Mun: Zephyr Contact: PM this account. I have AIM but I’m never on it unless prodded. Character(s) at Invoria: Davroar -------------------- Character Name (and journal, if one is already made): Davroar | mockerbird Age: Late 30s PB: Aidan Gillen Stranger/Native: Native Class: Rogue Occupation: Thief / Con artist History: He gives a different story whenever he’s asked, but the simple truth of it is that Davroar’s beginnings were common. From a poor village, he came from a family with too many children. It was only luck that when his mother secured a position as a servant at the local lord’s manor; Davroar was young enough that she had to take him.
The lord had children, and Davroar was assigned to the youngest boy. At first, they got along quite well despite the two year age difference. Davroar was allowed to attend the other boy’s lessons. He learned to read and write, proper etiquette, how to go unnoticed, and was even taught a few dances. It was nice up until the lord’s son started dreaming of knighthood and glory and battlefields. After that, the boys found themselves on increasingly daring impromptu adventures. In an effort to save his own skin, Davroar learned to be persuasive. He cleaned up his master’s messes by any means necessary, but it wasn’t always enough to save him from a whipping. Bitter about his treatment, but loyal, there was no way to remove himself from the situation.
Fate intervened. All of those dreams of knighthood came to fruition for the lord’s son when he was sixteen. Too young, really, but those were the perks of nobility. What passed for a war broke out between the lord and his nearest neighbor. Their armies were mostly peasants and mercenaries, but somehow Davroar, then fourteen, found himself accompanying his master to the battlefield. Everything that could have gone wrong did. The lord’s son was thrown from his horse and quickly set upon. Though Davroar tried to help it was no use. All he got for his trouble was an ugly wound to the hip that would leave him with a limp for the rest of his life. They won the war, but with no master to serve and still injured, Davroar was sent back to live with his father. The cramped farm seemed like hell after the manor.
As soon as his injury healed enough to allow it, Davroar left, and quickly fell in with a bad lot when he hit the next town. He got better at pickpocketing and lying, intimidation and evasion came easier when the consequence of failure was death instead of a mere whipping. He left when people started to get too familiar with him. For a time he joined some highwaymen. When he learned that he didn’t have the stomach for it, he moved on to better hunting grounds. He talked his way into minor positions of power, pretending to be distant cousins, scribes, chaplains, whatever was necessary. By the time he was in his mid-twenties, he had a small but growing collection of signet rings.
It was only after claimed to meet his deity, one he only refers to as “the old man” when pressed, that Davroar started attempting bigger schemes. He was engaged to three women in quick succession as he approached thirty. They were all women above his station who knew his real name. They owned land and came from good lines. The first wedding was only cancelled because the bride turned up dead. The two following engagements were broken by the bride or her family, but the women disappeared shortly after. No one is quite sure what happened, but a few of the less flattering rumors think Davroar a murderer. As a result, he was dubbed “The Widower” in the south of Invoria.
Afterwards, Davroar went right back to impersonating minor nobles and wealthy merchants.
Personality: An actor at heart, Davroar likes to pretend to be anyone but himself. He switches names and titles regularly, steals signet rings and banners, and acquires clothes of various houses just to better play his parts. He is overly protective of his clothing because it’s a vital part of the act. He seems open and occasionally generous, but every single thing he does has a motive that somehow benefits him. Selfish is the least of it. He’s largely motivated by shiny things and amusement.
Davroar doesn’t frown. He doesn’t scowl. He doesn’t like to look unfriendly. Any threat he delivers is with a smile, and all his sarcasm comes the same way. It’s a bit of a challenge to make the man genuinely angry instead of just annoyed or frustrated.
The only thing he is doggedly loyal to anymore is his god. He hasn’t seen or thought of his family in decades, and friends have varying worth, but he would sacrifice all of them to save his own skin. After all, they’d do the same.
Your Goals for Your Character: It would be great if he could realize life isn’t a game of “what’s your angle?” and that people can have more than fair weather friends. Also, thinking of other people once in a while instead of only looking out for number one.
no subject
Contact: PM this account. I have AIM but I’m never on it unless prodded.
Character(s) at Invoria: Davroar
--------------------
Character Name (and journal, if one is already made): Davroar |
Age: Late 30s
PB: Aidan Gillen
Stranger/Native: Native
Class: Rogue
Occupation: Thief / Con artist
History: He gives a different story whenever he’s asked, but the simple truth of it is that Davroar’s beginnings were common. From a poor village, he came from a family with too many children. It was only luck that when his mother secured a position as a servant at the local lord’s manor; Davroar was young enough that she had to take him.
The lord had children, and Davroar was assigned to the youngest boy. At first, they got along quite well despite the two year age difference. Davroar was allowed to attend the other boy’s lessons. He learned to read and write, proper etiquette, how to go unnoticed, and was even taught a few dances. It was nice up until the lord’s son started dreaming of knighthood and glory and battlefields. After that, the boys found themselves on increasingly daring impromptu adventures. In an effort to save his own skin, Davroar learned to be persuasive. He cleaned up his master’s messes by any means necessary, but it wasn’t always enough to save him from a whipping. Bitter about his treatment, but loyal, there was no way to remove himself from the situation.
Fate intervened. All of those dreams of knighthood came to fruition for the lord’s son when he was sixteen. Too young, really, but those were the perks of nobility. What passed for a war broke out between the lord and his nearest neighbor. Their armies were mostly peasants and mercenaries, but somehow Davroar, then fourteen, found himself accompanying his master to the battlefield. Everything that could have gone wrong did. The lord’s son was thrown from his horse and quickly set upon. Though Davroar tried to help it was no use. All he got for his trouble was an ugly wound to the hip that would leave him with a limp for the rest of his life. They won the war, but with no master to serve and still injured, Davroar was sent back to live with his father. The cramped farm seemed like hell after the manor.
As soon as his injury healed enough to allow it, Davroar left, and quickly fell in with a bad lot when he hit the next town. He got better at pickpocketing and lying, intimidation and evasion came easier when the consequence of failure was death instead of a mere whipping. He left when people started to get too familiar with him. For a time he joined some highwaymen. When he learned that he didn’t have the stomach for it, he moved on to better hunting grounds. He talked his way into minor positions of power, pretending to be distant cousins, scribes, chaplains, whatever was necessary. By the time he was in his mid-twenties, he had a small but growing collection of signet rings.
It was only after claimed to meet his deity, one he only refers to as “the old man” when pressed, that Davroar started attempting bigger schemes. He was engaged to three women in quick succession as he approached thirty. They were all women above his station who knew his real name. They owned land and came from good lines. The first wedding was only cancelled because the bride turned up dead. The two following engagements were broken by the bride or her family, but the women disappeared shortly after. No one is quite sure what happened, but a few of the less flattering rumors think Davroar a murderer. As a result, he was dubbed “The Widower” in the south of Invoria.
Afterwards, Davroar went right back to impersonating minor nobles and wealthy merchants.
Personality: An actor at heart, Davroar likes to pretend to be anyone but himself. He switches names and titles regularly, steals signet rings and banners, and acquires clothes of various houses just to better play his parts. He is overly protective of his clothing because it’s a vital part of the act. He seems open and occasionally generous, but every single thing he does has a motive that somehow benefits him. Selfish is the least of it. He’s largely motivated by shiny things and amusement.
Davroar doesn’t frown. He doesn’t scowl. He doesn’t like to look unfriendly. Any threat he delivers is with a smile, and all his sarcasm comes the same way. It’s a bit of a challenge to make the man genuinely angry instead of just annoyed or frustrated.
The only thing he is doggedly loyal to anymore is his god. He hasn’t seen or thought of his family in decades, and friends have varying worth, but he would sacrifice all of them to save his own skin. After all, they’d do the same.
Your Goals for Your Character: It would be great if he could realize life isn’t a game of “what’s your angle?” and that people can have more than fair weather friends. Also, thinking of other people once in a while instead of only looking out for number one.