprung from the broken orb and enveloped Carl, burning his lungs and nostrils as it spread over him like a personal wild fire. And then blackness. And then, something else. Light and color. Sounds. Sounds of music like nothing he’d ever heard in this world. Vivacious and full of life these images and music poured over Carl and through him, filling his heart with the magic of this world he had discovered.
And then there was a different light. A light like a bright morning from the other side of reluctant eyelids. As Carl opened his eyes he realized the light was emanating from the hands of a healer helping to raise him from his unconsciousness. As he slowly sat up the gravity of the scene around him set in. Before him lay the torn remains of the cloaked figure lying lifeless in a pool of blood, no doubt the work of his father’s claymore which lay beside the dead man. Carl’s horror set in as he realized to the other side of his father’s sword lay his father, still smoldering from the assailant’s powerful magics. He would come to find out his father came rushing when he heard Carl shout and managed to protect his child and the clerk and slay the cloaked man, but at the cost of his own life.
At the funeral, a great deal of people came to show their respects to a beloved member of the community and offer their condolences to Carl. The shop keep presented him with the Mandolin he had seen the day his father died, as a token of his gratitude and his regret at what had come to pass. But when the ceremony ended and the crowds dissipated, Carl was alone. And so he would remain, a clever boy with a slain father and a mother cloistered for the good of her people with only a mandolin and a world of music from somewhere beyond his reality stuck inside his head.
Over time Carl would learn to control this music only he could hear. The magic within, although from a unique source could be woven into more tangible applications as many Bard’s so commonly display. He would go on to join the ranks of the loosely nomadic Bardic College of Lore where he would learn the deeper secrets of the magic of the bards, always searching for an answer to the mysterious orb that granted his power on the worst day of his life.
Fade to black to the tune of “Don’t You Forget About Me” by Simple Minds