Keen Eyed - Riley is blessed with excellent eyesight.
Attention to Detail - Again, Riley has keen eyes, and very little escapes them.

Okay, so Attention to Detail isn't supposed to be about eyesight. It's supposed to be a mental thing, noticing things that escape others due to thoroughness. But now that I've reread everyone's sheets again, I notice that basically what you want is two traits that do the same thing. Keen eyesight.

Don't take two traits that do the same thing. It's the same reason I asked Eire's sheet be changed. Use your traits to define your character, to branch out what they are beyond what their skills are. Change one of them, I say. Keen-Eyed would count as your Youth bonus trait as it's physical. So, I suggest taking something besides Attention-to-Detail.

And again, you can make your own traits. I may ask for a change in wording on them, but I will accept custom traits and proficiencies and what-have-you.

NAME: Boran Brenton
SEX: male
AGE: 44 (middle aged)
HOMELAND: Republic of Carise
BACKGROUND: Criminal

TRAITS:
Brawny - Boran is muscular and possesses considerable physical strength
Cool headed - Boran is not easily fazed even in the face of danger
Open minded - Boran is always willing to consider new ideas and concepts without being prejudiced
Illegal dealings (Criminal) - establishing connections and doing business on the underground market (which can be less expensive and have more exotic stock) is no problem for Boran

FLAWS:
Low stamina - due to his age and general physical condition, Boran tires out easily
Crude - not the politest person

PROFICIENCIES: 16+1

EXPERTISE
History I (1pt)
Folklore I (1pt)

SKILLS
Skulduggery II (3pts)
Appraisal I (1pt)

SOCIAL
Deceit II (3pts)

Weapons
Axes II (3pts)
Hand-to-hand II (3pt)
Shields I (1pt)
Maces I (1pt)

PERSONALITY: While not the most talkative type, Boran does like good company. However, he is not the best one out there himself. On one hand, he can be coarse and blunt with a weird sense of humor most people "just don't get". On the other, he is somewhat aloof, prone to letting his mind wander off at random moments. His peculiarities do not stem from ill intent, but rather from an overarching carefree demeanor he has adopted following his tumultuous past life. Be it in times of peace or peril; if he is alone or with others, Boran is in "fixed gear", which can be seen both as a weakness - in terms of thoughtlessness and recklessness - but also a strength by keeping a level head in any situation. When it comes to matters of his person, Boran is an open type who doesn't fear tearing down his walls. He has done enough self-contemplation to be confident. There is an air of confidence, even slight sophistication in him, hinting at an upbringing not usual for a common man.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Boran is a true mixed-blood. Standing at just above 180cm/6ft, with broad shoulders, square jaw and strong nose, he is a rather masculine man. He has medium length, wavy black hair, thick eyebrows and a rough stubble, but strangely pale skin.

EQUIPMENT:

• a combat knife in a sheath and a buckler on his hip, the buckler has an adjustable grip so it can be slid up to his forearm, freeing his hand
• an axe with a blunt butt/poll that can be strapped on his back for longer travels, for quicker access there is a noose on his hip. Boran has enough strength to wield it one-handed for some time, but it is cumbersome to do so and it's meant for two handed use.
• a small backpack that contains some food, a flask for water, another one for some booze, a sharpening kit and usually a random book to read.
• Black/brown gambeson armor, padded greaves and bracers, which are in good condition. A tiny bedroll, just enough to fit him.

HISTORY: As the only child of a wealthy businessman in Carise, Boran could enjoy luxuries that most people in the known world could not. At the same time, his freedom was also quite a bit more restricted. Taught by a private tutor, together with a small group of other privileged children, he studied a wide range of subjects - from mathematics and economy to etiquette and philosophy. What time was left over from studying was spent on training in the arts of combat. And what tiny amount was left even from that was mostly spent with his father, whether it be mentoring sessions about the business or formal meetings, dinners and gatherings with his associates. Boran didn't mind that he didn't have a normal childhood, because he was good at what he did. Too good. Brighter and more physically capable than his peers, Boran started developing a superiority complex that would bite him back in the future.

By the time he reached teenage years, it was already obvious that his father's business wasn't exactly legal. More precisely, he ran one of a dozen smuggling rings inside an organized crime family's trading company. For Boran, this was an opportunity. In his early 20s, Boran had integrated well into the business, solidifying his position as a good partner and future successor to his father; even gathering a small band of underlings of his own. Yet he remained a subordinate, an inferior. Driven by his ambition, overrated abilities and misplaced moral values, he tried to aggressively take more control inside the company. This did not sit well with his superiors - including his father-, who saw his crude methods and lack of loyalty as a direct act of defiance rather than any show of ability. Humiliated, Boran was allowed to escape Carise.

He vowed to get his vengeance as he sailed towards Abagon. Over the years he led and was part of many different bands of criminals - from the more sophisticated subtle types to even the lowliest thugs - hoping to build an empire of his own to one day get back at the people who had done him wrong. None of it came to fruition. With the war looming over Abagon as well, Boran eventually found himself in Beldemar. Years had passed, his youthful, reckless drive had been smothered by constant failures. Looking for some straightforward coin, Boran, nearing his fortieth birthday, signed up as a mercenary. Free from his futile pursuits and perhaps due to age, he found time to contemplate and find solace in a simpler life devoid of unnecessary stress. After all, a lot of time had passed and the people he once hated are already most likely dead.

Firstly, on traits/flaws: You should actually have two traits and two flaws total. As the big page says under flaws and traits: Every character gets 2 traits baseline, and every character gets 1 flaw baseline. The flaw you do have is good, but don't forget to include another one and two traits!

On equipment, having weapons drawn from your back can actually be really difficult. See: videos online explaining how hard it is to draw swords from your back. Having his axe at his hip in that noose most of the time makes plenty of sense. Likewise, the buckler would probably make the most sense attached to the belt. How big is that axe, by the way? What sort of axe is it? His armor and other equipment all make good sense.

Obviously, you haven't filled out proficiencies, but that's fine. You're not finished yet. No worries, my dude!

I like his backstory. It's short, conveys a pretty cool feel, and clearly establishes both who he was and who he is. It's good! I'll leave it at that.

Please tell me when you're finished. Also make the edits I suggested, please!

NAME: Flint Ambrose
SEX: Male
AGE: 35 (Middle-Aged).
HOMELAND: The Black Duchy, formerly the Kingdom of Lithenia.
BACKGROUND: Tradesman

TRAITS:

• Strider – Flint is not the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest. But he knows how to take what he has and use it to survive.
• Tactician – When you’re at this for half of your life, you usually develop an eye for strategy.

FLAWS:

• Sleepless – Most people go to sleep at night, but Flint... it takes a bit.

PROFICIENCIES: 16 +4 Skill points
Expertise:
Tactics II (3 points)
Folklore I (1 point)
Mathematics I (1 point)

Skills:
Cooking II (3 points)
Herbalism II (3 points)
Flute I (1 point)

Social:
Command I (1 point)

Weapons:
Swords II (3 points)
Shields II (3 points)

PERSONALITY:

Flint can be the stoic type; he has endured hardships and pain, but gritted his teeth and got on with it. That’s all he really has to do. Not much he can see ahead of him, and not much that would come after, either. This also extends to people. He’s not gone out of his way to make friends, and can often appear aloof. That said, he does try to care for the few people he knows – it’s simply that he’s lost enough people that it becomes hard to care for anyone more.
He tries to watch out for his friends, or rather, comrades, to make sure that they live to see another day. Whether this is interposing a sword or shield to halt a deadly blow, making sure they don’t make enemies of import or just plain shouting at them, he’ll do his best. If he doesn’t have any bodies to care about, he’ll just worry about making sure whatever’s trying to gut him gets gutted first.
And as for his beliefs… Flint practices some of the Old Ways, but he is no god-fearing man. In fact, he doesn’t fear much at all. Put him in a panic? Certainly. But there are only a two things Flint has truly come to fear. The first is meeting his end – a reasonable fear by any means, and one that has often kept him his hide. And second… Duke Garcell of the Black Duchy. That man is truly a demon to him.
He's also coming to regret how long he's been in the game... the number of creases on his brow have increased. He hasn't found any grey hairs, but it's only a matter of time. Both signify he's nearing an age where he won't be as effective a fighter as he used to be. Even if he became a captain of some kind, he would still see war. Or he could purchase some land, open a shop or an inn, get a pretty wife - the standard dream. He can't trudge dirt paths forever. So once again, his life falls to a choice.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:

Not tall, not short, with tawny brown hair and gold-flecked brown eyes, he would not stand out among the people you might see in the Aldaric Sea, common as that is. He couldn’t even tell you from whom he is descended – though he has his presumptions. He’s fairly balanced in his athleticism, lean enough to be quick, muscled enough to be strong, and, well, he's had an admirer or two in his life.

EQUIPMENT:

A bastard sword and a simple iron shield are his primary tools-of-choice, with a leather brigandine, bracers and greaves, and steel-toed boots, with a plate helm and leather cap he wears if knocks to the head are likely. He has a crossbow and a dagger, too, but mostly it’s piecemeal things he’s picked up over the years. Most of it he just sold on to someone else. Add in his bags with enough food and clean water to get him to the next town, some dried herbs and strips of cloth in case he injures himself, kindling and a flint to light the occasional fire, a wooden flute which he whittled himself and occasionally plays, a whetstone and oil for his gear, a bedroll and blanket for sleeping, rope, which you always need, and his coin, and he’s set to go for his journeying. You might think that’s a lot for one man to carry, and you’d be right, which is why he brings along Gale, a bay-coloured mare. She’s not exactly one to ride, and she’ll kick if she’s made uncomfortable, but they seem to have a good relationship.

HISTORY:

Flint was born to a herbalist and a miner in a provincial town, in the Kingdom of Lithenia. He refuses to call it by any other name. He was twelve when Barthos Garcell staged his coup, and that was about when his father died, too. And under the Duke’s (now King’s) rein, things certainly changed. He remembers how harsh things were back then. The toll it took.

In lieu of taking up a pick-axe, Flint’s mother taught him her herb trade, how to grow some, where others grew wild, and which ones not to touch, and then how to mix them, cut them, mash them, brew them. It took several months, and a number of arguments, before he relented. He’d run the town to make deliveries and hiked into the mountains to go where his mother dare not. He met a few 'Low Aldonians' at that time, too. The ones who saw him were brash, and the ones who didn't... he came to pity these people. Their ancestors had left them quite the legacy. Aside from those distractions, he and his mother were still relatively happy... but as it always does in stories, that didn’t last.

Just before his sixteenth, his mother died, in a fit of Fate’s Irony, from illness. And that took everything from him. He didn’t have nearly the expertise his mother did in herbs, and the horror stories of explosions in the mines struck that off the list. That left starving, begging, or apprenticeship to a craftsman or trader… or enlisting. He was too old to find anybody who’d take him, and he’d seen enough dead in the streets to know that trying to beg would starve him anyway. And that left enlistment.

He remembered the time the King took over. He didn’t want to be a part of that. But what choice did he have? It came in the form of a mercenary company, in search of new work and fresh blood for the fold. They had no interest in a scraggly youth, untrained and untried, but a single man took pity on him. Menos was an old veteran, more one to bark than bite, and reaching his decline. But he claimed to see the fighting spirit in Flint. So Flint sold what he no longer needed, including the only home he knew, bought a rusted sword and mould-ridden shield, and left. His training took some time, years spent on the road until he was on par with his mentor. He helped his group wherever he could, and joined his company in fights when they happened. He turned twenty by the time he could afford a proper weapon. And he was more than distraught when, in a moment of hesitation from Flint, Menos took a blow for him. It proved fatal.

That was all it took for Flint. Despite the congratulations of his comrades and the coin in his pocket, he felt numb. Death was a thing that happened. He had always known that. But one after another, they’d left him behind. He’d lost most all he considered dear to him. Taking his share of coin from the company, he bought a filly pony and left on amicable terms with the men he’d known for the past four years. His time since has been spent as an escort, making sure bandits and pirates don’t lay their hands on his charges, and on occasion, grabbing the occasional thief or murderer. The only place he’s not gone in the last twelve years has been the Duchy itself.