Artherus
Nov 19, 2012 7:18:07 GMT -6
Post by Artherus on Nov 19, 2012 7:18:07 GMT -6
Name: Artherus
Class: Thief -> Rogue
Hair Color: Darker shade of gray
Eye Color: Lighter blue
Age: 29
Appearance: To say that Artherus fits the bill of a thief would be grossly inaccurate at best. It isn't that he particularly stands out to any great degree, it's more than he doesn't blend in well enough. He stands moderately tall, capping out at just over six feet when not slouching or sneaking about, and his most, shall we say, "distinguishing" feature is the absurdly dishevelled mop of ash-gray hair framing his head. Stubbornly refusing to match the expected of a man that travels as much as he does, his skin remains light -- he says it's because he spends every possible moment indoors, but who really even knows.
Clothes: Predominately garbed in shades of gray and black, Artherus's clothing seems to suit his task of blending in and going unnoticed as he skulks about well enough. A dull tunic, of nearly the same ash gray as his hair, covers most of his torso. A slate gray leather belt accompanies it about his waist, supporting a twin pair of sheathes for blades. Over one shoulder is a leather strap, supporting no less than four small knife sheathes. Black trousers adorn his legs, tucked into dark leather boots. Over it all is worn a dark cloak, usually shrouding most of his body with the exception of one arm, though at need it can be pulled close about him to shroud his entire body.
The curiosity of the many sheathes which adorn his garments are easily explained away in most cases as being for mere decoration, but when pressed, Artherus reveals their actual purpose, and that he has at least four more sheathes for smaller blades not immediately visible. Each and every shethere, whether it carries a blade in it or not, is capped with the hilt of a sword or knife, with only one or on occasion two actually housing a blade. Seemingly at random, he will switch out which of these sheathes he actually keeps his weapon in, serving no real purpose other than to make him perhaps unpredictable when drawing his blade. Or maybe he just likes to be odd. He'll never tell the real reason.
Born in: Anyone who asks gets a different answer, and an accompanying tale to go with it. If he really likes you, or you're "persuasive" enough, he might let slip a hint of the truth -- that he originally hails from somewhere within Lycia.
Story: Most of the truth regarding Artherus's past is a secret he keeps, in a word, close to his chest. Every time he tells about where he's from, what he's done, and all manner of other things, it's a different lie or story he's made up on the spot, or occasionally rehearsed. A few certain things in these many tales do, however, touch on the truth -- if only partially.
Getting to the truth of the matter, Artherus was born and spent his early years within Lycia -- he adamantly refuses to say exactly where, giving only a "Guess, if you really wanna know. I'm not spilling it." when pressed about it. As a young child, he dreamed of becoming a warrior of great renown, as perhaps is common among children. Given his current profession and life, it isn't hard to figure out his dreams didn't go according to plan. No, no, there was no great tragedy in his life which sent him off in some unexpected direction. Well....not really, at least.
He actually tried diligently for a number of years to find his calling as a warrior. He tried all manner of things, but after a number of mishaps wherein he nearly got himself -- or, in more than a few cases, his instructors and even bystanders -- seriously hurt, he all but gave up on actually becoming anything resembling a real warrior. All he had succeeded in picking up over his years was enough skill with a sword to not cut his own head off, and maybe defend himself in a fight if it came down to it.
It was all he had, and so he went off to go pursue perhaps some other profession, if he could find one. Again, it didn't go quite the way he predicted, but he succeeded...after a fashion. He took to all manner of attempts to find his calling, finding marginal success here and there, in the areas of trickery and occasional deceit. He was talented enough when it came to small entertainment and sleight of hand tricks and the like that he could actually make something of a living off of it. When things went too far south, he could always find some way to get away.
He was quick, both physically and mentally, and was no slouch when it came to thinking up some way to get out of a nasty situation. His true calling as the constantly on the move thief he is now didn't fall in his lap until just six years prior to his current wanderings. As they say, it takes a thief to catch a thief. Now, he had stolen here and there before; most anyone has, even if they didn't know it was wrong, or so he was taught eventually. He did it perhaps more than most, but as he told himself, "only enough to get by, and only when I need it". Not much comfort when he occasionally had to outrun the blade of an angry townsperson, but he always managed to give his pursuers the slip and go on about his business.
Sound typical yet? Good, thne we're both on the same page. Now, then, about catching a thief...
See, as it happened, Artherus wasn't the only technically job-less street performer who wasn't exactly doing well for himself. And as it happened, this chap made the mistake -- let's call it that for now, shall we? -- of stealing from Artherus, and less than an hour after he had just swiped enough hold to get himself by for a week or so. The nerve! Artherus, being as aware of his surroundings as he was, took a moment or so to notice, giving the thief -- obviously better at the actual thieving part of the title than he was himself -- ample time to make a headstart.
Cursing himself for his lack of attention, Artherus took off after the other man. He quickly realized that while he might have been quicker than his quarry -- he contributed that mostly to his longer stride, for the other man was nearly a half foot shorter, if not more -- his prey clearly knew the area better, for he managed to stay a good six paces ahead of him, no matter what tricks or shortcuts Artherus tried. Eventually, he got away, leaving Artherus standing in a dead-end alley turning in circles.
Embarressed, and now out of what money he'd managed to get, Artherus was, in a word, depressed. Perhaps justifiably so, but now he'd have to resort to more theft. Sigh. Or at least that's what he thought, until a bag of coin nearly put one of his eyes out. Out of instinct, he snatched it from the ground where it had landed, spying immediately the scrawled note pinned to it. "Nice chase, boy. Might be hope for you yet. Keep batter watch next time."
Bewildered, but not offering any complaint, Artherus tucked the gold away and hurried on his way.
Just over a month later, as fate might have it, the mysterious thief and Artherus crossed paths again, completely by accident. The thief in question was fleeing from a small patrol of guards, Artherus had just given the slip to an angry man who was now missing his week's wages. In the confusion of their run-in -- almost a literal one, had the thief not rolled aside at the last moment -- the patrol of three men caught up. They spouted their typical spiel about the law and thievery, and as expected, the thief politely declined to go quietly.
With the grinding of metal, the thief whisked his knife from its sheathe. With a flurry of quick feints, he had the soldiers dancing at nothing and immediately darted away. Artherus was smart enough to follow his lead and make all haste to get away himself. Of course, in his haste and building panic -- he'd never cared much for actual fighting, much less against trained soldiers, even if they were only small-time guardsmen -- he ran into another figurative dead end. He literally plowed into another small patrol of two soldiers. The mess turned sour quickly, and after a botched attempt to work his way out with words -- not helped by two of the former three soldiers showing up and pointing out he was "in league with a thief!" -- he was forced to draw his blade or get run through by a lance.
Now, adrenaline is of great help when fighting for your life. And fear and panic can give you quite a bit of adrenaline pumping through your system. So, even with as little actual skill he had, Artherus managed to kill one of the soldiers, wound two others, and flee from the fourth. Cornered animals and all that. Now, the good news is that he managed to get away. The bad news, well....he was now something of a wanted man, if only for a minor trouble. So he did the only sensible thing...and took off.
He never saw the mystery thief again, he never looked back, and he never revealed all of the truth of his origins to anyone. He, instead, constantly stayed on the move, going from place to place. A theft here, an occasional kill there followed by a frantic flight, and here and there a bit of benevolent "redistribution of wealth" whenever he saw an easy opportunity for it....even if he did keep most of the redistributed wealth for himself, more often than not.
And that, as they say, is that.
Class: Thief -> Rogue
Hair Color: Darker shade of gray
Eye Color: Lighter blue
Age: 29
Appearance: To say that Artherus fits the bill of a thief would be grossly inaccurate at best. It isn't that he particularly stands out to any great degree, it's more than he doesn't blend in well enough. He stands moderately tall, capping out at just over six feet when not slouching or sneaking about, and his most, shall we say, "distinguishing" feature is the absurdly dishevelled mop of ash-gray hair framing his head. Stubbornly refusing to match the expected of a man that travels as much as he does, his skin remains light -- he says it's because he spends every possible moment indoors, but who really even knows.
Clothes: Predominately garbed in shades of gray and black, Artherus's clothing seems to suit his task of blending in and going unnoticed as he skulks about well enough. A dull tunic, of nearly the same ash gray as his hair, covers most of his torso. A slate gray leather belt accompanies it about his waist, supporting a twin pair of sheathes for blades. Over one shoulder is a leather strap, supporting no less than four small knife sheathes. Black trousers adorn his legs, tucked into dark leather boots. Over it all is worn a dark cloak, usually shrouding most of his body with the exception of one arm, though at need it can be pulled close about him to shroud his entire body.
The curiosity of the many sheathes which adorn his garments are easily explained away in most cases as being for mere decoration, but when pressed, Artherus reveals their actual purpose, and that he has at least four more sheathes for smaller blades not immediately visible. Each and every shethere, whether it carries a blade in it or not, is capped with the hilt of a sword or knife, with only one or on occasion two actually housing a blade. Seemingly at random, he will switch out which of these sheathes he actually keeps his weapon in, serving no real purpose other than to make him perhaps unpredictable when drawing his blade. Or maybe he just likes to be odd. He'll never tell the real reason.
Born in: Anyone who asks gets a different answer, and an accompanying tale to go with it. If he really likes you, or you're "persuasive" enough, he might let slip a hint of the truth -- that he originally hails from somewhere within Lycia.
Story: Most of the truth regarding Artherus's past is a secret he keeps, in a word, close to his chest. Every time he tells about where he's from, what he's done, and all manner of other things, it's a different lie or story he's made up on the spot, or occasionally rehearsed. A few certain things in these many tales do, however, touch on the truth -- if only partially.
Getting to the truth of the matter, Artherus was born and spent his early years within Lycia -- he adamantly refuses to say exactly where, giving only a "Guess, if you really wanna know. I'm not spilling it." when pressed about it. As a young child, he dreamed of becoming a warrior of great renown, as perhaps is common among children. Given his current profession and life, it isn't hard to figure out his dreams didn't go according to plan. No, no, there was no great tragedy in his life which sent him off in some unexpected direction. Well....not really, at least.
He actually tried diligently for a number of years to find his calling as a warrior. He tried all manner of things, but after a number of mishaps wherein he nearly got himself -- or, in more than a few cases, his instructors and even bystanders -- seriously hurt, he all but gave up on actually becoming anything resembling a real warrior. All he had succeeded in picking up over his years was enough skill with a sword to not cut his own head off, and maybe defend himself in a fight if it came down to it.
It was all he had, and so he went off to go pursue perhaps some other profession, if he could find one. Again, it didn't go quite the way he predicted, but he succeeded...after a fashion. He took to all manner of attempts to find his calling, finding marginal success here and there, in the areas of trickery and occasional deceit. He was talented enough when it came to small entertainment and sleight of hand tricks and the like that he could actually make something of a living off of it. When things went too far south, he could always find some way to get away.
He was quick, both physically and mentally, and was no slouch when it came to thinking up some way to get out of a nasty situation. His true calling as the constantly on the move thief he is now didn't fall in his lap until just six years prior to his current wanderings. As they say, it takes a thief to catch a thief. Now, he had stolen here and there before; most anyone has, even if they didn't know it was wrong, or so he was taught eventually. He did it perhaps more than most, but as he told himself, "only enough to get by, and only when I need it". Not much comfort when he occasionally had to outrun the blade of an angry townsperson, but he always managed to give his pursuers the slip and go on about his business.
Sound typical yet? Good, thne we're both on the same page. Now, then, about catching a thief...
See, as it happened, Artherus wasn't the only technically job-less street performer who wasn't exactly doing well for himself. And as it happened, this chap made the mistake -- let's call it that for now, shall we? -- of stealing from Artherus, and less than an hour after he had just swiped enough hold to get himself by for a week or so. The nerve! Artherus, being as aware of his surroundings as he was, took a moment or so to notice, giving the thief -- obviously better at the actual thieving part of the title than he was himself -- ample time to make a headstart.
Cursing himself for his lack of attention, Artherus took off after the other man. He quickly realized that while he might have been quicker than his quarry -- he contributed that mostly to his longer stride, for the other man was nearly a half foot shorter, if not more -- his prey clearly knew the area better, for he managed to stay a good six paces ahead of him, no matter what tricks or shortcuts Artherus tried. Eventually, he got away, leaving Artherus standing in a dead-end alley turning in circles.
Embarressed, and now out of what money he'd managed to get, Artherus was, in a word, depressed. Perhaps justifiably so, but now he'd have to resort to more theft. Sigh. Or at least that's what he thought, until a bag of coin nearly put one of his eyes out. Out of instinct, he snatched it from the ground where it had landed, spying immediately the scrawled note pinned to it. "Nice chase, boy. Might be hope for you yet. Keep batter watch next time."
Bewildered, but not offering any complaint, Artherus tucked the gold away and hurried on his way.
Just over a month later, as fate might have it, the mysterious thief and Artherus crossed paths again, completely by accident. The thief in question was fleeing from a small patrol of guards, Artherus had just given the slip to an angry man who was now missing his week's wages. In the confusion of their run-in -- almost a literal one, had the thief not rolled aside at the last moment -- the patrol of three men caught up. They spouted their typical spiel about the law and thievery, and as expected, the thief politely declined to go quietly.
With the grinding of metal, the thief whisked his knife from its sheathe. With a flurry of quick feints, he had the soldiers dancing at nothing and immediately darted away. Artherus was smart enough to follow his lead and make all haste to get away himself. Of course, in his haste and building panic -- he'd never cared much for actual fighting, much less against trained soldiers, even if they were only small-time guardsmen -- he ran into another figurative dead end. He literally plowed into another small patrol of two soldiers. The mess turned sour quickly, and after a botched attempt to work his way out with words -- not helped by two of the former three soldiers showing up and pointing out he was "in league with a thief!" -- he was forced to draw his blade or get run through by a lance.
Now, adrenaline is of great help when fighting for your life. And fear and panic can give you quite a bit of adrenaline pumping through your system. So, even with as little actual skill he had, Artherus managed to kill one of the soldiers, wound two others, and flee from the fourth. Cornered animals and all that. Now, the good news is that he managed to get away. The bad news, well....he was now something of a wanted man, if only for a minor trouble. So he did the only sensible thing...and took off.
He never saw the mystery thief again, he never looked back, and he never revealed all of the truth of his origins to anyone. He, instead, constantly stayed on the move, going from place to place. A theft here, an occasional kill there followed by a frantic flight, and here and there a bit of benevolent "redistribution of wealth" whenever he saw an easy opportunity for it....even if he did keep most of the redistributed wealth for himself, more often than not.
And that, as they say, is that.
