Ronan Argyle/Traynor Valenti



“Well, that’s hardly a way to greet someone like myself, is it? Put the sword down, and let’s talk this through, friend. I’m sure we can be of service to one another.”



53



M



Half-Elf



To many, Ronan exemplifies a Half-Elf quite perfectly. At a passing glance, he may appear like any other Human man if one does not immediately notice his pointed ears. But, upon closer inspection, his natural charm and slender build do little to hide his Elven blood. He stands just slightly shorter than the average man, with a frame toned by years of travel, combat, and the athleticism required to survive doing the kind of work he found himself involved in.
Usually donned in brightly coloured clothing and armour, Ronan enjoys looking the part of a successful adventurer; perhaps more so than actually being an adventurer. His pointed ears are lined with almost as much jewellery as can be found draped around his neck and wrists, and a deep purple cloak can always be found draped across his shoulders - a signature look, or so he hopes.
One of his most prominent features however is the vibrant colours of his face. With some body paint always handy, Ronan has been painting a faux mask on his face ever since his name began circulating the local taverns. Usually, the paint covers the upper portion of his face - around his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Though he would likely never admit it, he does so partly because he knows it will spark conversation, and an affinity for being the center of gossip and conversation is part of the reason why he never grew up to be forgotten among the hordes of commonfolk in the realms.



Ronan has proven to have quite a silver tongue. As a youth, it was what helped he and his family survive the harsh urban environment of their city. As an adult, though, his natural charm and wit has opened up whole new avenues for him.
Always seen with a broad smile on his face, Ronan carries an air of friendliness and familiarity about him. While he is not an evil man, he is not quite good enough to not use his personality to his advantage.
He is cunning, and knows his way around the minds of the people around him. Sometimes, this simply means charming a pretty woman at a tavern, but sometimes it also serves to get him out of the trouble he often finds himself in. A self-proclaimed lover as opposed to being a fighter, Ronan will use his words before resorting to his blade as often as possible.
To anyone not close enough to know Ronan as a ne’er-do-well, his demeanour portrays that of a happy-go-lucky, fun-loving man. He has plenty of jokes up his sleeve and is no stranger to the language of sarcasm. Sometimes, this gets him in trouble, but never so much trouble that he cannot talk his way out of it. Not yet, anyway.
Ronan loves an eventful night at the tavern, mostly because it provides him with an audience to which he can tell his embellished tales of adventure. This is usually where he can be found feeding his narcissism, and the argument has been made that he has grown too fond of the comfort of the taverns. His adventures have become few and far between, and his bar tabs have only grown because of it. Ronan is well aware of this, and the adventurous spirit that once hauled him out of his life of crime is once again beginning to beckon.
That, he knows, is an itch that cannot be scratched by staying put.



Ronan’s particular skillset mostly falls under the domain of the rogue. He knows how to slip in and out of the shadows, where to lodge the sharp end of his dagger, and how to pick a pocket just as well as a lock. His evasiveness has served him well over the years, especially when faced with a foe or encounter that he knows cannot be solved with some well-chosen words or a quick and silent arrow. By means of silence and stealth, Ronan can - and will - escape a sticky situation just as easily as he stepped into it.
That being said, not all of his foes are susceptible to his tricks. He has quickly discovered that his sharp wit and Half-Elven charm only work on those with the mind for it. Of course, this means that beasts of the wild have proven to be more of a challenge than any person could be. While a man or woman can be tricked or charmed, an angry mother bear cares little for what her opponent has to say, and Ronan has the scars to prove it.
Ronan has eyes that are nearly just as sharp as his tongue. He has grown fond of the bow and arrow, and is always on the lookout for abnormalities in his surroundings. All too often, as a youth, did Ronan nearly lose a foot or hand after coming too close to a trap he had not seen. In disarming them, the Half-Elf has in turn learned how to set them back up. This has proven quite beneficial in his particular line of work.



As a trained thief, Ronan knows the benefits of travelling light. But, as a professional adventurer-type, he also knows the importance of being prepared. Though he is not sure if he has yet reached it yet, he strives for a balance between efficiency and subtlety.
Ronan rarely goes anywhere unarmed, though the average man may never know it. He keep two twin dagger on his person at all times; sometimes they are readily on display at his hip, but when the aituation calls for it, he is known to hide them wherever he can, be that in his boot or in his sleeve.
His main weapon of choice, though, is an ornate bow, gifted to him by his employer as a youth. The edges of the bow are carved with intricate designs and laden with small inserts of gold and jewels. Just like Ronan himself, the bow stands out among the crowd, and for that he loves the weapon all that much more.
In his few bags, Ronan is sure to carry some body paint. This is mostly for aesthetic purposes, but also serves as a way to hide his identity if need be.
Ronan is always sure to have some form of lockpicks readily available as well. These have served to provide the Half-Elf with an early escape from a cell, or sometimes to pick the rusted lock of a chest found in the deep corners of some bandit hole, or the musty basement of a nobleman’s home.
Having learned the benefits of traps early in his career, Ronan usually keeps a small amount of traps in one of his packs. He has used these to find food in the wilderness, but also to slow his pursuers, be they man or beast.
Having grown fond of attention over the years, Ronan dresses rather flamboyantly. Bright purples, yellows, and greens can be found all over his various outfits. The costly chainmail he wears when adventuring, too, is dyed a deep royal purple, ensuring that his garments will likely never match those of any other adventurer he comes across in his travels. Along with this, he has a number of flashy jewellery around his neck, wrists, and hanging from his pointed ears.
Although it is not his go-to solution, Ronan has learned a number of things about the deadliness of nature during his travels. He is capable of concocting light poisons using some of the plants and herbs he comes across. As such, he always keeps a few small vials tucked away in his pack. Just in case.


In his youth, Ronan Argyle was known by his name given at birth: Traynor Valenti. He has since forgotten the name, and refuses to acknowledge any sort of life history prior to the life he currently lives.
Ronan grew up poor. His family’s small fish stall at the local market - from what he remembers of it - could barely make ends meet, and nights when they were lucky enough to afford a solid meal, it was usually nothing more than some dried meat, bread, and cheese. When he grew old enough to realize the lowly conditions of his environment, Ronan began taking to the streets to earn what he could, how he could. Be that by looking the part of a sickly, poor city boy while asking for spare food or coin, or by picking it from the pockets of unsuspecting passersby. The family survived, in no small way due to Ronan’s quick fingers and quicker wit.
His petty thievery did him and his family well for a while. Most nights they ate decently enough, but none of them were aware of the consequences that lay right around the corner.
Only a year before reaching his teen years, Ronan learned first-hand that it took only one minor slip for everything to fall out of place. After his fingers were caught in the coinpurse of what he believed to be some haughty nobleman, the Half-Elf was whisked away by the man’s affiliates and, over the course of the following decade, was trained in the arts of subterfuge and used by them to steal back items that had been sold by the men only days prior. It was a rather lowly way to make a living, but the coin Ronan earned was impossible to turn away.
With that coin, Ronan was able to not only make a good living for himself, but for his family. They lived a modest life in the city now thanks to him, and he was happier for it.
But, Ronan could not deny who he was. He was a sneak, yes, and in the eyes of the law should have been jailed long ago, but he hated having to skulk about in the shadows. He admired those who could walk into a tavern and hear the commoners sing their praises. He was envious of those who had garnered a reputation among the people. He knew he wanted a life of adventure, but was living a life of crime.
So, he did what he knew best. He snuck his way out of the city, away from his family and colleagues, and disappeared into the night, never to be seen by any of them again. He donned the name Ronan Argyle, abandoning his old name and identity and Traynor Valenti and used what wealth he had accumulated to make his way across the lands, taking on various mercenary jobs here and there in an effort to live the life he had always known he wanted.
Now, Ronan has managed to make something of a name for himself in distant towns and villages as something of a local hero. He has rid farming villages of angry mother bears, and sometimes infiltrated bandit hideouts to ensure they could not disturb the nearby settlements. All for the right price, of course.
Ronan is happy with his new life, but knows his old one may come back to bite him again one day in the future. Until then, though, he has no issue enjoying his popularity and wealth that feed his ever-growing ego.

Name(s): Ada Yorke

Age: 24

Gender: F

Race: While human, she doesn't quite look the part...

Appearance: Just an inch or two shorter than average height, Ada frequently wears a thick, comfortable cloak with a hood, hiding herself from bright light, a few locks of her colorless white hair slipping free onto her chest. Said hair, while it goes down past her shoulders, is typically hidden in the hood of her cloak. Her eyes are a lightish pink, or perhaps a red, and she seems to shy away from looking at any bright light. Under the cloak, she doesn't exactly have much armor, but rather, wears a simple, somewhat loose shirt, as well as a skirt that hangs down to her ankles, cut so that she can still run, should the situation call for it.

Personality:
Though she tends not to be one to start a conversation, she can hold up her end fairly well, especially when the topic is something she's either curious about or knowledgeable in. She's rather curious about more strange magic, such as curses and the like, hence why she joined an expedition to hunt werewolves. That said, she doesn't handle the pressure of questioning, and has a tendency to clam up if under too much intense interrogation. She also has a sweet tooth, particularly for candies that one can suck on, like mints and the like.

Class/Skills
Ada is most talented from afar, where shes in no danger of having a particularly strong breeze knock her over. While she's not the most combat focused spellcaster, she does have a few simple spells memorized to defend herself, such as summoning an ember to hurl, or arcing lightning into her hands. She's far more interested in the utility magic, although most of these require her to cross reference her spellbook (leading to being fairly worthless in combat, and occasionally requiring ritual circles to cast at all), such as discerning magical items, telling illusion from reality, magical translation of both runes and spoken words, et cetera. She may not be the most helpful in combat, but she's far from useless.

Equipment:
Seemingly outfitted more for a trip to the library than hunting werewolves, Ada has a pack containing spare pages and ink, as well as food and a change of clothes. Her satchel contains several pens, as well as her primary spellbook, and a recently silvered dagger (though she doubts she'll use it, its worth having), and a sack of candies to occupy herself. She does have a pouch with spending money, though she won't be buying any houses with it any time soon.

History:
A bastard child of a noble, Ada was forced into her fathers home once her mother had died, only a few years into her life. Although she grew up in House Pangeran, it was quite clear from how both her parents and the other nobles treatment of her that a cursed bastard like herself was far from belonging, her looks and avoidance of the sun garnering her mocking insults from others. As such, most of her childhood was spent sheltered in the library, her closest companions books, servants, and her more nobly born sister. Once learning she had the aptitude for natural magic, Ada was quite quick to pack up and leave, enrolling under a separate name, her current one. Through her time in the academy, she swiftly advanced through her classes, eventually graduating with the goal of researching as many magical phenomena as she could, joining the Harpers in the process (quite recently, in fact), and periodically burning every letter that came from her old household.