Maxwell Sigmon
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Long narrow face turned to his prey, the hunter quietly kept vigil, not even flinching as a crow
Maxwell likes being left alone, though he does enjoy some conversation. He believes that those with an
Often spending more time outdoors than in, he is always posed to respond to some out-side threat. He has
�He won�t touch it Maurice. I don�t think he�s going to be a breeder.�
�Give him time Klina, he�s five. You weren�t raised to be a breeder, you had to come to like it. He doesn�t
Climbing up onto the bed, he found his mother. She didn�t look like she had yesterday. But she was
�What�s wrong mommy?�
Maurice couldn�t stand it, removing the child from the bed, taking him to his room. Maxwell was curios,
The old lady with the tightly buned silver hair narrowed her eyes from her window. She had to take the
He had talked to some Hunters at the grocers two days ago, learned what he could from them, and decided
He hadn�t found them. Well, he had, but they weren�t the kind he thought they were. The elementals were
�I�m sorry son, but she passed two days ago.�
�I only left three days past though!�
�I�m sorry, there�s nothing I can tell you. She was old, she was going to die at some point.� Without
Touching his hair, which was spread out around his shoulders rather than tied back by its normal black
This is the most recent version of Maxwell.
Name: Maxwell Sigmon
The tall male, perhaps just a few inches nigh of six foot crouched
in the tree, dark cloak wrapped tightly about his thin torso proving only that he could
become like the shadow he was born to be. Long ebony hair pulled to one side of his neck,
it hung, strait and limp even as a soft breeze pushed it slightly around. It didn�t move
enough to make a difference, however, as nothing else moved. Flashes of light from rustling
leaves over head in his tree played across the thick glasses that hid intelligent gray eyes.
landed on his shoulder and pecked at his ear. It got bored with him fast and left, the small shine
of the gold stud at the top not enough to keep it occupied. Moments later, the target made an
appearance, and Maxwell moved for the first time in hours. A little white ear poked out of the earth,
followed by an inquisitive nose. A few seconds after, the whole bunny was out of the burrow. It
didn�t even know what hit it as the long hunting knife stuck itself through its skull, killing it
instantly. Maxwell stood, finally free from his crouch, pulling the knife free and wiping it on his
deep brown pants, hiding the weapon in his boot again. Good, he got dinner, and didn�t even have to
waste an arrow.
Personality:
Maxwell is very polite, and very quiet. He is very quick, often seen running to reach his
destination on time; he is very diligent, and prefers to be on time where ever he is going. He is quick
to answer any question he is posed with, though preferring to watch and act only when completely sure. He
plans every move, from how he walks to what he says. He prefers to have his appearance crisp and proper at
all times, black hair smoothed back, glasses always in place, and cloak and other apparel without a crease.
open mind are ones with a closed mouth. He doesn�t like, however, rude people. He finds singing to be a
useless talent, but will politely feign listening if someone sings. Maxwell hates it when his name is
shortened to Max as he feels it undignified. Lima beans are his least favorite food, while carrots are
his favorite.
been described as emotionless at times, even to the point where they aren�t sure he�s awake or alive when
conversation is going on around him. Being quiet, he uses little words. At the same time, he will now
and then be taken by fits to talk like there is no tomorrow.
History:
�Come on Maxwell, it�s not that hard. Just touch the bird. You don�t have to do anything
else.� Maxwell glanced at his mother before glaring back at the bird. No, he wasn�t going to touch it.
The five year old wasn�t stupid, he knew it was going to bite him. Klina sighed, letting her son�s hands
go as her husband entered the room.
even know what breeding is.� Maxwell ignored his parents, going off on his own to find a warm tree to sleep
under.
�Maxwell, Maxwell, wake up.� The boy blinked his eyes open, being picked up by strong arms and hurried
into the house. Must be morning, everything was dark and wet. He had fallen asleep under trees so many
times, his parents knew where to find him. Straitening his glasses Maxwell leaned against his father, glad
for the warmth. He was put down far too soon for his tastes, and found that he was in his parent�s room.
He was never allowed here, so he found it rather interesting to look at. After a moment, though, his
attention was called to the bed by a soft voice asking for him.
smiling, so she must be alright. He touched her long black hair, and asked the question that every
parent hated to hear from their child.
but he knew better than to leave if his father brought him here. Normally it was punishment. He didn�t
know what he did wrong, but it must be bad because the older man ran from his room, not even closing the
door behind him. Curling up in a ball, the boy removed his glasses this time before falling asleep again.
�You�ll be staying with your grandmother for now on Maxwell.� Blinking through the thick lenses, the
child nodded, not sure what was going on. He reached up again for his father�s hand, only to find it
batted away. Maurice couldn�t look at his son. Not after yesterday. His wife had died. So suddenly.
It was so strange� she was fine, talking, laughing, teaching� then she was gone. And Maxwell looked so
like her. The same hair, eyes. Even the quietness of the boy reminded his father of Klina. No, he
couldn�t stand it. So the boy had to go.
child in; she was getting paid highly for it. Her son couldn�t take his own son anymore, so he was dumped
on her. Well, he�ll be handy. Nothing like looking like you had a servant boy that you didn�t have to
pay. Just feed him, teach him something good, and make sure he was clothed. Just like keeping a dog.
She patted the poodle next to her, her own bonded. No, nothing wrong with that at all.
�Of course Grandmother.� Maxwell, eighteen now, poured another tumbler of brandy for his grandmother�s
doctor. Just like she taught him too. He listened with only half an ear to the talk going on between
them, not really minding what he was doing. It was all second nature for him now, no need to pay attention.
Not for what he was going to do that night. No, he was going to find a way out of this. No more playing
slave and master for him, he was going to find his own life now. Setting the crystal glass down, he bowed,
then left through the door, making his way to his own room. No, he wasn�t going to be here for dinner
tonight. He was going to find his own way.
that he was going to try that. Anything but what he was doing now. Throwing everything that he had to
his name into a pack, he tied the riding cloak tightly about his shoulder�s, synching his boots up to his
knees and leaping out of the window, running into the woods at a pace that only a dog could follow. Not
that the long-dead poodle was there to do so any more. He was on his own now, just the way he thought he
liked it.
harder to find than he thought. The one he found and almost had quickly got away, leaving him with nothing.
Making his way back to the rich house his guardian had occupied, he opened the door with the plan of asking
his grandmother for forgiveness and listening to her brag and boast and hit. But, that was life. Making
it to the room she had last been in, he found it open. Without a second thought, he took off for the
doctor�s, hoping that she was in there.
a word, Maxwell turned and left, never going back into that house. He had to find those hunters now.
Nothing like being forced into a life again.
Roleplay Sample: Maxwell had curled into a ball on the moss covered ground between two rocks.
It was the best place to be when one wanted to be alone, and he had found many such places over the years.
This, however, was prime; his back against one rock, and his feet were against another. The carpet was
hard against his back-end, but the wall against his side was cool, welcoming. He hated people. Absolutely
hated them. He had no idea who they were, or even what they had against him; but a group of boys, all taller
and stronger than he, had cornered him in an alley.
ribbon, he sighed. His long hair did not make him look like a girl; it did not make him gay� did it? Such
a strange thing, to be cornered, then tossed around as your clothes where pulled and torn to find out if
you were really a man or a woman. And not something he wanted to experience again. Just because he liked
his hair long� he was proud of� no, he would not dwell. There was no point. At least those meat heads won�t
come looking for him in here. That was some miracle, his escaping under their arms, his being smaller, faster
than they. No, they would not find him here, but no doubt, they were looking for him somewhere else.
