Vendredi
05-08-15, 12:03 AM
Name: Firelis Tvy’ern
Nickname: Fii
Age: 17
Race: Human
Height: 5’10
Weight: 68 kg
Occupation: Pickpocket
Personality:
Firelis Tvy’ern was born a merry, mischievous, mercurial little blight. There was a sense of quickness to him, quick of temper and quick to strike, quick to understand and quick of mind, and also quick to apologize with a quick tongue. He was a unkempt, wild youth who unwaveringly believed in his own invincibility, full of uncurbed energy, an untempered child who desperately craved adventure and glory and honour and recognition, with his pride strong and glowing and growing, confidence spilling over into overconfidence.
Also, Fii had a good collection of rocks, and he wasn’t afraid to throw them at strangers.
History:
Firelis Tvy’ern was born to a tribe of nomadic wanderers, a group of mostly warriors and huntsmen and sellswords and whores, with a few slaves for good measure. He was the first son of the leader of the group, borne to a good woman who was, strangely, neither slave nor whore, but a fierce warrioress in her own right. Fii’s birth was unceremonious in the middle of a winter night, and his linage was base and warranted no boasts.
Fii was brought up in an environment both hard and crass. His family were forever on the move, forging an existence however they could, usually through hardwon coppers snatched in battles, and when times were truly hard, through crime and thievery. As a child, he learnt to pick pockets and be fleet of foot, and to cry mercy in the rare cases he was caught. And thus Fii earned his living. And he grew. It wasn’t a pretty life, but he had parents and laughter and fire and warmth, and people whom he was proud to call family.
He was sixteen and a half when his mother split from the group, disappearing one night without warning. There was a message on a scrap parchment, a mild farewell addressed to Fii only, and nothing else. His family, strangely enough, were content to let his mother go. Fii, however, was not. Days later, his own travel pack was slung over his shoulders, and off and away he was headed, alone.
Appearance:
He was a hungry, young, wary thing, with too much length and too little bulk, and quite obviously a youth who hasn’t quite grown into himself yet. He carried himself with the awkwardness of youngsters who weren’t done growing, all shuffling gait and quiet hunch of one who had not yet proven himself to be anything at all, warring with a desire to prove himself worthwhile of standing with his back straight and neck tall. He had a short crop of coppery hair that went everywhere, and sharp green eyes occasionally full of pride and mischief, but just as occasionally full of storm and strife.
Skills:
Pickpocket -- Fii’s a damned good pickpocket. Especially in a crowd.
Lockpicking -- Part of the a thieve’s skill book. Pretty standard.
Misdirection -- A street performer’s skill that comes in handy when Fii needs to filch additional pocket change. Focus your audience’s attention elsewhere, so that your own sleight-of-hand tricks can be completed without notice.
Aggressive Negotiations -- Or a more diplomatic term for beating the shit out of that other motherfucking asshole. Preferably with his fists.
Advanced Dagger Wielding -- He’s rather nifty with a pair of daggers. It got him out of many a tight situations.
Survival Cookery -- He knows enough of what’s edible and what’s not out in the wilderness, and he knows how not to burn things into crisps over a fire.
Abilities:
Shadow Walking -- Fii had an instinctively, innate affinity with the dark. Under the covers of shadows, he could subdue his own presence with enough focus and a little misdirection, and seemingly become invisible for up to ten seconds if he doesn’t move. He’s still there, technically. Other people just don’t really notice him. The illusion breaks as soon as he moves.
Above-Average Speed -- He runs a little faster than your average human [1.2x speed]. Just a little faster. He spent so much of his childhood running.
Equipment/Weapons:
Iron daggers x2
Travel pack
Change of clothes
Nickname: Fii
Age: 17
Race: Human
Height: 5’10
Weight: 68 kg
Occupation: Pickpocket
Personality:
Firelis Tvy’ern was born a merry, mischievous, mercurial little blight. There was a sense of quickness to him, quick of temper and quick to strike, quick to understand and quick of mind, and also quick to apologize with a quick tongue. He was a unkempt, wild youth who unwaveringly believed in his own invincibility, full of uncurbed energy, an untempered child who desperately craved adventure and glory and honour and recognition, with his pride strong and glowing and growing, confidence spilling over into overconfidence.
Also, Fii had a good collection of rocks, and he wasn’t afraid to throw them at strangers.
History:
Firelis Tvy’ern was born to a tribe of nomadic wanderers, a group of mostly warriors and huntsmen and sellswords and whores, with a few slaves for good measure. He was the first son of the leader of the group, borne to a good woman who was, strangely, neither slave nor whore, but a fierce warrioress in her own right. Fii’s birth was unceremonious in the middle of a winter night, and his linage was base and warranted no boasts.
Fii was brought up in an environment both hard and crass. His family were forever on the move, forging an existence however they could, usually through hardwon coppers snatched in battles, and when times were truly hard, through crime and thievery. As a child, he learnt to pick pockets and be fleet of foot, and to cry mercy in the rare cases he was caught. And thus Fii earned his living. And he grew. It wasn’t a pretty life, but he had parents and laughter and fire and warmth, and people whom he was proud to call family.
He was sixteen and a half when his mother split from the group, disappearing one night without warning. There was a message on a scrap parchment, a mild farewell addressed to Fii only, and nothing else. His family, strangely enough, were content to let his mother go. Fii, however, was not. Days later, his own travel pack was slung over his shoulders, and off and away he was headed, alone.
Appearance:
He was a hungry, young, wary thing, with too much length and too little bulk, and quite obviously a youth who hasn’t quite grown into himself yet. He carried himself with the awkwardness of youngsters who weren’t done growing, all shuffling gait and quiet hunch of one who had not yet proven himself to be anything at all, warring with a desire to prove himself worthwhile of standing with his back straight and neck tall. He had a short crop of coppery hair that went everywhere, and sharp green eyes occasionally full of pride and mischief, but just as occasionally full of storm and strife.
Skills:
Pickpocket -- Fii’s a damned good pickpocket. Especially in a crowd.
Lockpicking -- Part of the a thieve’s skill book. Pretty standard.
Misdirection -- A street performer’s skill that comes in handy when Fii needs to filch additional pocket change. Focus your audience’s attention elsewhere, so that your own sleight-of-hand tricks can be completed without notice.
Aggressive Negotiations -- Or a more diplomatic term for beating the shit out of that other motherfucking asshole. Preferably with his fists.
Advanced Dagger Wielding -- He’s rather nifty with a pair of daggers. It got him out of many a tight situations.
Survival Cookery -- He knows enough of what’s edible and what’s not out in the wilderness, and he knows how not to burn things into crisps over a fire.
Abilities:
Shadow Walking -- Fii had an instinctively, innate affinity with the dark. Under the covers of shadows, he could subdue his own presence with enough focus and a little misdirection, and seemingly become invisible for up to ten seconds if he doesn’t move. He’s still there, technically. Other people just don’t really notice him. The illusion breaks as soon as he moves.
Above-Average Speed -- He runs a little faster than your average human [1.2x speed]. Just a little faster. He spent so much of his childhood running.
Equipment/Weapons:
Iron daggers x2
Travel pack
Change of clothes