- Who Am I...
I’m just a smith, running off of coffee, alcohol, and spite.
- My Story Is...
I’m a human who took up smithing, like my mother, and grandfather, and uncles, and… most of my family, really. In recent months, I pledged into the Wandering… and before you get all righteous on me for agreeing to supply a mercenary group, let me point out that I am just human. I don’t have any magic or blessings or special abilities. I haven’t seen Lauren around in months. Apparently she got killed for pissing off a god. Well, that’s about the time my life went to shit. Because guess what. People get pissy when a weaponsmith isn’t picky with her customers. And people get pissy when she holds her clients and their information in confidentiality. And honestly, those people wanting me gone are the main reason I haven’t put a poker through my eye. Don’t ever say spite hasn’t done anything for anyone.
- My Appearance
I have brown hair and eyes, and calloused hands which are usually covered in something. Dirt, oil, soot, whatever it may be. My left arm from a little above the elbow down is covered in an awful burn, because my arm wound up in some coals during an attempted robbery. I have a brand on the left side of my neck, the Roman numerals LVIII, from the Wandering. There are several scars around my right shoulder, and dozens more, little lines that are dispersed, along with a pair of dots on my right hand side of my ribs. Long story short, some people have… Issues with the fact that I keep my customers and their information confidential.
- I Believe...
that you have to survive. And that Life is a mythic bitch. But what’s new?