3 posts • Page 1 of 1
SRawrSummer Sky to Grree
- Joined: 18 Feb 2011, 04:53
Caste: Warlord Prince
Race: Longlived, Dhemlan
Birth Territory: Dhemlan, T
Home Territory: Dhemlan, T
Birthright Jewel: Yellow (59)
Jewel of rank: N/A
Craft Strengths: Tomas is strongest in Craft that aids in his 'hobbies.' Sight shields, aural shields, minor compulsions, floating objects and passing his body and items through walls...all help him snitch pretty things and get away with the goods without anyone ever noticing - or sometimes caring - until he is long gone.
Craft Weaknesses: Other than avoiding detection, Tomas is mostly flash and bang, using his Craft for distraction and a great getaway. He just isn't all that great at defensive or offensive Craft, although the power of a riled and unruly Warlord Prince is more than enough when necessary. As long as he isn't pitted against an equally ranked Jewel who is stronger in fighting strategy and knowledge, he can hold his own - he's a scrappy bastard, after all, and his power is just as uncontrolled and wild as he is. Thank the Darkness, or he would have been a dark blot on the slum streets long ago. He wasn't taught basic Craft in a traditional setting, merely learning it on his own and through observation and instinct. So, if you want him to light a candle or heat up some water with witchfire, piss off...
Physical Description: At first glance, Tomas appears to be a member of the long-lived race that surrounds him in Dhemlan. However, upon closer inspection, it is quite obvious that his bloodlines are not exactly clear waters. His skin and eyes are the typical gold, although a little more dull and a little dustier than most. His hair is a dark mousey brown and fairly unexciting in color, certainly lighter than the thick black of the aristos whose pockets he picks. The back is cut up a little shorter than the front, which usually hangs down in his face, the whole mess looking as if it was cut with a dull knife. Tom, of course, feels this gives him a rakish and devil-may-care appearance. At times he will pull back the sides in order to concentrate on some project or another, but normally one wonders how he can actually see in order to put one foot in front of the other.
Tom is extremely tall, just beginning to take on the look of a male in between boy and man. He looks as if he was stretched out at birth, arms and legs included, without an extra ounce of meat in between. This does not at all make him ungraceful in his movements, however. Instead he is extremely agile after living on the streets, escaping this scrape or that, and racing through the dark to complete some nefarious deed. He is very acrobatic, and so his muscles are lean and strong, although not bulky in the slightest. A long scar runs diagonal across the whole of his back, a battle wound he received when he was about 45 and found punishment from grabbing his dinner from the wrong market stand.
The clothing that Tomas wears always looks a little mismatched and a bit bedraggled. In fact, he usually looks like he got dressed in the dark. Which, he probably did. Upon closer inspection, however, the clothes are usually finely tailored and of rich fabrics, just not tailored to him. Most of his clothes and accessories are items stolen from some poor drunken aristo who wandered too far into the slums after dark or come by in some other under the table means. He cleans up well and does actually own a few very striking and sophisticated suits - which he will pull out when impersonating a stuffy prick’s spoiled son for some trick or another.
Tom loves shiny things and has a habit of stealing women's jewelry. As such, he often wears many necklaces, earrings and rings. He's never without a ring on nearly every finger, which clink mercilessly...unless he's about to pick your pocket. His Yellow is uncut and set very roughly in a gold setting and hung from a long and thick gold chain. When he actually does wear it, the Jewel dangles just above his abdomen, although he tends to keep it tucked away.
Personality: Tomas could easily be described as a smart-assed, sticky-fingered, cocky, honey-tongued, penniless punk. With a heart of gold, of course... He's been independent essentially since he could toddle around on two legs and that independence shows in his lack of restraint and fearless nature. He was never told to do this or not to do that - instead, he has learned through doing. So, he continues to do with little thought to consequence; leaping before looking and worrying about what pile he might find himself in after the fact.
He is very suspicious of the rich and the aristocracy. They have done little for him or for the poor of the territory. He neither trusts them nor sees the future improving. Despite his status as a Warlord Prince, he feels in his heart he does not belong in their shining courts with fancy shoes and blind eyes. He remains on the streets, doing what he can to fend for those children in the slum younger than he and does that by filching from those who can afford it. He is firmly devoted to emptying the pockets of the rich. It's merely to better their virtue, you understand...
Tom is a relatively cheery lad, staying optimistic despite his bleak surroundings and seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. After having so little to lose for so long, he figures there isn't any use in being a killjoy. He does tend to go through darker moods, as perhaps any orphan who has grown up not knowing when they were next going to eat or where they were going to sleep might. When these come upon him, he distances himself from those he has taken under his wing and may disappear for days before returning to his territory of the slums - often bruised and bloodied from trying to take out his aggression and frustration on someone larger and losing.
The rush after stealing.
Seeing the younger boys cry.
Tomas was born to an actress and whore who worked in one of the premier Red Moon houses in all of Dhemlan. Rebeka Rita Roxana, or simply Roxy, was known throughout the Territory not just for her beauty - but also because she was a star. A true woman of the night, Roxy's day began after sunset when she would take the stage to woo men from her curtain swathed pedestal high above even the highest of aristo women. She would speak to every male in the room as if they were her one and only, inspiring true love within possible patrons night after night. The acting wouldn't stop after she left the stage, as males flocked to her dressing room and scheduled romantic liasons with her. All paid in full even before the assignation would take place at the Red Moon house where she worked after the evening's theater performances, just next door. It was a glamorous life for a young and gorgeous Dhemlanese...well, mostly...woman who had grown up with next to nothing. Men brought her presents and lavished jewelry upon her, all for a romp in the sheets. She lived an enchanted life - at least in her view - until the unthinkable happened.
Roxy became pregnant. It was a scandal in the Dhemlan underworld. She was no longer fit to take the stage, nor was she able to service her patrons - why would they want her, after all? A pregnant whore? Or still - a pregnant actress? Who had heard of such a thing? Rebeka Rita Roxana was horrified. Yet at the core of her greedy and frivolous little heart, she was a soft soul...and couldn't bear to rid herself of the child in the womb. She bore a young boy, small and screaming, into the world during a dark Winsol night. Instead of taking the young child into her arms, she turned away from the baby boy - ignoring the Healer's angry voice as she tried to get the mother to acknowledge the newborn. Knowing what the actress's silence meant and unable to care for the child herself, the Healer wrapped up the crying baby and took him to an orphanage.
The new baby found a hard home at the orphanage, which was already overrun with children from the slums who were as unwanted as he. Tomas was cared for until he could walk and reach things on his own, and was then expected to do much on his own or be taken care of by the older children. He learned very fast that the strongest flourished. When Tom began to show signs of being a Warlord Prince, his status among the orphan urchins elevated and only the other Warlord Princes dared to try to steal his bread or pillow at night. When he was five, he was taken to the altar with several other children, to be given his Birthright Ceremony. In their little hearts, every child hoped that a father would come out of the darkness to claim them and take them home - but as always, no father came to see the Yellow Tomas clutched to his chest.
With the added power of his Jewel, Tom became a terror at the orphanage. The little Warlord Prince teamed up with several other boys to constantly torment the headmaster. For the most part, they got away with it. But one day when he was six years old, after setting one too many invisible Craft tacks upon the teacher's chair and snitching more than his fair share of gloopy stew to share with the younger children, Tomas pushed too far. The headmaster took him to the door and pushed him into the street, cruelly telling him he wasn't wanted, had never been wanted, was simply a bastard child and a whore's son who had no place in the world. The little boy didn't understand what the man was talking about, but he did understand the tone. He needed to move or he was going to get hit. And he'd better do it fast. Tom immediately ran out of the house and hid under the front steps as he often did, resolving to wait until his father came to get him and put everything to right. He waited for a long time.
So began a life of scrounging and stealing to survive. After a few days of waiting, the young and inexperienced boy finally wandered off into the arms of the dark streets. When he was hungry, he would find something to eat, whether it was in the back alley of a restaurant or right off of someone's table as they enjoyed their dinner. Necessity was how he learned his Craft, calling in rolls from dinner plates from where he hid underneath bistro tables or floating apples off of market carts. Often the pastry stand owners didn't want to bother standing-up to a Warlord Prince, even if it was just a little boy - so often, Tom often got away with his loot without much fuss even if he was caught in the act.
As he aged, he grew quite popular among the street boys, achieving a reputation for being generous with sharing his loot and quickly coming to any troubled urchin's aid. Soon enough, he was noticed by older theives and scoundrels who had been working the streets as well and was offered odd jobs here and there. Building his reputation even more, Tom found a life of petty crime to not only be profitable but quite fun. Low responsibility and low morality with high harvest. He kept little for himself, finding younger boys to spend his spoils and drench in stolen goods, sometimes even stealing from the villains he worked with in order to bring more goodies 'home' to the following of lost children he was acquiring.
Rebeka Rita Roxana Reynaud - Purple Dusk Witch - Actress and Whore - Approx. 2600 - Location Unknown (Possibly adoptable.)
Father - Unknown (Could be playable with ideas.)
[small]Tiernan awoke with a start, eyes snapping open at the same moment he called one of his blades to his hand. As he jerked upwards, the smattering headache that assaulted his brain drew him back into the here and now. The little witch that cooed in a scolding manner at his movements and snuggled closer to his bare legs helped a little, too. Another late night tavern hopping had landed him at a nearby inn with a pretty little thing who had fallen for his trap many times… With a grimace and a swift intake of air, his head severely chastising for every move he made with a loud ringing in his ears, he vanished his dagger and carefully dislodged the woman from his hips as he slid out from the sheets. Now, where were his…ah. There. He gingerly tugged at a pants leg that was tucked underneath a deliciously plump ivory thigh, his cheeks puffed out in concentration. Finally, she rolled over with a contented sigh and he pulled his brown leather trousers free with a triumphant, but silent, “Woot!” Pulling them on quickly, Tier then swiftly grabbed his large black boots from their landing place beside the bed, scooped up his white linen shirt and made a run for the door. Just as he was closing it behind him, he heard her sitting up in bed, sleepily calling after him: “Tiernan? You promised me breakfast, love! Not again!!!” Dropping Green aural shields around the room with a giggle, he took off at a run down the stairs, tossing a gold mark to the innkeeper who just shook his head. Obviously, this wasn’t an unfamiliar sight.
Tiernan buckled his pants standing in the streaming morning sun just outside the inn door, still barefoot and bare-chested. Obviously the man had little modestly, but really…he had learned very young that he had very little to be self-conscious about. His hair was noticeably bed rumpled this morning, his face a little worn from a long night of playing too late. But all in all, this only added to his charm. It had yet to fail him. The stench of stale ale and sweat that was coming off of him at this point, however…that was another matter. He wandered over to a little fountain and began attempting to wash off some of the smells of the previous evening. A splash of water over his face refreshed him greatly and helped to take away some of the evening’s wear and tear. Running wet hands through his hair, he pulled a leather thong from his pocket and tied it back securely until he could give it a proper wash. After washing other various areas and finishing up his makeshift birdbath, he tugged on his black boots which traveled all the way to his knees. Giving them a pleased slap, he straightened and stretched his muscles, finally feeling awake although his ears were still pounding a punishment. Tiernan pulled his white shirt over his shoulders, leaving it open to air it out a bit. He probably still stank of a wild night, but at least he might not burn the nostrils…
Last night had been a celebration of a job completed. He had a heavy purse…well…he had had a heavy purse before last night’s distraction of woman, booze, and gambling. Now he had to find something to occupy the rest of his days or he would spend the rest of it soon enough…[/small]
OOC Name: Secret. That rhymes with Sesbe.
Past Characters: None. That is bizarro.
I have read the Rules!: Yes
0 people like this