Kearn O'Sorley
Jun 1, 2014 0:50:44 GMT -6
Post by Kearn O'Sorley on Jun 1, 2014 0:50:44 GMT -6
Name: Kearn O'Sorley
(Alt of Feldsky)
Class: Rogue
Hair Color: Reddish orange
Eye Color: Brown
Age: 28
Born in: Caelin, Lycia
Appearance: Kearn is a tall man standing at about six feet and one inch high, with a hale and hearty figure. He keeps his reddish orangey hair short, letting it stand up spiky as it did when he was still in his early years. Other than a slight nick of a scar on his brow where it looks like he took a blow years back, he appears to be in good shape, keeping his beard trimmed short on his chin. There are a few primary pieces of garb and equipment that remain on him as he travels. A worn green traveler's cloak, a satchel hanging on a strap from his shoulder, and a beaten sword in a scabbard that has seen better days. Other than that, everything is subject to change at a moment's notice. The most common thing to note about Kearn is the expression on his face. When he smiles, it seems to be shouting out his excitement about the world, and beckoning others to come and see what happens next.
Clothes: Kearn's clothes always seem to have a roughed up look about them. No doubt due to the sort of life he leads. Rough knee-high boots made of brown leather ensure that he doesn't step on thorns, save the particularly stiff ones. His tannish pants tend towards looser cuts. Not enough to be called baggy, but definitely a bit wider in the leg than is usual. Shirts can be red to green. White to grey. Lastly, from time to time, travelers will see him pull out a small wooden box from the satchel hanging at his side. Those who do are in for a treat, as it means that Kearn has decided to get his flute out and whip up a tune. The flute itself doesn't look like much. It's the plainest of instruments. However, it's clear to those who inspect it closely that it is well taken care of.
Story: As the first child of Conlan and Ardis O'Sorley, Kearn became witness to a great many wonders shown him by his parents. His mother had a natural affinity for the land they called home, and as he grew he followed in her steps as she taught him how to live off the land, and still let it flourish. He traveled with Ardis on more than one trek to the boundaries of their home and saw numerous little lakes and rivers. The stands of trees that people hunted in, and both prey and predator called home. She spoke to him about how there was a certain way that things should be. A certain balance that should stay. That the world, for the most part, was self regulating as long as there were people who remained who cared for and checked up on its balance now and then.
He also was in awe of his father's talents and abilities to do whatever he could think of, or create masterful works of art. Paintings, sculptures, songs, stories, friends. Whatever Conlan decided to work on, he would concentrate on, consider the possibilities, and if none presented themselves, he would scale back his expectations until he reached something he could do. Then, slowly, he would work his way up into the reaches of what had seemed impossible at first, showing step by step that it was not so. Conlan made certain that Kearn read relevant legends and recent histories. Classic tales and stories were picked up second nature whenever the town would hold a celebration with Conlan the story teller in attendance. Life was very full for Kearn, and he couldn't keep up with everything going on all around him. Eventually, he learned enough to pick a new motto. Let life be your teacher, but don't wait for it to show you around.
When Kearn was six years old, another child was born to his parents: Alhibe. It took him a little while to recover from the sudden shift in the attention he had recieved before. It'd just been him before. Now he had to split it with someone else!? Ah well.... What's a six year old to do.
Time passed, and Kearn learned a great deal skills which could be put to use in the real world. He learned to hunt and survive in the wild using tracking and traps. Like his father had shown him, if things didn't come easily at first he would back off a little, and try for something simpler until he managed a success, then he would take the next babystep forward. He and his father started playing duets in the celebrations of the town as he grew older, starting with learning to play the flute, bouncing over to drum rhythms, and moving on to more complex instruments such as the lute.
To keep himself entertained, Kearn would roughhouse with other boys, and play knights and bandits. Or, once older, he learned to juggle. Sometimes stones. Later knives. Also, juggling relationships. That was how he ended up with a scar on his left brow. Neither brothers, nor boyfriends take well to a flippant charmer of a rascal coming in and hitting on the girl in question.
Eventually, Kearn grew old enough to move out into the world if he so wished. He did! There was always something worth seeing around the bend, and Caelin had seemed to grow so small to him. At the age of twenty, left home for a time, taking up a walking stick and his flute and walking out the door with his parents blessings mixed with cautions. If only he could have known what he was getting into at the time.
Having no specific destination in mind, he decided that he wanted to cross the world. Pirates didn't really sound like something he wanted to cross the world to see, and Nabata would probably kill him. On the other hand, the mountains of Ilia were noted as being some of the largest in th world, and mercenaries were a sight better than pirates, though still not trustworthy as far as he was concerned. On his scenic trip towards the northeast, he decided that it would be worth it to swing through the Bernese countryside. He didn't think they'd let him approach, but the Fortress Castle Bern was also supposed to be a rather impressive sight to see, perched atop the mountains as it was.
An uneventful trip through Lycia was followed by a launch into hell shortly after he crossed into Bern. The Bandit War had begun. He hadn't been traveling long when a bandit raid hit the settlement he was staying in. Buildings were torched. People murdered in the streets. While everyone fled for their own lives, he found himself caught up in the chaos and destruction. He awoke to a throbbing head, in a cage fashioned out of wooden bars and blocks. He wasn't alone. There were other captives, and plenty of the pillagers hanging about. What followed was a very dark time, where Kearn was press ganged into joining the war, but on the wrong side. True, they didn't give him a weapon, but he could do other things. Mostly carry junk, scrub floors, and cook meals. At least, this was the case till he wore his welcome out, and got pitched into the fight ring. Surprisingly, he won his fight through a combination of desperation, quick reflexes, and sheer luck. This earned him a place of sorts in the bandit crew he was with. He got a promotion in other words. From prisoner to slave labor. Months passed, and during that time he stayed in the bandit camp. Along the way, he picked up a set of lockpicks, and made himself useful with those in the hopes of not starving or getting pitched back into the fighting ring again. Yet, he always ended up there again before too long. The fights were gruesome to him, but he kept alive somehow.
Finally, his torment was to end when retaliation finally reached the bandits. Someone had gone and informed a group of knights on their location, and when the strike reached the bandit base, it struck hard. In the confusion at the beginning of the fray, Kearn was able to figure out what was going on, and unlock the prison cages. Chaos ensued, and Kearn made his way out of the fray, among others. Freedom tasted so sweet in those first days after his ordeal. He simply ran into the hills and didn't turn back, using his knowledge of what was safe and what to do to to keep alive, but it felt like he'd forgotten what to do with freedom. For awhile he wandered. Then he took up a few jobs as an additional merchant guard on some treks across Bern. Always away from the concentrations of bandits. He couldn't go back to their holes. Not yet. Not even with the intention to kill them. Three long years after he left home, he wrote back, and told his family that he was on the way home. That they should expect him in the fall.
When he returned, he seemed different. Broken hearted at what had become of himself, and what had happened. It took him the better part of three years to come to terms with it all enough to share it fully with his parents. He still hasn't brought himself to give the details of what went on to Alhibe. Still troubled by his memories, but wanting to do something good to make up for the past years, he jumped at the chance to help the people of Bern. Especially once he heard that a Calderon was involved.
(Alt of Feldsky)
Class: Rogue
Hair Color: Reddish orange
Eye Color: Brown
Age: 28
Born in: Caelin, Lycia
Appearance: Kearn is a tall man standing at about six feet and one inch high, with a hale and hearty figure. He keeps his reddish orangey hair short, letting it stand up spiky as it did when he was still in his early years. Other than a slight nick of a scar on his brow where it looks like he took a blow years back, he appears to be in good shape, keeping his beard trimmed short on his chin. There are a few primary pieces of garb and equipment that remain on him as he travels. A worn green traveler's cloak, a satchel hanging on a strap from his shoulder, and a beaten sword in a scabbard that has seen better days. Other than that, everything is subject to change at a moment's notice. The most common thing to note about Kearn is the expression on his face. When he smiles, it seems to be shouting out his excitement about the world, and beckoning others to come and see what happens next.
Clothes: Kearn's clothes always seem to have a roughed up look about them. No doubt due to the sort of life he leads. Rough knee-high boots made of brown leather ensure that he doesn't step on thorns, save the particularly stiff ones. His tannish pants tend towards looser cuts. Not enough to be called baggy, but definitely a bit wider in the leg than is usual. Shirts can be red to green. White to grey. Lastly, from time to time, travelers will see him pull out a small wooden box from the satchel hanging at his side. Those who do are in for a treat, as it means that Kearn has decided to get his flute out and whip up a tune. The flute itself doesn't look like much. It's the plainest of instruments. However, it's clear to those who inspect it closely that it is well taken care of.
Story: As the first child of Conlan and Ardis O'Sorley, Kearn became witness to a great many wonders shown him by his parents. His mother had a natural affinity for the land they called home, and as he grew he followed in her steps as she taught him how to live off the land, and still let it flourish. He traveled with Ardis on more than one trek to the boundaries of their home and saw numerous little lakes and rivers. The stands of trees that people hunted in, and both prey and predator called home. She spoke to him about how there was a certain way that things should be. A certain balance that should stay. That the world, for the most part, was self regulating as long as there were people who remained who cared for and checked up on its balance now and then.
He also was in awe of his father's talents and abilities to do whatever he could think of, or create masterful works of art. Paintings, sculptures, songs, stories, friends. Whatever Conlan decided to work on, he would concentrate on, consider the possibilities, and if none presented themselves, he would scale back his expectations until he reached something he could do. Then, slowly, he would work his way up into the reaches of what had seemed impossible at first, showing step by step that it was not so. Conlan made certain that Kearn read relevant legends and recent histories. Classic tales and stories were picked up second nature whenever the town would hold a celebration with Conlan the story teller in attendance. Life was very full for Kearn, and he couldn't keep up with everything going on all around him. Eventually, he learned enough to pick a new motto. Let life be your teacher, but don't wait for it to show you around.
When Kearn was six years old, another child was born to his parents: Alhibe. It took him a little while to recover from the sudden shift in the attention he had recieved before. It'd just been him before. Now he had to split it with someone else!? Ah well.... What's a six year old to do.
Time passed, and Kearn learned a great deal skills which could be put to use in the real world. He learned to hunt and survive in the wild using tracking and traps. Like his father had shown him, if things didn't come easily at first he would back off a little, and try for something simpler until he managed a success, then he would take the next babystep forward. He and his father started playing duets in the celebrations of the town as he grew older, starting with learning to play the flute, bouncing over to drum rhythms, and moving on to more complex instruments such as the lute.
To keep himself entertained, Kearn would roughhouse with other boys, and play knights and bandits. Or, once older, he learned to juggle. Sometimes stones. Later knives. Also, juggling relationships. That was how he ended up with a scar on his left brow. Neither brothers, nor boyfriends take well to a flippant charmer of a rascal coming in and hitting on the girl in question.
Eventually, Kearn grew old enough to move out into the world if he so wished. He did! There was always something worth seeing around the bend, and Caelin had seemed to grow so small to him. At the age of twenty, left home for a time, taking up a walking stick and his flute and walking out the door with his parents blessings mixed with cautions. If only he could have known what he was getting into at the time.
Having no specific destination in mind, he decided that he wanted to cross the world. Pirates didn't really sound like something he wanted to cross the world to see, and Nabata would probably kill him. On the other hand, the mountains of Ilia were noted as being some of the largest in th world, and mercenaries were a sight better than pirates, though still not trustworthy as far as he was concerned. On his scenic trip towards the northeast, he decided that it would be worth it to swing through the Bernese countryside. He didn't think they'd let him approach, but the Fortress Castle Bern was also supposed to be a rather impressive sight to see, perched atop the mountains as it was.
An uneventful trip through Lycia was followed by a launch into hell shortly after he crossed into Bern. The Bandit War had begun. He hadn't been traveling long when a bandit raid hit the settlement he was staying in. Buildings were torched. People murdered in the streets. While everyone fled for their own lives, he found himself caught up in the chaos and destruction. He awoke to a throbbing head, in a cage fashioned out of wooden bars and blocks. He wasn't alone. There were other captives, and plenty of the pillagers hanging about. What followed was a very dark time, where Kearn was press ganged into joining the war, but on the wrong side. True, they didn't give him a weapon, but he could do other things. Mostly carry junk, scrub floors, and cook meals. At least, this was the case till he wore his welcome out, and got pitched into the fight ring. Surprisingly, he won his fight through a combination of desperation, quick reflexes, and sheer luck. This earned him a place of sorts in the bandit crew he was with. He got a promotion in other words. From prisoner to slave labor. Months passed, and during that time he stayed in the bandit camp. Along the way, he picked up a set of lockpicks, and made himself useful with those in the hopes of not starving or getting pitched back into the fighting ring again. Yet, he always ended up there again before too long. The fights were gruesome to him, but he kept alive somehow.
Finally, his torment was to end when retaliation finally reached the bandits. Someone had gone and informed a group of knights on their location, and when the strike reached the bandit base, it struck hard. In the confusion at the beginning of the fray, Kearn was able to figure out what was going on, and unlock the prison cages. Chaos ensued, and Kearn made his way out of the fray, among others. Freedom tasted so sweet in those first days after his ordeal. He simply ran into the hills and didn't turn back, using his knowledge of what was safe and what to do to to keep alive, but it felt like he'd forgotten what to do with freedom. For awhile he wandered. Then he took up a few jobs as an additional merchant guard on some treks across Bern. Always away from the concentrations of bandits. He couldn't go back to their holes. Not yet. Not even with the intention to kill them. Three long years after he left home, he wrote back, and told his family that he was on the way home. That they should expect him in the fall.
When he returned, he seemed different. Broken hearted at what had become of himself, and what had happened. It took him the better part of three years to come to terms with it all enough to share it fully with his parents. He still hasn't brought himself to give the details of what went on to Alhibe. Still troubled by his memories, but wanting to do something good to make up for the past years, he jumped at the chance to help the people of Bern. Especially once he heard that a Calderon was involved.
