[center][color=8888aa][h1]Rook Warde[/h1][/color]
[img]http://media.obsidian.net/eternity/media/updates/0071/pe-eder-low.jpg[/img]
[h3][i]"Never piss off what you can’t kill."
[/i][/h3][/center]


[color=8888aa][b][u]Name[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]Rook[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Role[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]Lead Explorer[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Age[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]42 [/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Gender[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]Male[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Reputation[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]Rook has a considerable reputation, one that permeates the common class of men and overshadows even some nobles. It is widespread, but not very prevalent (more like a brand than a hero.) Putting a face to this reputation, however, is a different story with the limited means of communication. There is a plethora of tales ranging from fantastic to mundane none of which Rook will either confirm or deny. He is as silent as the grave. 
The following are some of the more predominant examples: 
-filthy rich but keeps it hidden
-has been granted nobility or knighthood by some authority because of some great deed no one can quite seem to recall
-murdered his brother (Emmet, Warde of the Whispering Badlands) which is known by the family not to be true.
-a thief, grave robber, highwayman, pirate, black-market trader, or other criminal on the run from the authorities
-former knight, soldier, or mercenary of some sort haunted by his past atrocities
-a revolutionary seeking to gain a following and overthrow the current monarchy
The one reputation above all else, is that he is a man of skill and talent, and that alone has lead to a few considerable names seeking to recruit him and a few considerable payoffs for appeasing them.[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Appearance [/u][/b][/color]
[indent]A little muscular, but not buff. There is a kicked-back and easy feel to his disposition, greatly contrasted by his sly and observant eyes. Grey hair has begun to hide on his head and goate. His dark brown hair is thick and stylish, but often buried under a hat or hood. While he dresses with care, that is the extent of it, once his work begins his garments become merely a tool and thus are not without stains and tears. [/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Height [/u][/b][/color]
[indent]5’9[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Weight [/u][/b][/color]
[indent]180 lb [/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Positive Traits:[/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]Cunning
[*]Easy Going
[*]Responsible
[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Negative Traits:[/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]Secretive
[*]Cautious to the point of being non-committal and amoral
[*]Disillusioned with people
[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Personality Description[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]Rook is both one of the easiest and hardest people to get along with. He does everything in his power to diffuse situations, he always seeks mutual benefit and trade. At the very least, he will hear someone out. However, there is a monolith in his behavior that does not budge an inch. Because of this, compromise is taboo to him. He views the world as easy come and easy go, but as soon as someone seeks to change him he solidifies his stance.

He is a responsible person, taking care of everything under his charge. He expects everyone else to do the same. When they do not, he builds a hedge between him and them, and allowing their foolishness to destroy them while he sits by and watches.

It could easily be said that Rook is strictly neutral, and it would also be strictly wrong. He is autonomous and aligned only to himself. While this makes him a difficult servant or slave, he is a fantastic leader, fulfilling every expectation of the role.[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Likes[/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]A good sense of humor
[*]Independence
[*]Time to think
[*]The night sky[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Dislikes[/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]Small-minded people
[*]Standard-substandard anything
[*]Unwanton destruction
[*]Mosquitoes[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Skills[/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]Strategic Thinking
[*]Sweet Talking
[*]Life on the run
[*]Research
[*]Architectural Inspection
[*]Antiquities Preservation
[*]Dead Languages[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Weapon(s) Description[/u][/b][/color]
[indent] Mobility, versatility, and power. Rook carries a hatchet and a war-hammer (with a pick on the other end. In his equipment is a recurve bow that he has trained to offset firing from horseback. He also carries a bullwhip (of which he is rather adept) as well as dual boot knives.[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Quirks[/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]Talkative... yet keeps secrets.
[*]OCD
[*]Enough: Rook makes sure that only enough is used for anything. This leaves a reserve that could be the difference between survival and death.[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Weaknesses[/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]Disillusioned
[*]Apathetic
[*]Uncompromising[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Fears [/u][/b][/color]
[indent][list][*]Himself
[*]Irrelevance
[*]His nephew becoming a loser because of something he’s messed up[/list][/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]Secrets[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]He is a creature of secrets, protecting each like a dragon jealousy hoards treasure. Much of his life and work is shrouded in a fog, with rumor and speculation mixed with half-truths and inaccuracies. The one secret that can be pried loose by those under his charge is the fact that his reputation bothers him greatly, as if he despised the very fact that he was known.[/indent]

[color=8888aa][b][u]History[/u][/b][/color]
[indent]The truth? The simple truth without embellishment? That is not so simple, for we often fantasize our paradigm, or are flat out mistaken. Such a rickety structure is the memory of man. So, the closest to the truth from my perspective is as follows.
We were treasure hunters, in a way, when we had no urgency for a roof or for tax money or for funds to pay a healer. One might say that the lower class of freemen was the breeding grounds for treasure hunters. Life was just the down time between quests. Nor did it matter the desires of our guild or clan. We told them to hang themselves by their thumbs, we had heard the siren call of the minstrel be it fiction, fancy, or legend.

Emmet, perhaps, was better equipped than I. He was focused, honed on the treasures and the glory. I lacked focus. That was perhaps the reason he was the first to taste the dream, when he found that old wizard’s keep out in the Badlands. I was with him then, but doubted our success the entire way. I was cursed there, unsealing that dark chamber and all of those obscene leavings protruding out of the sand. The venture paid in silver, but at what cost?

I diversified a bit, and struck out into politics for a while. Actually got to speak to the duke once, I got to say three words. “Man must speak...” What a fool I must have sounded. I was interrupted by some whispered emergency, and waited to present my case later. I gave up after three months of waiting for action. I realized the fallacy of civilization in that time, and the fallacy of myself. I tried to pursue some mundane life back home, but I never knew how to be normal.

So, I struck out again, this time with spite and rage, and I threw formalities to the wind. Some would call it criminal, some clever. I shattered the spell of fantasm and fed the loop of greed back on itself, and it paid in gold. Glorious gold. I made enemies, and I killed them when they drew the line between life and death and facsimile. However, I never felled anyone who did not give me another option. Then, in one spectacularly impossible to predict twist... it all ended. The cunning escapades, the fame and glory, the money. I was a broken man, the idol of myself toppled in the temple of my heart. I recall kneeling in the sand and dust, leaves blowing around me. I was wrong, so wrong. I had played the game of mankind, and I had only achieved destruction of everything that meant anything. I was alone, surrounded by the dead and surrounded by life. I was the curse.

Our big project, the one me and Emmett worked on for decades, was the Hand of Eden. We had studied, and learned, and dreamed, and practiced. Little by little, did we carve legend into reality, and little by little we reached insight. Emmet was sure that he had found it on his last venture. He was striking out, either desperate or ready to rejuvenate the Hand. I find it more than simple coincidence that he vanished about the same time that I was dashed against the stones.

So, when I got back, I tended to his boy and widow. However, the curse of Humanity called, and I could spare not but a few days of the month in their company. Perhaps the tranquility was what opened up the clues, for piece by piece I had collected the keys to unraveling the Hand, and perhaps even driving out the corruption that had strangled it. Much of what I pieced together, came from Emmet's research. I was actually ready a few years before, but at the pleading of his mother, I waited to take Emmet’s son to forge him into a man. So, this journey is personal, and I believe the time is right because I am right for the task. I will need to compose a team.[/indent]