Name: Evelio Laugier
Age: 41
Hair colour: Dark auburn
Eye colour: Cobalt Blue
Distinguishing features: The very first thing one would notice about this eccentric man - if they caught him at the right time - would be the dark grey-and-white peregrine falcon perched on his right shoulder. it doesn't usually stick around for long periods of time, preferring to fly until it is exhausted, then use Evelio like a resting place.

A leanly muscled man standing at the height of 181cm weighing 76.6kg, Evelio looks to be in his late-thirties despite his rugged face. Weathered tanned skin, strong jawline, slightly crooked nose, firm lips, straight shoulder-length dark auburn hair with streaks of grey and neatly-trimmed beard give him an overall image of a refined gentleman, if one ignores the brown leather eyepatch covering his right eye and the nasty scarring surrounding it. Several angry looking vertical scars travels past the covering of the eyepatch and ends just above his cheekbone. His lone eye is a dark cobalt blue, hard and piercing despite the obvious crows-feet at the corner of the eye.

He favours light tunic and breeches, with a heavy leather coat and vest over it. On his hands, he wears thick gloves and boots on his feet. His outfit rarely changes despite changes in season, but he hardly cares as he has gotten use to wearing this much even during summer. This is because the cold makes his scars ache. If he takes off the glove on his left hand, a small brand of a five point star can be seen on his wrist, and a circle branded around his ring finger. Evelio always has his falchion clipped to his belt at his left side.

Who are their friends, family, comrades?: It has been around two decades since he last contacted a member of his family. As far as he knows, however, his parents are still alive, his younger brother doing a better job than Evelio ever could in running the family estate and the family business was flourishing. His younger sister was engaged last he heard.

Comrades? Now that's a touchy subject. Granted, he didn't look back when he left - got booted out, more like - the Order all those years ago. Most of the brother-in-arms probably heaved a sigh of relief when the doors closed behind his back. The select few that acknowledged him when they happen to cross paths do hold a special little place in his heart, though.

As for friends, Evelio supposed he could count those within the Order that didn't shun him as friends, but friends keep in touch, right? So...that's makes them more of acquaintances than friends. And the various strangers that came into his life and left are only short-term friends or companions.

So I guess the closest he has to a friend for the past decade is his falcon companion. He can talk to it, share his woes and thoughts and it wouldn't judge him for it. And it has always returned to his side for the last five years.

Where were they born? Where do they call home?: Evelio Laugier was born in the Laugier Estate, in the town of Machiva to wealthy merchant Bernard Laugier and his wife, Daniee. The stone-and-wood mansion was located near the eastern edge of Machiva, built on top of a hill and surrounded by fertile land for plantation. This place was his childhood home, filled with happier memories of playing with his siblings and escaping those tedious arithmetic tutors.

When he turned twelve and decided that being a merchant wasn't the path best suited for him, he enlisted with the Order of Astra, the group of knights serving the Goddess of Stars. Aster was the dominant religious figure in Machiva as well as their neighbouring towns, but Evelio wasn't a religious person. He didn't believe in Aster, but being a Knight of the Order was better than being a simple soldier of the kingdom. The pay was better, and he didn't think he would witness much fighting. From the age of fifteen to twenty-nine, the main barracks of the Order of Astra in the city of Grimsole served as his second home.

Unfortunately, for Evelio who thought he would spend the prime of his youth as a glorified priest-in-armour for a religious Order and little else, his dream was shattered in his late-twenties. All the training and mock-battles he was forced to undergo wasn't just to keep up appearance. Ignorant of that little fact, Evelio was blindsided by the sudden skirmishes the Order of Astra had against another Religious Order, the Order of Taigi, Knights serving the God of the Moon, Taini. Tension had been growing between these two Churches, and poor Evelio was caught up in the middle of it all. These skirmishes turned into small-scale battles, and by the time both sides retreated and an unofficial truce was formed, his fragile psyche broke a little. So it was at the age of thirty-one, the former Knight of the Order of Astra was unceremoniously kicked out the doors of his second home on the grounds of being punished by the Goddess Aster and subjected to random bouts of insanity.

For the next decade, he wandered the lands as a nomad, doing odd jobs here and there. From the age of thirty-two, he sees the lands itself as his home. After all, nature itself provides him with food and shelter wherever he went.

Where do they go when they're angry?: Go? He doesn't go anywhere to vent his anger. If he is angry at you, a fist to the face is what you're gonna get. Of course, he doesn't make it a habit to hit women or children. His ma raised him better.

What is their biggest fear? Who have they told about it? Who would they never tell?: His nightmares give his fear form. Corpses littering the ground, the feel of warm, sticky - fresh - blood on his skin, the pleading eyes of his brothers-in-arms boring right into his soul. And then comes the hands - bony, rotting hands pulling at his legs and clawing at his body, the dry rasp of "help me help me I don't want to die help me why don't you die too --"...
He told his Order's Grandmaster about it when he first began experiencing night terrors, but the older man wasn't much help, citing them as survivor's guilt and telling him it will pass given time. When Evelio coped with it through other means - filling his mind with nonsensical thoughts so the nightmares don't come - he was dismissed as insane. Needless to say, he will never tell anyone again.

Do they have a secret?: Nothing major enough to be worth talking about. Although...he does secretly wish he was a little more insane, mad to the point he doesn't remember anything. That would be a blessing, eh?

What makes them laugh out loud?: Everything. Anything. Nothing specific. He could suddenly find a worm squirming in the mud funny. His sense of humour ranges from nonsensical to morbid and everything in between.

Have they ever been in love?: Unfortunately, no. Being labelled a loose cannon during his time in the Order didn't give him many romantic prospects, and after that, he just didn't feel like pursuing romance.

Describe the things that would be hard for them to part with.: His freedom: A decade of not being tied down to anything and anyone, of having no expectations on how to act and not giving a damn about what people thought of him has been riveting. He never wants to lose this sense of freedom, ever.
Materialistically, his coat. It's his favourite and he personally crafted it himself. There's his falchion, too. Well, it didn't start off his, but his best friend wouldn't really be needing it in the grave now, would he?

Describe the smells and sounds of their childhood kitchen.: Evelio's mother usually frowns upon her children venturing into the kitchen and interfering with the cook's work. But the few trips he took to the kitchen without his mother knowing, the first thing that greets him is the smell of freshly baked bread. Beneath that strong aroma is the ever-present charcoal and roasted meat from the night before. If he sneaks in at night for a midnight snack, then it would smell of crushed berries and honey they had for dessert.

Describe one strong memory from childhood.: The book's spine smacked soundly on the palms of his hands. Flinching from the initial sting, watery cobalt blue eyes glared disdainfully up at the bearded old man holding that offending tool. With a harrumph, the frail tutor turned away from the desk and Evelio's gaze dropped sulkily back to the half-filled paper sitting on his desk. Cursing the demonic tutor in his mind, the boy grudgingly picked up the quill and started writing once more, the flesh of his palm throbbing as it curled around the slim writing tool.

"Eh hem...you're making the same mistake again, Young Master Lio."

Evelio jerked, startled by the old man's voice suddenly coming from over his shoulder, the action sending a drop of ink to stain his answer. Growling from irritation and annoyance, he slammed the quill on the table, heedless of the mess it made on his desk.

"Stop hovering over me, you old coot!" He snapped. "I'm not the only one Father paid you to teach."

The tutor sniffed, looking down his nose at the scowling child. "Young Master Will is doing admirably on his assignment. He has already completed this set of questions."

Evelio's teeth clenched, forcing down another retort with difficulty as his eyes involuntarily drifted over to his younger brother working quietly in the other corner of the room. Willbur's gaze rose to meet his for a second, a quiet plea and apology swirling in those big, expressive eyes. Just like that, his anger drained away. With a quiet sigh, he dipped the quill in the ink again and continued working, trying his best to ignore the man hovering behind. He knew his younger brother was smarter than him, better at academics no matter how much Evelio tried. He wasn't jealous. Far from it. He was proud of Will, but he just wished his father saw what Evelio already knew deep down. The eldest Laugier child was not suited to be a merchant.

What do they want most of all?: Acceptance. To not be turned away because of his queer mental state. Perhaps that's why he refuses to stay in one place with the same people for too long. A funny stranger would garner a few looks but no one would truly mind as said person's just passing through. But once that same person hands around and becomes a common sight, general tolerance might drop. He doesn't want to experience being kicked out the doors again.

What is their interest in the motes?: Obscure records show these motes to grant the strangest of things to the world around it. Mayhaps, if he is lucky, the mote can either make him forget everything or restore his mind. He's not holding his breath, but better a sliver of hope than completely giving up, right?

Give a (non-spoilery) synopsis of a small adventure-plot that would be personally meaningful for your character.: Two decades since he stepped into this town. While the streets are hazily familiar, almost everything has changed. No one recognised him, which is understandable, given he hasn't been around since his early adolescent years. Not to mention his appearance has changed significantly from the fresh-faced boy so long ago. But the biggest change has to be the silent, empty manor sitting forlornly on the hilltop, surrounded by weeds, uncared for. What had he expected, really? That they would still be here after all those years, waiting for him? Something sharp dug into the soles of his boots, making him look down. It was a small silver star pendant, half hidden in the dirt. On it, the words 'Marigold Laugier' were engraved in a cursive script.

(art by orange-in-the-overcast)

-name-

Griffin Sylvestro

-age-

20

-hair color-

Brown

-eye color-

Light brown

-distinguishing features-

Griffin has a tendency to blend into a crowd. He spruces up his mercantile attire with hand-made, intricately-designed leather patches that comprise a baldric--his Family crest, spirographic designs, and small animal graphics, etc. He typically wears light to dark blue clothing, though if out traveling will default to more muted and practical colors. His head of thick, unruly hair is typically tied back in a small ponytail. Griff has light brown skin and stands a little taller than average and is more on the slender than athletic side.

-who are their friends, family, comrades?-

A man of few friends--hard to maintain friendships when you're saddled with a demanding, cut-throat job. Griff knows all of the frequent-flier merchants and tradesfolk of his town, though this is strictly on a professional basis. He can easily curry favors or deals with amenable peers, but that's the extent of the love. Though there was a slightly older woodworker that used to operate the stall next to him in the market square. What was his name...? Started with a D. Daric? Devin? Hmmm.

Griffin's family and the Sylvestro livelihood takes his full focus. Leatherworkers and trappers by trade, the Sylvestros were eleveated to small-time merchant nobility after a few generations of reliable product. His mom and sisters are top of the list when it comes to people that he must look up to and provide for, respectively. The nosedive that the brand has taken in the last few years has caused Griffin to redouble his efforts to provide for the ladies in his life.

-where were they born? where do they call home?-

Griffin was born and raised in the town of Crossroads, a bustling burg aptly named after its location on an intersection of traderoutes in the middle of the continent. It's a lone outpost of civilization encroached by thick woodlands on each side. Though small, it has a high turnover of residents due to the transitory nature of wheeling-and-dealing products to up-and-coming adventurers.

More specifically, the Sylvestro house is a two-level home of medium size that is located a street over from Crossroad's central market plaza. The family used to have a bold, beautifully-decorated residence; however, in the last year they took it down and the house now blends seamlessly into the neighborhood.

-where do they go when they're angry?-

When anger boils up in Griff's gut, he silently puts on a coat and skulks out into the wilderness surrounding Crossroads. He has a daily ritual of checking traps and catches for unlucky animals that may have been snared overnight. He'll collect the creatures, release them if their coats or skin are of poor quality, and kill the useable specimens. After that, it's a matter of stoking fires, skinning catches, and drying out and working the leather. Losing himself in the tactile effort of leatherwork allows Griff's worries and fears to burn away.

-what is their biggest fear? who have they told about it? who would they never tell?-

Griffin's biggest fear is that he'll grow up to be just like his father, whose spitting image people never fail to remind him of. The elder Sylvestro was an expert leatherworker and craftsman with a shrewd business sense. Griffin looked up to him from a very young age. However, his father experienced a slow crawl into madness and alcoholism. A drink a night became several every morning. Stern words over finances became screaming matches with Griffin's mother. Griffin would never tell his mother or sisters that he sees his father's leering reflection in every mirror, every puddle of rainwater. He fears she would see the same.

-do they have a secret?-

If he could disappear one day, leave all of this behind, Griffin thinks he could make miracles with a fresh start. A new name, a new brand...If it wasn't for the love and loyalty he felt for his family, Griffin would set off down one of the crossroads and never look back.

-what makes them laugh out loud?-

Not much, Griffin doesn't see a lot of humor in the world. His youngest sister, Maria, has a particular affection for jokes and puns. The right wordplay, coming from the right person causes him to crack a smile.

-have they ever been in love?-

No. "In love with my leather, perhaps" he'd answer sarcastically to probing questions from his sisters. However, as the years passed, Griffin thinks back more and more frequently to the woodworker boy that he shared stories with on summer nights. The young man whose name Griffin insists that he can't recall.

-describe the things that would be hard for them to part with.-

His family. Though the prospect of new scenery seems thrilling, Griffin loves the familiarity of Crossroads and would also deeply miss his traveler's town.

-describe the smells and sounds of their childhood kitchen.-

A thick aroma of game and smoke. A huge bubbling stewpot, fires diligently stoked by his young sisters. His mother in the kitchen, chopping parsnips and gossiping with Griffin's favorite aunt.

-describe one strong memory from childhood.-

It had been three days.

Three days since Griffin's father had set out to complete his usual routine: Check the traps. Untangle the snares. Drink the ale. String up the catch. Drink the flask of morning-wine. Return to the shop. Skin the carcass. Chew on a square of tobacco. Scream at the neighbor to keep the noise down. Drink the ale. Carve into the skin. Dry the hide. Scrape the gore off of the workbench. Drink the ale. Go to the plaza. Set up shop. Talk up the wares. Close shop. Go home. Sleep. Wake up, and check the traps...

But he hadn't come back, hadn't closed the loop. Three days. Now three nights.

Griffin stared at the jaws of an animal trap, closed around two legs of a raccoon. The creature was dead. Blood loss, dehydration. It had try to chew its own legs off in blinded panic. Something else had come along to chew on the raccoon as it slowly died over the course of three days.

Griffin pursed his lips, and pried the iron jaws open. The carcass, bent wildly obtuse, sunk to the cover of leaves that littered the ground. Griffin wiped a bead of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. He stood up, and looked around. Squinted through the dimness of the forest.

He turned, and looked back towards Crossroads. Obscured by trees, but still there, still bustling and breathing. Still hungry for commerce. Families thriving right on that cusp of financial security. A few bad days could lead into a bad week. That could lead into a total downturn of business as the brand faded. Fewer saddles with the Sylvestro name burned into them. Foreign belts from southern roads cinching up breeches.

Griffin took a deep breath, and wiped away some sweat that had dripped into his eyes. He shivered, and thought the day would be better spent not looking for any other half-eaten carcasses staring wide-eyed into the woods.

-what do they want most of all?-

Financial security for his family and prestige for the Sylvestro name. Griffin will do anything, work as hard as he possibly can, to put his stake into a new boon. Explore any avenue that could turn everything around.

-what is their interest in the motes?-

Griffin has heard stories of the motes--huge boulders that can vanish in an instant. Turn things upside-down. Light and quash fires in the blink of an eye. Something about a scurrying boat? It doesn't matter. He's been waiting for years for one to appear close enough to Crossroads to warrant gazing upon its runes. Griffin fully intends to chip off as many chunks of the mote he can to sell them to the highest bidder. Perhaps see if he can work the stones into leather armor and boast of its magical nature. He just knows that motes will be the Sylvestro family's big break.

-give a (non-spoilery) synopsis of a small adventure-plot that would be personally meaningful for your character.-

I don't know where the motes will take us, nor where exactly this adventure will go, but I think it would be fascinating to visit a far-off town and have Griffin immediately recognize the leatherwork present on belts and armor as his own. Though his family wrote off the Sylvestro patriarch as dead, maybe that wasn't the case at all. Maybe Griffin's father ran away, or got lost, or was swept away by a mote himself. Not sure exactly, but he's probably out there.