@CollectorOfMyst
“Don’t think of it as cheating, think of it as strategizing.”
Full Name: Ashley Wyatt Harper
Titles/Nicknames: The Magnificent, the Great, the Illustrious, the Wise, none of which have caught on despite his tongue-in-cheek insistence, strangely. Everybody just calls him by his last name.
Age: 24
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: To gold, mostly, and the people who have it.
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 170
Appearance: Harper is a staunch believer in the clothes making the man and is often never seen in anything less than an colorful, eye-catching long coat, a fitted shirt, dark pants, and boots shined to a blinding polish. Hailing from Noctis, Harper’s skin is rather pale and seemingly incapable of holding anything beyond a temporary sunburn. His hair is well-groomed, and he tends to leave a lingering scent of sandalwood cologne in his wake. Despite his prim and posh appearance, Harper doesn’t hold himself in any sort of kingly manner; he tends to lazily drag his body around as if his bones were made of stone. He slouches when he stands and practically fuses with the chair when he sits.
Personality: Harper is a chatterbox and a schmoozer. He can and will talk to anyone if given a chance, and has the seemingly uncanny ability to remember even the briefest of encounters. He’s confident and playful when around others, and is the kind of person who could directly insult another person without managing to offend them. He is a bit of a braggart, but in turn balances out his gloating with knowing winks and the occasional self-deprecation. Harper was largely (and still is) motivated by money, and he would unabashedly step over his own mother if she stood in the way between an easy payday. He’s fine with cheating, lying, and just about anything else as long as it doesn’t require putting in an honest effort.
Strength: 4
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 9
Cunning: 7
Magic: 1
Willpower: 2
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 9
Weapons of Choice: A crossbow, a short sword, and a bag brimming with caltrops, irritant powders, smoke bombs, and other goodies.
Armor/Combat Apparel: The only difference between Harper’s daily wear and his arena wear is his long coat, which is white instead of the usual loud colors. He states this is purely an aesthetic for the audience so they can better see the blood of his foes; he fails to mention that the white coat is about thirty pounds heavier and has been sewn around a rather protective layer of chain mail.
Fighting Style: Harper is a showman and a strategist. Before a fight he does what he can to find out information about his opponents to better prepare his team, and he isn’t above greasing someone’s palm to stack the odds in his favor. Entering into a fight he is often seen working the crowd and getting them to favor his team as if he were some gladiatorial hypeman. Despite his showiness and grandiose, during a fight Harper tends to sticks to the edge of the arena where he can get a better view of the whole picture, shouting orders and calling out opportunities to his allies and firing bolts and insults at his enemies to draw them out of position. His value diminishes fairly rapidly when he’s forced to directly enter the fray, and if he senses that his team is likely going to lose he’s more likely to throw the match and find some gruesome way to go out to entertain the audience than try and stage a desperate comeback.
Magical Affinity: None.
Place of Birth: The happy sunshine land of Noctis!
Social Status: Gambler, only because “Disgraced Gladiator” has such a nasty tone to it.
Alignment: Water
History: Harper came from a fairly poor family and grew up in the backstreets of Letum. He was made to work from a young age to help support his other siblings, and like many kids he was sent to the arenas to clean weapons, polish armor, and act as gofers for the gladiators. It was a lot of work—too much for Harper—and he would often shirk his responsibilities in favor of sneaking into the stands to watch the carnage. He was infatuated with the gladiatorial life from his first fight; he wanted to be apart of something where others would chant his name, where beautiful people would cling onto him like accessories, and where he would be paid in lots and lots of money, so much money that he wouldn’t have to clean a toilet ever again.
He trained during shift and on his breaks, but he never could fully dedicate himself to the rigamarole of gladiatorial training. Weeks would go by where he did nothing but practice his shoot and read nothing but strategy books, and then weeks would go by where he did nothing but sneak away to take a nap in an alcove. The only thing he did consistently, it seemed, was talk to the gladiators that came into his arena. Most of the other kids were too in awe or too frightened to go up to someone like Varnus the Skullcrusher and spit about the game, but not Harper. By the time he was in his teens he already knew a selection of gladiators, and more importantly he knew how to sweet talk gladiators. Eventually he wormed his way into a team, even though he wasn’t the strongest, the fastest, the toughest, and didn’t have a lick of magic in his body.
In all honesty, the team he got himself on wasn’t the best in the world. Hell, they weren’t even the best in Letum. In fact, they were more like the worst. Disorganized and more likely to fight one another than the enemy team, Harper was able to easily charm his way to a position of power within the group and then start using his influence to help them stay focused when in the arena. He didn’t give a damn if they tore themselves apart outside of the arena, but when money was on the line they needed to win. And they did, maybe...one in every ten fights. It was an improvement, but it wasn’t enough.
The turning point came when an elfblood named Allegra was roped into their team through a mutual friend. Unlike Harper, Allegra was strong, fast, tough, and she could melt someone in the blink of an eye. She was truly something else, and it was her skill alone that turned his team into Letum’s rising stars—seriously, she had won several matches after the rest of the team had been wiped out without taking away a single opponent. On her back they were carried to the finales during the Dauoa Festival. A victory meant prestige and a decent-sized payday split seven ways. The odds were heavily in their favor and they were crowd favorites.
With the blue sun peaking through the leaves a horn was blown and the final fight was underway. Allegra was charging straight into the enemy team, the sound of lightning cackling as she readied a spell, when she hit the ground like a bag of bricks, a crossbow bolt embedded between her shoulder blades. In either a genuine show of concern or a superb display of acting, a horrified Harper dropped his fired crossbow and ran forward to check on the downed Allegra. Next thing he knew he was brought back to life by the arena runes and surrounded by the rest of his visibly upset team who had fallen quickly after them. He convinced them that it had been a misfire, but knew that Allegra would have none of it. She was convinced that he struck a deal with the other team and had thrown the match.
Knowing that being on Allegra's bad side could turn fatal, Harper packed his bags and moved away. Unfortunately, this only further raised suspicions of collusion against the man, and word spread through the arena circuit that Harper was a cheat and a backstabber. He had joined a new team in Ashar, but when word got out of his little stunt they dropped him in an instant. Harper never could find another team to take him on, but he knew nothing aside from arena life. If everyone thought of him as a cheat, he might as well become a cheat. Harper spent a few months trying to fix matches to various successes, but eventually his reputation preceded him and he was quick to find himself surrounded by unfriendly and armed gladiators anytime he set foot near an arena.
Harper tried to make an honest living as a gambler, but luck was never on his side and one could only cheat so much before someone caught on and reached for a dagger. He traveled from town to town, trying to beat the spread of his name as a vagrant and a scoundrel in hopes of being able to make a few quick bucks before moving on to the next one, but it was growing more and more difficult by the day. Almost tougher than doing honest, hard work; heck, actually tougher than being a shoddy gladiator.
And that’s when luck, for once, smiles on him and gives him a second chance while he’s laying low in Risha. Some kid’s trying to put a team together and he’s desperate for help. Maybe it’s time for Harper to turn a new leaf and jump back into the ring. A little bit of redemption never hurt anybody, and people love a comeback story. Besides, he’s broke and the kid smells like money.
Harper
“Don’t think of it as cheating, think of it as strategizing.”
Profile
Full Name: Ashley Wyatt Harper
Titles/Nicknames: The Magnificent, the Great, the Illustrious, the Wise, none of which have caught on despite his tongue-in-cheek insistence, strangely. Everybody just calls him by his last name.
Age: 24
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: To gold, mostly, and the people who have it.
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 170
Appearance: Harper is a staunch believer in the clothes making the man and is often never seen in anything less than an colorful, eye-catching long coat, a fitted shirt, dark pants, and boots shined to a blinding polish. Hailing from Noctis, Harper’s skin is rather pale and seemingly incapable of holding anything beyond a temporary sunburn. His hair is well-groomed, and he tends to leave a lingering scent of sandalwood cologne in his wake. Despite his prim and posh appearance, Harper doesn’t hold himself in any sort of kingly manner; he tends to lazily drag his body around as if his bones were made of stone. He slouches when he stands and practically fuses with the chair when he sits.
Personality: Harper is a chatterbox and a schmoozer. He can and will talk to anyone if given a chance, and has the seemingly uncanny ability to remember even the briefest of encounters. He’s confident and playful when around others, and is the kind of person who could directly insult another person without managing to offend them. He is a bit of a braggart, but in turn balances out his gloating with knowing winks and the occasional self-deprecation. Harper was largely (and still is) motivated by money, and he would unabashedly step over his own mother if she stood in the way between an easy payday. He’s fine with cheating, lying, and just about anything else as long as it doesn’t require putting in an honest effort.
Combat
Strength: 4
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 9
Cunning: 7
Magic: 1
Willpower: 2
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 9
Weapons of Choice: A crossbow, a short sword, and a bag brimming with caltrops, irritant powders, smoke bombs, and other goodies.
Armor/Combat Apparel: The only difference between Harper’s daily wear and his arena wear is his long coat, which is white instead of the usual loud colors. He states this is purely an aesthetic for the audience so they can better see the blood of his foes; he fails to mention that the white coat is about thirty pounds heavier and has been sewn around a rather protective layer of chain mail.
Fighting Style: Harper is a showman and a strategist. Before a fight he does what he can to find out information about his opponents to better prepare his team, and he isn’t above greasing someone’s palm to stack the odds in his favor. Entering into a fight he is often seen working the crowd and getting them to favor his team as if he were some gladiatorial hypeman. Despite his showiness and grandiose, during a fight Harper tends to sticks to the edge of the arena where he can get a better view of the whole picture, shouting orders and calling out opportunities to his allies and firing bolts and insults at his enemies to draw them out of position. His value diminishes fairly rapidly when he’s forced to directly enter the fray, and if he senses that his team is likely going to lose he’s more likely to throw the match and find some gruesome way to go out to entertain the audience than try and stage a desperate comeback.
Magical Affinity: None.
Legacy
Place of Birth: The happy sunshine land of Noctis!
Social Status: Gambler, only because “Disgraced Gladiator” has such a nasty tone to it.
Alignment: Water
History: Harper came from a fairly poor family and grew up in the backstreets of Letum. He was made to work from a young age to help support his other siblings, and like many kids he was sent to the arenas to clean weapons, polish armor, and act as gofers for the gladiators. It was a lot of work—too much for Harper—and he would often shirk his responsibilities in favor of sneaking into the stands to watch the carnage. He was infatuated with the gladiatorial life from his first fight; he wanted to be apart of something where others would chant his name, where beautiful people would cling onto him like accessories, and where he would be paid in lots and lots of money, so much money that he wouldn’t have to clean a toilet ever again.
He trained during shift and on his breaks, but he never could fully dedicate himself to the rigamarole of gladiatorial training. Weeks would go by where he did nothing but practice his shoot and read nothing but strategy books, and then weeks would go by where he did nothing but sneak away to take a nap in an alcove. The only thing he did consistently, it seemed, was talk to the gladiators that came into his arena. Most of the other kids were too in awe or too frightened to go up to someone like Varnus the Skullcrusher and spit about the game, but not Harper. By the time he was in his teens he already knew a selection of gladiators, and more importantly he knew how to sweet talk gladiators. Eventually he wormed his way into a team, even though he wasn’t the strongest, the fastest, the toughest, and didn’t have a lick of magic in his body.
In all honesty, the team he got himself on wasn’t the best in the world. Hell, they weren’t even the best in Letum. In fact, they were more like the worst. Disorganized and more likely to fight one another than the enemy team, Harper was able to easily charm his way to a position of power within the group and then start using his influence to help them stay focused when in the arena. He didn’t give a damn if they tore themselves apart outside of the arena, but when money was on the line they needed to win. And they did, maybe...one in every ten fights. It was an improvement, but it wasn’t enough.
The turning point came when an elfblood named Allegra was roped into their team through a mutual friend. Unlike Harper, Allegra was strong, fast, tough, and she could melt someone in the blink of an eye. She was truly something else, and it was her skill alone that turned his team into Letum’s rising stars—seriously, she had won several matches after the rest of the team had been wiped out without taking away a single opponent. On her back they were carried to the finales during the Dauoa Festival. A victory meant prestige and a decent-sized payday split seven ways. The odds were heavily in their favor and they were crowd favorites.
With the blue sun peaking through the leaves a horn was blown and the final fight was underway. Allegra was charging straight into the enemy team, the sound of lightning cackling as she readied a spell, when she hit the ground like a bag of bricks, a crossbow bolt embedded between her shoulder blades. In either a genuine show of concern or a superb display of acting, a horrified Harper dropped his fired crossbow and ran forward to check on the downed Allegra. Next thing he knew he was brought back to life by the arena runes and surrounded by the rest of his visibly upset team who had fallen quickly after them. He convinced them that it had been a misfire, but knew that Allegra would have none of it. She was convinced that he struck a deal with the other team and had thrown the match.
Knowing that being on Allegra's bad side could turn fatal, Harper packed his bags and moved away. Unfortunately, this only further raised suspicions of collusion against the man, and word spread through the arena circuit that Harper was a cheat and a backstabber. He had joined a new team in Ashar, but when word got out of his little stunt they dropped him in an instant. Harper never could find another team to take him on, but he knew nothing aside from arena life. If everyone thought of him as a cheat, he might as well become a cheat. Harper spent a few months trying to fix matches to various successes, but eventually his reputation preceded him and he was quick to find himself surrounded by unfriendly and armed gladiators anytime he set foot near an arena.
Harper tried to make an honest living as a gambler, but luck was never on his side and one could only cheat so much before someone caught on and reached for a dagger. He traveled from town to town, trying to beat the spread of his name as a vagrant and a scoundrel in hopes of being able to make a few quick bucks before moving on to the next one, but it was growing more and more difficult by the day. Almost tougher than doing honest, hard work; heck, actually tougher than being a shoddy gladiator.
And that’s when luck, for once, smiles on him and gives him a second chance while he’s laying low in Risha. Some kid’s trying to put a team together and he’s desperate for help. Maybe it’s time for Harper to turn a new leaf and jump back into the ring. A little bit of redemption never hurt anybody, and people love a comeback story. Besides, he’s broke and the kid smells like money.
