Tenderés, Skylar
Oct 26, 2010 16:25:10 GMT -5
Post by skylark on Oct 26, 2010 16:25:10 GMT -5
N A M E Sky
C O N T A C T S PM/Chatbox
O T H E R . C H A R A C T E R S None yet...
R A N D O M . F A C T I'm an identical twin
N A M E Skylar Tenderés
N I C K N A M E S Sky, Skylark (traveling name)
A G E 23
B I R T H D A T E 13th May
G E N D E R Male
S E X U A L I T Y Heterosexual
O C C U P A T I O N Troubadour
M A G I C Storytelling - Skylark is adept at telling stories and tales - and quite literally he can make them come alive, when Skylark talks of dark forests inhabited by dangerous monsters, the listener will feel the chill of fear. When he talks of a hero avoiding death by a knife's edge the listener will catch their breath. When Skylark plays a sad tune, strong men have been known to weep. He's a born charmer, with a wink and a smile you could be persuaded to look the other way, or that the card that was just played really did come from Skylark's hand.
Illusion - Skylark can create pretty lights to amuse young children during his performances, aided by powders and other alchemic tinctures he can create a passable reincarnation of a much stronger power. He uses small images to portray various characters and objects in his tales, a snarling wolf's head, a woman's face that appears in a wisp of smoke, all add to the authenticity of his stories.
ADMIN CLASSIFICATIONS
Illusion: Level 2, Class A
Storytelling: Level 2, Class A
H E I G H T 5'6"
W E I G H T 140
B U I L D Skylark was never teased for being too small, and yet he never hit above average, his body tends towards lean rather than muscular, and fat never hands around on his body for too long, lending him a somewhat gaunt face. A troubadours lifestyle entails times when food is scarce, and Skylark's naturally whippet-like form can become dangerously thin at times.
E Y E S A sharp green, that can often appear to be lazily half-lidded, although a closer look will reveal the actual alertness of them.
H A I R Light brown, often ragged due to the fact Skylark cuts it himself, when coin's around it can't be spent on frivolities such as food. Often leaves it too long and ends up tying it back in a simple pony-tail - a lesson learned when it accidently caught fire during a performance.
I D E N T I F I E R S He claims he has a birthmark the shape of The Serenity Isles on his left thigh but those that have seen it conclude that (sadly) it looks more like a oblong blob. A scar on his right cheek from playing with a metal spatula when he was baby, often pretends to have been given it during a tavern fight.
A P P E A R A N C EGenerally the first thing you notice about Skylark is that he is noticeable. His charm and charisma portray a much stronger image than the reality; if you're only noticing the flashy clothes and the wide grin you don't notice the general raggedness of said clothes or the half-starved man underneath them. Skylark is most often wearing the bright and instantly recognisable clothes of the troubadour, often bright red, decorated with feathers and trinkets - unless he's doing an acrobatics performance (feather tend to get in the way). He always carries his lute, an expensive commodity that is every troubadour’s life-blood, without his lute he cannot earn a living, carried in a battered case, which often hangs from his back.
L I K E S Music, dance, cards, cheating, women, gambling, easy-money, sugar, the open road, freedom, creating an illusion, having money to spend, silence, his own company, riding, intelligence in others, humour, jokes, cunning, travel.
D I S L I K E S Other troubadours, losing his temper, boredom, long periods of time in one place, fighting, the law, recognition, alcohol of any kind, drunkenness, people with no humour, misers.
F E A R S Death, prison, losing the ability to play his lute.
S T R E N G T H S Knife fighting, smooth talking, lying, cheating, riding, hand-to-hand fighting, alert quickness.
W E A K N E S S E S Any other kind of fighting, hatred of drunks, natural wariness, hates explaining his actions, hates taking responsibility for his actions.
Q U I R K S Whittles carved figures out of wood, he's not particularly good and never earns a profit - has ten wooden horses people mistake for cows and so will not sell them.
G O A L S To earn enough money to afford better equipment, a horse, security e.c.t.
P E R S O N A L I T YIf Skylark cannot charm his way out of a situation, he runs from it, if he cannot run, only then will he fight. He doesn't pick fights very often, and when he does he makes sure he can win them. Often leaves town in a rush, never carries more than he cannot grab and take with him - has nothing he could not leave behind. Enjoys the adrenaline rush of getting away with something e.g. cheating, but hates it when forced into a combative situation. Raised as a troubadour he is used to haggling and struggling for a living, so much so that he no longer is resentful of those with better fortunes than himself, he has a very c'est la vie lifestyle and is prepared for when things go wrong.
Enjoys joking and keeping people's spirits up, often in these dark times the presence of a troubadour is greeted with enthusiasm and relief - he can't deny he enjoys the attention either. He often makes light of dark situations to avoid dwelling on them, his attitude towards something bad is most often 'if you forget about it, it might not happen'. He doesn't take responsibility for his actions, and would rather turn tail and run than accept the punishment for his crimes - understandable since most of them involve dubious wins at cards that could land him at the feet of some VERY unmerciful people.
F A M I L Y
Father - deceased
Mother - Unknown
P L A C E . O F . B I R T H Kingdom of Niendra, City of Karenth
H I S T O R Y Raised by his father who was a traveling minstrel just like himself, he could juggle almost before he could walk, and was put to work collecting the earning after every show as soon as he could walk. He learned the history of the kingdoms on his fathers knee, and could recite the verses of many love poems better than the average lordling at the age of ten. His father was a skilled bard and had but one fault - he got drunk. Frequently. Skylark learned to be wary of his father's moods almost as soon as he realised it was caused by the odd smelling bottle, and when he was younger he would hide coins to spend on food rather than ale. He was encouraged to steal by his father - again to fuel his alcoholism and became light on his feet, and wary of the guards. When his father died, neither of them had enough money to spend on treatment, and at the age of fifteen Skylark became a troubadour to keep himself from the streets. He inherited his father's lute, and took to the roads, where he has remained since.
C O D E . W O R D wyeshing
S A M P L E . P O S T
It was three hours past midnight when Skylark finally got away, stepping carefully over the knocked-over tables and the puddles of spilt ale. It hadn’t been a bad night; he had earned more than he had expected these poor country peasants would be able to pay him. He placed his lute in the corner of the room the inn had given him; after all a room for the night and a hot meal was a small price to pay for a full tavern; a minstrel rarely had to pay for much. He brushed his messy brown hair out of his eyes, his piercing emerald-green gaze falling on the chair beside the bed. Besides the bed it was all that was in the room; he had slept in far better, and far worse, a voice in his head reminded him sharply. All he owned in the world lay on that chair, besides the clothes on his back - a brightly coloured raiment identifiable as a troubadour’s - he had a set of plain brown travelling clothes and a pair of worn boots. He swept a bright red hat off his head, although it looked effective to the people who came to listen to him sing and tell stories, it was actually battered and rather worn around the edges. He placed it on the chair beside a small pack containing a pouch of money, several books of varies sizes, his spare clothing, a few herbs and some spare food. Then he had the throwing daggers attached to his belt; these he used in his act, although if he had to, they could be used in defence, after all there were too many guards or common thieves who thought a troubadour was a soft target.
He added the small amount of coins he had collected to his pouch, noting ruefully that recently he had less money to spend than he should have this time of year. It was winter, the taverns were usually heaving with farmers who would usually be in the fields, but the threat of war kept people from spending and taxes had been raised again this month, people were getting desperate. He paused in the act of taking off his cloak, trying to stop the instinctive panic rising at the thought of another hard winter. He awoke the next morning to the sound of rain drumming on the window. He grimaced, shaking off the effects of a bad night’s sleep and gingerly got out of bed to face the new day. He was dressed in travelling clothes when he went downstairs the next morning, as he intended to move on; it was a three-day ride to the next town, and he wanted a good heads start – it was time to move on. He repeated his mantra to himself as he headed out the door – never stay in one place; never have more than I can leave behind, always be ready to move on.
