Name: Durandal, “Dali the Dream-Painter"*

Race: Ophidian

Profession: Bard

Age: 22, (mid thirties, in human years)

Desription: Tall, a good 6'1", covered in scales of varying shades of green, a coat of tropical camoflage. His tail is an additional 7'9", extremely long for his species, and though his family has a history of long tails, his surpasses all others. It is a point of pride for him, similar to phallic size for human males. His back bears a line of dark green and brown spikes, not for defense, but for both temperature sensitivity as well as a deeper interaction with the world's magnetic poles, giving him and his kin exceptional sense of direction, similar to the method birds use for migration. He generally wears an old brown duster coat and matching wide brimmed hat, simply for protection from the sun when he is too warm. He wears his guitar on his back, and his knife on the strap. His chain he keeps coiled around his arm, or tied onto his beaten leather rucksack. His claws are brown, some with a vein of white running through them, and are long and sharp on one hand and both feet. His left hand's claws are filed down, generally with a rock, so that he can play his guitar without breaking the strings. His eyes are almost always wide, the reptilian smile, and his head always cocked, a reptilian mannerism for curiosity, so eager is he to gather material for his life's all-important yet technically useless work.

Biography: Durandal grew up in a large family, even by Ophidian standards. His brothers and sisters proved to be capable soldiers, mercernaries, bodyguards, hitmen, even some negotiators. All were important, all bore reasonably high social status. Dali was left in the dust, until he discovered his niche.
He began telling stories in the town square. First, just to other children. Then adults began to gather. Gradually, he had a daily crowd, buying him drinks, throwing money at him, into his vase, his lap, until he had become one of the wealthiest citizens in town, the envy of his siblings. His grandfather, the last bard his family had ever borne, was dying for most of Dali’s childhood. He gifted to Dali a guitar on his deathbed, saying “Storytelling ain’t a career. You wanna keep it up, be a bard. And a bard ain’t a bard without music.”
Dali took this to heart, earning him the nickname “Dream-Painter”*.
He coasted for years until his 22nd birthday, the same age his grandfather was when he got sick. He told a tale, to a great crowd on the outskirts of the empire, of a mighty emperor who oppressed his people. The people let him do it, for a long, long time. But one day, a small boy stood up against the Emperor's secret police, and his parents joined in. Soon, the whole village was in uproar against the tyrant. Then the city. Then, the empire. They overthrew the emperor and brought about an age of prosperity. Needless to say, the real emperor was not happy. It was time for a change anyway.

Dali now must undertake a journey, one he may not return from. But, even if he dies, one thing is for certain: it’ll be a damn good story.

Psychological Evaluation: Dali, as he prefers to be called, is, plain and simply, a storyteller. He claims to be the last of a long line of Ophidian royalty, a prince among lizards. He claims to be able to weave magic spells with his guitar and his stories, conjuring up otherworldy gods and conversing with them. He claims to have once slain a troll with a song.
In the end, he is not a liar. He is a storyteller, and that is the key difference. A liar deserves guilt for their deception. For a storyteller, skilled deception is not only part of the job, but the job. Dali is not a fighter, but he can scrap with the best, earning him a nickname in his hometown: “Dali the Dream-Bringer”. Preferring to be known for his stories, he spread that his nickname was “Dream-Painter, and now no one agrees what it started as. Clearly, he has a flair for not only the telling of a story, but the story itself. After all, as he often says, “Story’s only as good as the journey that made it.”
Dali’s interests include: Laying out in the sun, playing songs, telling stories, eating, and laying out in the moonlight.

Equipment: Ironwood Acoustic Guitar, custom made, egg shaped body, diamond-shaped sound hole, brown leather sling

Three empty scrolls for recording stories and songs that were particularly good

15 ft. Chain whip, barbed tri-point grappling hook on the end for combat and traversal

Rucksack, primarily filled with fruit and dried meats

Folding polished steel mirror, for sunbathing

A bag of birdseed, as songbirds make very good snacks

Quadruple-sized Water Sack, as a reptilian is quite prone to dehydration on the road

A pouch of seeds, from a variety of fruit trees. He plants them as he walks

Ophidian ceremonial knife, given, as per tradition, on his twelfth birthday, his first day of adulthood. He has carried this with him for ten years. It is half serrated, with a ‘Dragon’s Tooth’ curved tip, designed for hooking, slashing, and gouging. It also makes an excellent carving knife and fruit peeler, as Dali has found

A pouch of herbs, which he rolls into accompanying leaves and smokes as cigars when relaxing or entertaining

Goals: He desires to return home with the greatest story ever told, an epic to be resung for centuries. He believes that this will grant him true immortality: a legacy.

Dislikes: Birds of prey, predatory fish, eating birds of prey or predatory fish, hecklers

What is your crime?
"I am no criminal. My only crime is bringing hope, inspiration, angst, fear or sadness, depending on the demographic.

Your most treasured item?
"My tail, undoubtably. My brother lost his, and I am terrified."

Your favorite poem?
"Something I wrote a long time ago. Hang on, it's in here somewhere. Nope. Ah well. I'll find it later."

How would you like to die?
"In any way that would reach my family. Especially if it's shocking or horrifying. Bonus score if I also die heroically."

Frequent Quotes: "Sure as scales"

"Walloped"

"Snorf Snorf"

"Caterpillars are delicious/ taste incredible/ gotta find me some caterpillars/ caterpillar-good"

"Wanna hear somethin' crazy?"

"If I had an inch for every _______ ___ _______, my tail could be its own snake."

"I got a song for that."

"You ever wonder if ________."

"That tastes awful. Really awful."

"Go on, eat it."

"You'll never know unless you try it."

"Wanna hear a stupid story? Your career. Slap."

"Snakes talk funny."