Character Sketches
By the Law of Fives Writing Guild
(The Catalyst, The Instigator, The Time Reaction, and
The Simple Solution)
(The Catalyst, The Instigator, The Time Reaction, and The Simple Solution)
Shade (Instigator)
My character is not sure where he is from or what his name is. He cannot remember anything.
He has pure white skin and overabundance of indigo hair. His eyes are the color of cinders burning hot in a bed of coals. He is tall man of 6í2" and is thickly built (about 200 pounds). He is in peak physical condition and has the calluses of a swordsman. His two or three day old beard is the same black as his hair.
Under a somewhat old pair of black leather breeches and unlaced vest are many tattoos. They are symbols and pictures of things he has no memory of. There is even some writing, but he does not know what it says. His boots are high and made for riding. He has a beautifully crafted scabbard at his waist missing a sword.
He is not the friendliest man at the moment. He is confused and somewhat frightened, but not willing to admit it. The only shade of a memory that he has is that of a deep-seated need for vengeance. He does not remember who or why but it burns at his insides. Not knowing who to trust he will stick with his gut and sign on with whoever will help find out what happened to him.
I will suggest the party call him Ghost, or Shade maybe. I guess its up to who writes first and what the other characters think.
Gustar Longrove (Time Reaction)
One would not assume much greatness would come from such a frail looking, angular man such as Gustar. To a passerby, Gustar would appear to be a poor man, dressed in a patchwork cloak that is tattered on the end, leather boots that are worn beyond repair and clothes that have holes, appearing as if they are the results of burns. Gustarís hair is a wild nest of gray hair, so frazzled that it appears as if he purposely styled it to remain on end. His gray beard is equally as unkempt.
However, Gustar does not dress the way he does due to poverty, he just doesnít have the time, nor sees the need to dress better Ö or even bathe. Gustar likes to dabble in various schools of magic, and had never settled down to one discipline. The time he spends in jumping from one discipline to another is what takes up his time. This had gotten him into trouble in the past, not only frustrating his mentors by not furthering his studies in a their particular discipline, but his lack of mastering certain casting techniques has resulted in more than one spell to backfire, which explains the various burns in his clothes.
However much he lacks in mastering a particular magic discipline, Gustar makes up for it with his resourcefulness in combining the different traits of the disciplines to suit the task at hand. But as any veteran magician will tell you, one must practice magic dutifully to master it. In Gustarís case, he has found some interesting results when he combined the disciplines, some with great results, and some were spectacularly disastrous.
Gustar is fickle not only in his studies, but in his location. He is constantly on the move, usually in search for training of the new discipline of choice. However, he does own a small cottage in a backwoods that he calls home. It is here that he can kick off his worn boots in more peaceful times when the races are at rest.
Gutter Slitquick (Simple Solution)
The young boy stepped timidly into the modest stable behind the bakery, a crockery bowl held carefully before him. Peering into the shadowy corners of the dark building he called out softly "Hello? Are you here?" Silence. "I've brought the cream you asked for..." No sooner had those words passes his lips then a light, golden glow floated down from one of the shadowed rafters.
"Ah, Mika!" laughed a bell-like voice. "I'm so glad you have come!" The glow resolved itself into willowy, soft-skinned figure, no more than two hand-lengths tall. His soft skin was green and the diaphanous wings of a moth fluttered from his shoulder blades. "Oh! And bearing gifts, as well!"
"Yes, Dewdrop! The best cream in the bakery, just like you said!" The boy beamed, obviously pleased with himself for a job well done.
"Oh, goody! I'm so happy to hear that. You know that we of the fairy can eat only the purest of foods. Without it we waste away and are unable to perform our magic to help good families like yours." Shimmering wings drooped at this dour thought.
A panicked look crossed the boys face: "Oh, no! We can't have that happen now! Father has received an order for pastries and cakes to be delivered to the duke's manor. We need your special magic to make the cooking complete!"
"No worries, my child!" the fairy responded with a laugh. "If you continue to feed me like this, I'll have enough energy to help your father bake bread into gold!" A broad friendly smile spreading on the round, green face eased the last of the boy's fears. Taking the bowl from the boy's grip and settling it on a convenient bail of hay, the tiny, cheerful figure shoed the boy off. "Go now, so I can rest for my task!" The boy smiled again and scampered back to the kitchen where duties awaited. The cheerful sprite waved to the disappearing child as he swung the stable doors closed. Then the face took on a not-so jubilant cast.
With the glamour dropped, the persona "good fairy Dewdrop" discarded again, Gutter Slitquick felt freedom creep over his skin: another form (even one of his own shaping) was always a tight fit. Leaf green skin darkened to bark brown, silver fine hair sloughed off to reveal tangled black. His rainbow-sheened dragonfly wings buzzed happily as he carried the crockery (clutched in both arms held wide) over to the nearest of the two horses. With the rapid, sure movements of old practice, Gutter set down the crockery, pushed it against the horse's ankle, and drew his blade. Though no longer than a scribe's penknife, the bronze blade was keen and found the vein easily while a simple fay working kept the animal from feeling the slightest nick. While the thick blood flowed down into the bowl of cream, Gutter scraped with his small hands at the urine soaked clay beneath the horse and returned to his meal. Once satisfied with the addition to the cream, he slapped the rank poultice over the small wound, licked the remaining blood from the horses ankle, and returned (bowl in hand) to his roost in the rafters.
Setting the bloody cream down with a thump, Gutter shouldered the rats away from the remains of the squirrel he had been snacking on earlier. Preparations complete, the Unseelie fairy laid into his feast, stopping only once the last bone was cracked and the last drop drunk. He lay there in the crook of a joist, belly distended and utterly content. Well, mostly content. There was still the problem of his geas.
Glancing down at the bronze torque about his wrist, Gutter Slitquick saw that the gem in it was still black and sighed heavily. After that unfortunate incident with Queen Titania's favorite cat after a particularly fierce bout of drinking and reveling, the fairy had been sentenced to the Sleeping Lands, there to provide service to mortals until his penance was achieved. On that day the gem would turn diamond clear and permit him once more into the Land of Lords and Ladies.
Pondering heavily, Gutter scratched at his tangled mane of hair and pulled out a nicely sized flea. Popping it into his mouth to crunch between needle teeth, Gutter came to a conclusion: he must move on. Apparently helping the baker and his household with their work was not service enough. He would need to find some mortals in need of more challenging aid. This realization drew forth another deep sigh, for he would miss the treats the baker's family had dutifully provided the ever-likeable "Dewdrop Petalwing." Bidding farewell to the rats he had been bedding with this past fortnight, and grabbing two eggs from a sparrow's nest for a mid-day snack, Gutter Slitquick, fairy in exile, flew off in search of mortals more worthy of his attentions.
Nevarris Garrimon (Catalyst)
Mashberry's Winery makes the best ferment around... even better than WellBarrel's Red Label. The Mashberry's use only the ripest, hand picked assortment of mulberries, strawberries, and raspberries to make their special ferments. Each bottle is aged at least two years before it is even released to the market for trade, or purchase. Typically, it can be found only in the finest of establishments, and the most noble of homes. It is a premium beverage to say the least, and was making a delightful breakfast for Nevarris Garrimon.
Leaning on the rails of Sleepywater Bridge is his favorite drinking spot, especially during mid-morning. Taking in the views of the warm, beautiful river lulling its way far beneath him, and the interesting flow of travelers passing in and out of the city gates are his preferred drinking activities. Nothing beats people watching, especially with the chance that they might drop something valuable... or if they simply need to be unknowingly relieved of something valuable!
He's not a thief by trade, itís more of a hobby, really. Nevarris is happily employed at the local inventors' guild as an "extra hand", where he helps the engineers with their experiments, and runs errands for them. He isn't needed all the time, so he often has days off to meander through the city and enjoy the spirits of fine Mashberry. He's thankful for those wealthy bastards, their deep pockets, warm hearts, and their overloaded brains. During the past four years of his employ, they've taught him how to read and write (though his penmanship would be over-shown by a child) and some basic rules of physics. Nevarris can now solve a respectably complex level of mathematics equations and even apply them to the real world. He has been educated on how levers, pulleys, and gears work, and even helped with the design and construction of a windmill that pumps water from the town's public well. Nevarris has found great confidence from his job, and has received a very valuable education. None would suspect this drunkard, and amateur thief, to be one of the more highly educated people within the town walls.
To most, he is an average human of no distinguish, save his seemingly unquenchable thirst for the spirits. A man of slender frame, if not a bit skinny, tanned leather vestment (that which is typical of the laboring class) over a mid-gray shirt, and loose-fitting pants. He would very easily blend into a crowd... in fact, possibly even difficult to follow- if one would ever have a reason to.
In two day's time, Nevarris is to make a run to Wolfton for more timber wheels (undoubtedly to be carved into gearing of some sort) for the guild. All the necessary preparations have been met: boots oiled, sword sharpened, blankets rolled, tarps waxed, tinder sacks, and wine barrels filled. All food items will be purchased on departure to insure freshness. Today, though, was his relaxation day. He would do no stealing today, and he would pick no fights. The most he would do is entertain the occasional light conversation with those who happen by, and more than likely walk to Mashberry's for another bottle, or two, of happiness. It was expensive for almost everyone, but him. He makes weekly inspections of many of the inventors' creations throughout the business district, among them being the berry-masher contraptions sold to the winery... a preventative maintenance sort of thing. In the event that one should break, he will fix it if it is within his means. The only pay he takes for his troubles is a hefty discount on the company's wine, and that makes both parties happy when all is said and done.
Oh, yes, today is a good day... a warm, early-summer day. Today is a perfect day for drinking, relaxing, and people watching on Sleepywater Bridge.