[CHAR] The Long Night | Medieval Fantasy

[Marlowe]

Tristan Baske

"Cowards die a thousand deaths. The brave only die once."

---

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Class: Noble

Country of Origin: Lutaire

Weapons:
- As of now, has a simple sword with a brilliant navy handle.

Appearance:
A young man standing at 5'10. Tristan isn't necessarily thin, but he's not broad shouldered either; many consider him lean or fit. He has a slight farmer's tan from being outside and romping around Vaucluse without a care in the world. His hair is ash blonde and feathery, almost soft to the touch, while his eyes are strikingly blue. There are no signs of scars on his body due to the fact he has never been in direct combat with foe or beast alike.

Personality::
To say Tristan Baske is a confident individual is an understatement. Brash in more than one way and rude in many, he's blunt, dry, and inconsiderate. A lion with no mind for the opinions of sheep, he only accepts the best. Choice cuts of meat. The most beautiful women. The most expensive bottles of wine. The most loyal of subjects. He carries himself with an obnoxious swagger. Despite his arrogance, he has a childish excitement for adventure. The thought of slaying dragons and saving women from bandits sends fire through his blood.

Of course, Tristan isn't always like this. He may seem like one greedy son-of-a-bitch, but those who truly know him can see he is fairly naive and gullible. Strife and oppression are things that he doesn't really understand. In reality, he means the best, not only for himself but for everyone-- in his own way, that is.

Short Biography:
Tristan is the middle child of Seth Baske and Laila Baske, the heads of the wealthiest family in Vaucluse. He was never meant for fame-- his older brother, Rordan, was automatically chosen to be the heir of House Baske because of his age. Jacques, his younger brother, was coddled by his mother, and with his father training Rordan to become the next lord, Tristan gained little to no attention from his parents.

And so Tristan entertained himself. He showed no interest in his studies. He neglected to learn poetry and other fine arts, he never learned about cultures of other cities and nations, and never admired the teachings and psalms of Lorelei. All he cared about was romping through the town and singing drunken songs to whores while he flaunted his status.

A confrontation ensued once Seth got word of Tristan's shenanigans. However, Tristan's relationship was already cemented into his personality, and he had no intention of becoming a prim and proper lordling. Seth and Tristan's relationship soon became sour. Bitter with resentment, Seth did not name Tristan as heir when Rordan became bedridden and died of a vicious illness. Instead, he chose Jacques-- who was fifteen to Tristan's nineteen. Tristan's pride was tarnished, driving him to leave him in a blaze of fury.

He hadn't spent a day on the streets when he ran into a peculiar girl. She was disheveled, poor, and hungry. Stung with pity, Tristan brought it upon himself to buy her food and drink. It was then that he learned her name was Nicoline, and before he knew it, the two became friends. Tristan spent three days in the streets when Nicoline suggested that he head home. He was not one to be a vagrant, and due to the "ruin" he had caused in town, there were few who wished to help him. Begrudgingly, he took Nicoline's advice. It was fortunate for him that Seth and Laila allowed him back to the manor, but not without stripping Tristan of his name and titles. Pity made him keep him there, Seth said, and nothing else. Tristan was no longer a son of his.

Summary:
A know-it-all rapscallion who dreams of glory.

Trivia:
- In truth, Tristan has the status of a bastard. He is still heavily impacted by his change of status.

- Tristan's called the "Vagrant King" behind his back because of his denial and overly pompous nature.

- He has never been in combat. Because of this, Tristan has a horrible aversion to seeing wounds bigger than a cut, along with blood-- especially his own.

- Every time he's part of a group, he automatically appoints himself as its leader.

- Despite his history, Tristan knows how to carry himself and act like an actual noble.

[Fabricant451]

Sabine Morrick

<"What harm has ever come from trusting strangers in taverns?">:

Name: Sabine Morrick
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Class: Pirate
Country of Origin: Tenebroux

Weapons: -An axe not all dissimilar to naval boarding axes, albeit not nearly as polished. The handle and shaft is of a fine wood and the curved blade has a fine sharpness. It's heftier than a hatchet but light enough to be used effectively with one hand.
-A cloth sack tucked away in her inn room. Its contents are a somewhat worn brocade jacket and leather trousers and gloves.
-A pouch with coins always affixed to her waist. Not exactly a weapon but almost as useful as one.

Appearance:

Under The Radar Reference

Sabine's most striking feature is her ash blonde hair which she has let grow long enough to where she fixes it in a ponytail. Her face has rather soft features, save for her rather sharp jawline and the steely ice-blue of her eyes. Surprising for a woman of her age she has a somewhat stocky build to her though the musculature is obscured by her present day-to-day attire of cloth and woolen clothing. Her arm strength, enough to use her axe without difficulty, doesn't betray her otherwise unmistakably feminine curves in her plainclothes. Always hidden, be it by neckerchief or by hair or clothing, Sabine has an odd marking on the back of her neck that resembles a burn or a branding.

Personality:: Given the fact that Sabine has a very loose definition of morals it's almost shocking how personable and polite she is around most company. Charismatic comes to mind after a single conversation with Sabine, and given her habit of using words to quell a situation or to turn one to her advantage, it's easy to see why she has a bit of a captivating presence. Of course, the ones with the silver tongues happen to often be the biggest liars and Sabine is no exception to that. While she would certainly prefer to use bribes or deals to her advantage, she's seen enough of the world to know that when diplomacy and negotiation fails that the only other option is to make sure the other guy isn't in any position to fight back. Her coin purse might be tight but her morals certainly aren't, and in a fight Sabine doesn't give her opponent the time to strike first and mercy is not a concept that enters the equation. Why should she show mercy in a fight when they wouldn't show her the same?

Short Biography: Sabine Morrick was once a romanticist who dreamed of a life of adventure and exploration which she attributed to her father primarily. Her father was a simple man. A fisherman by trade who sold the day's catches at market and used the profits for a bit of fun with the wench population. Sabine couldn't begin to guess which of Tenebroux's wenches had the misfortune of carrying her to term but she hoped she had the decency not to have any customers for that time. Sabine loved the sea and the breeze and salty spray it brought in every morning; as long as she could remember she wanted to join her father on a fishing excursion. He didn't want to bring her but Sabine had a knack for getting her way. She begged until he relented.

How fortunate that the first time Sabine and her father went fishing in their little boat that they would be met by pirates. It was hardly the ideal way to spend her twelfth birthday. They took Sabine and her father on board but there was little use for a plump fisherman other than chum for the sharks and he was promptly gutted and tossed overboard. Sabine, being a girl, could fetch a price for the right bidder and was kept aboard. It became clear that selling her wasn't exactly high on their priority list given that selling her too soon would mean an unknown time before they next even laid sights on a lass.

Sabine had a rather unpleasant three years with the pirates but it hardened her, for better and for worse. She assumed the worst they could do was make her watch as they murdered her father; she was wrong, but it only fueled her. Fortunes changed, somewhat, when Sabine struck back. One of the drunken crew members was easy enough to convince to get Sabine's hands free of the bindings, and from there it was as easy as taking his weapon and using it against him. She had thought this would lead to her own undoing but the Captain was somewhat impressed by the initiative shown. So much so that he offered Sabine a place on the crew, nothing glamorous, but it was better than being a prisoner. The crew objected but Sabine accepted.

The Captain grew somewhat fond of Sabine and while Sabine never saw the Captain as a father figure, she did use the opportunity to learn skills. Map reading. Sailing. How to fight like her life was on the line. The Captain was quite the teacher, but his greatest lesson was teaching Sabine how to command respect. The lessons lasted two years and Sabine learned soon enough that there was more to it than just 'fondness' with the Captain. Sabine took advantage of the Captain's fondness one evening and the Captain became the second life she took willingly. The rest of the crew was initially angered by this blatant act of mutiny, but Sabine learned her lessons well. Those who had a problem with her could either fall in line or fall on the edge of a blade.

Morrick's Mauraders was born that night and for six years the name 'Morrick' was infamous throughout Tenebroux for their ferocity and their raiding. When they raided a port they cut a bloody swath and took what they demanded - and not always just coins and food. Morrick, the Captain of these brigands, was always believed to be a man due to Sabine wearing long clothing and obscuring her face. When Morrick's Mauraders turned their sights to robbing Romeras' gold, or at least spreading the whispers that they had bigger sights in mind, the king had to intervene and the Mauraders were intercepted by the King's forces.

Sabine put the Captain's mantle on a different crew member and acted like a kidnapped victim in the hold when the soldiers boarded. It was a gamble, but given that Sabine stripped herself of the identity, it was believable. Using the name Sabine Bellacourt, she managed to be 'rescued' and used the chaos to escape. Any soldier worth a damn would have eventually found the brand on the back of her neck and she didn't want to take the chance. Sabine fled as far as Lutaire and has remained under the radar. People believe Morrick to be dead, and in some ways 'he' is.

Though she's been keeping a low profile, Sabine would be lying if she said she didn't still feel the call of adventure, wherever it might be. It's been two years since her supposed 'death' and it's about time for a revival. Assuming, of course, she can find a new sort of legacy.

Summary: An infamous former pirate escaping her own reputation.

Other: Is illiterate but is quite the navigator; fortunately she didn't need to know how to read words in order to read a map.

[Vertigo]

Rylan Twyford

"These alleys are no place for a lordling. If milord is looking for trouble, might I suggest the woods beyond the city? They're just as dangerous, but at least the smell's more bearable."

---

Name: Rylan Twyford

Age: 18

Gender: Male

Class: Scoundrel

Country of Origin: Tenebroux

Weapons:

♙ A simple dagger, not entirely untouched by the elements. The handle is worn and the edge rugged, kept sharp only by regular (amateurish) maintenance. Make no mistake, though; prime condition or not, a stab to the gut is a stab to the gut - and necessity gives Rylan quite an aim indeed.

♙ A crudely made slingshot. More useful for shooting down pigeons for dinner than injuring an actual person, but can at least provide a small distraction in a pinch.

♙ Rope. Good ol', plain rope. It's more useful than you'd think.

Appearance:

On most days, Rylan looks about what you'd expect from a kid who's grown up on the streets. Standing at 5'6'', the lack of proper nutrition has left him scrawny and short, even in face of all the physical activity he engages in every day. His hair is a tangled mess of strands and mud, his clothes torn and ditty, and the slums have left him with a distinct smell. Needless to say, he's not the most charming sight to behold on his worst days.

However, should there be a special need for him to look more presentable, he can - at least, if given ample time to prepare. Before fate thrust him onto the streets, he used to spend his days wrapped in scented silks and knows how to play the part of a someone more fortunate. He has a few articles of finer cloth safely tugged away in one of his many stashes, and though he knows selling them would fetch him many a coin, he figures they're worth more when worn. He can't exactly sneak into festivals looking like he usually does.

It should also be noted that while his physical strength is nothing to brag about, Rylan is incredibly nimble; a cat on two feet, he always seems to find a way to land on his proverbial feet. To the chagrin of many a past pursuer, the boy can scale a building or lose a guard with the best of them. He has an uncanny ability to squeeze himself into the smallest of crevices and disappear as if unto thin air if you so much as lose sight of him for a second. It may sound admirable - but really, anything less and he'd be long dead by now.

Personality:

Don't let the cocky grin and confident stride fool you - despite his casual smugness, Rylan is as craven as they come. Concerned first and foremost with his own well-being, loyalties mean little and promises even less when push comes to shove. It's not that he doesn't care about you - it's just that he cares about himself more. He's aware that his life is hardly one for the bards, but it is the only life he'll ever have and he intends to hold onto it tooth and nail.

Unfortunately for him (and certainly those around him) Rylan also comes packaged with a bitter sense of humour and a sharp tongue. Smartass at heart, it is only self-preservation that keeps Rylan's wit at bay most of the time. If need be, he knows just what to do to butter people up and has no qualms with throwing away pride for another morrow. As far as he's concerned, whoever said they'd rather die on their feet than live on their knees was a halfwit. He's lived knee-deep in rat droppings, and even that beats throwing your life away for some childish concept of 'pride'.

With all that said, Rylan isn't entirely an unpleasant person. He may not be one to throw himself in front of an incoming arrow to save your knee in a shocking display of courage, but if you are a perceived friend, he will extend a hand where he's able. He isn't purposefully looking to make enemies, and will most likely return a favour if you've done one for him. The world is already a shitty place, he isn't trying to make it worse.

Short Biography:

Though he's spent most of his life in Lutaire, Rylan's earliest memories are of a place far beyond the mountains and swamps - a place that lies across the endless ocean, under an eternal sun. There, as he recalls, everything was much sweeter; the weather, the scents, the words spoken to him by strangers. As a boy, he never understood the hurry with which his parents left. Now, he understands all too well.

Rylan's parents were lowborn. His mother was a foreign beauty, stolen away and sold to a local lord as his seventh concubine, and his father was a slave under the very same roof, convicted for crimes he never committed and stripped of his freedom. Their first meeting was happenstance; their next few were not. For years, they managed to keep their rendezvous a secret, the comfort they found in each other the only thing that kept them sane.

And then the news broke that she was with child. For nine long months, both lived in a state of constant fear. Many a time they contemplated escape, but an opportunity never did present itself. So all they did was pray, pray and pray that the child would not bear resemblance to their true father. The gods must've heard, because he did not. He had his mother's eyes, and her fair skin had made his a shade lighter than his peer's.

For years, life was... the same old, as it were. Rylan doesn't really remember much of it. He bore a different name and lead a different life, and it all feels as though it happened to someone else entirely. The only thing he can remember vividly is the day they fled; the sky was starless and filled with smoke. He had started to resemble his father too much as he grew. There were whispers. The fire in the northernmost tower was a sign from the gods.

Theirs would have been a tale for the bards; two lovers, escaping into the night with their child. If only they'd gotten the happily ever after they justly deserved.

The few years the couple spent in Lutaire were filled with hardships and strife. They were strangers in a strange land and eventually, that led to their demise. Bandits slayed them, attracted by the smell of sweet summer wines and tales of riches from beyond the sea. Big was their disappointment, when they found naught worth stealing in the couple's hut - except their young son. He ought to fetch a few coppers.

Rylan never did find out exactly how many coppers he fetched, but considering how grand the place of his new master was, he hoped it was a fine amount. For a time, he worked as a servant boy to a lord with a gaze that made his skin crawl. His tasks consisted mostly of serving wine and looking the part of an exotic trophy from beyond the seas.

That was, until one day during a boar hunt, his lord and company were attacked by sellswords, after the man's gold - and head. Being young, Rylan was spared the bloodbath by one of the mercenaries and dropped off to the nearest town with a few coins, a piece of bread and a 'good luck' for good measure. And for a foreign boy with no particular skills to his name, luck was indeed what he needed.

Almost a decade later, Rylan's come to the conclusion that Lady Luck's a bitch and he's better off without her.

Summary: If it looks like a street rat, sounds like a street rat and smells like a street rat, it's probably Rylan.

Other:

♙ Has a soft spot for animals of all kinds, and would love to one day behold a dragon up close. A dangerous affair, he knows, but it's not animals - even fire-breathing ones - that scare him so; it's people.

♙ Has spent time in a few other towns and villages besides the one he currently resides in. He often does his travelling with merchants or performer groups, working for free in exchange for protection from the elements. He's been in this village for a few years now, and leaving has crossed his mind. It's never a good thing to stay in one place for too long, lest you get caught and lose a hand or two.

[Dragonbud]

Nicoline Cristoforo

"...Sorry I don't say much...I don't want to attract attention...":

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Name: Nicoline "Nico" Cristoforo

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Class: Mage

Country of Origin: Tenebroux

Weapons:

• Nicoline is a mage capable of wielding magic, elemental magic to be more specific. And while the basic forms of elemental magic: fire, wind, electricity, and ice all come naturally to her, Nicoline has a preference for fire spells. Still, it is nice to have the variety, can't fight fire with fire.
• I mean...that's it...Nicoline isn't trained in any other sort of weapon or even fighting technique. In a pinch I guess Nicoline could...throw her tome pretty hard? But that's like an archer throwing their bow at a foe.

Appearance:
Nicoline is a small woman, likely a side effect of not having proper nutrition growing up. She is short, standing just a little over five feet tall, with a build that could be described as...thin. She has very little muscle definition. Her thin and sometimes sickly appearance is quite clear in her face, her eyes are slightly sunken in with dark circles around them that points to a lack of sleep. The mage tries to keep her appearance as simple as possible, plain dresses with hoods, and nothing that could point to her being a mage. You'll never see her in a pointed hat.

Personality:
Nicoline is a bit of a strange one. Years of subjugation and fearing for her life, alone, has left Nicoline...shy to say the least. She speaks softly and slowly, her words trailing off as if she doesn't realize she is speaking. She dislikes making eye contact and is greatly uncomfortable with human touch. And although she would never admit it, her years of solitude have made her quite lonely, and she wishes she felt more comfortable around the people she desires to spend time with. Nicoline dreams of a world where she can practice magic without fear, and has the strong desire to protect those being mistreated. And while she has no problem defending others, she has become a bit of a pessimist when it comes to protecting herself. She lets herself get walked on, as she doesn't believe there is anything left in her worth watching over.

Short Biography:
Nicoline's earliest memories are of her and her mother living on the streets of Tenebroux. They only had each other, as Nicoline's father was out of the picture. The young girl never knew if her father had abandoned his wife and child, or if he was an unfortunate victim of the violence on the streets. Regardless, Nicoline and her mother only had each other for protection. Nicoline did not mind this, the child knew no other life, she just assumed everyone lived as they did. The pair spent many dark and cold nights, huddled around hands glowing with flame. Sparks of hope. Nicoline's mother taught her everything she knew about the magical arts, reading her bedtime stories of arcane weavings. During this 'sheltered' time, before Nicoline learned about the subjugation of Mages, she dreamed oh the adventures she would have when she grew up.

She would have to grow up pretty quickly, when the first blow to her perceived utopia crashed upon her. She woke up one dreary morning to find that her mother was gone. All that remained was the magical tome the pair loved so much, a bloody handprint streaked across the cover. Nicoline was twelve years old, and completely alone for the first time in her life.

Over the next few years on the street the rude awakening only got ruder and ruder. Nicoline was constantly targeted by everything from traffickers to mage hunters, who spotted her when she attempted to cook her dinner with the flames dancing from her hands. It was during her years alone when she discovered the lives Mages are cursed to live. Despite this Nicoline never stopped learning. At every opportunity Nicoline would study her tome, practice her castings, or seek out other hiding Mages. She wanted to learn, she wanted to be able to protect herself.

Despite her thirst for knowledge, Nicoline had a hard time trusting others. Nicoline refused help from strangers, knowing anyone could be a threat. Nicoline only had one person she could trust, a young man named Tristan. When they first met he was new on the streets, she could tell, and knew he wouldn't last long alone. But since he didn't seem too intolerant to her magic Nicoline did not mind showing him the homeless ropes. The two hit it off, and Nicoline realized how lonely her life had been without her mother. But when it came down to it, and Tristan, talked about his family, Nicoline encouraged him to return to his home. The two have remained close friends however, with the far more outgoing Tristan often taking Nicoline along on adventures.

Summary:
A timid girl who carries the ferocity of the elements in her fingertips.

Other:
The tome Nicoline uses to cast is a rather...simple looking book. According to her mother it had always been in their family. On the outside it is a plain leather book kept bound with two dark leather straps. But the real identity of the book is revealed through the content of the pages.

[vietmyke]

Emil Durand

"Woah, be easy there. No not you, him, he looks like he wants to peck your face off right now."

Name: Emil Durand
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Class: Stryxrider
Country of Origin: Lutaire

Weapons:

• A worn, but well crafted lance made of treated ash wood, and a spearhead with two prongs at its base crafted from steel. The opposite side of the lance is capped in steel, and tappers to a narrow, but not sharp point.
• A light set of armor, consisting primarily of a breastplate, shoulder pauldron, leg guards, and vambraces.
• Light barding for his Stryx, which covers the head, breast, and legs.

Appearance:
Emil is a young man standing in at about six feet in height, with the build of an athlete- or at least one used to regular physical exertion. While not the pinnacle of strength and endurance, Emil is in good fighting shape, and his body is sinewy and lithe. He has a few scars on his body- though none of them are from combat. His eyes are a light green, and his tweedy blonde hair is pulled into a short ponytail. His typical attire is a nice dark tunic, with thick linen trousers, and well worn riding boots and gloves.

Personality::
Warm and kind-hearted, Emil is a modest young man with a strong sense of morality and justice. This level headed youth stands stalwart and rational in the face of hardship and adversity, despite his inexperience. Honest and trustworthy, Emil is compassionate and kind, if reserved and somewhat lazy. Loyal to a fault, Emil is more than willing to risk himself for the sake of others, and goes to great lengths to defend his loved ones. A very down to earth and grounded individual, Emil's calm and casually confident demeanor allows him to anchor the morale of those around him.

Short Biography:
Emil, youngest son of the Durand family, comes from a family of Stryx breeders. Based just outside of Vaucluse, the Durand Aviary is one of the few businesses that even put Vaucluse on the map. Well regarded as some of the finest breeders of Stryx in Lutaire, Durand Stryxes are known for their ferocity as well as discipline, making them some of the most sought after war mounts. Emil, like the rest of his brothers grew up around the winged creatures, learning to care for them as soon as they were able. With the money afforded to them from such a business, Emil and his brothers were well educated to the standard of nobles from a young age and were taught manners, writing, as well as basic martial skills and knowledges as children. Throughout their childhood, Emil and his brothers would often venture into the Vaucluse to play with other children. Emil made friends easily, and was known for his gentle and calm demeanor, while the rest of his brothers were respected for their various other qualities.

As they grew older, Emil found himself staying at the Aviary more often, his responsibilities at the Aviary grew, though between four sons, it was obvious that their eldest brother Elliot would be taking over the Aviary as they got older. Their second brother Duncan would likely stay there as well, having always been the best with bookkeeping. Military culture had always been strong in the Durand family, what with their Aviary being so sought after by ambitious knights and rich warriors, so it wasn't out of the blue when the third brother Sigmund convinced Emil to join the Vaucluse militia with him.

Emil struggled in the militia, especially during his first few years. While physically capable- moreso than several of the other recruits, many trainers found Emil to be too relaxed, too reserved. However, very few militiamen in Vaucluse could afford Stryx mounts, and when two of the Durand boys expressed interest in joining the militia with two Stryxes, they could hardly say no.

A few years later, Emil is finally coming into his own. While still lazy and aloof, he isn't nearly as passive or lackadaisical. When not helping out at the Aviary, Emil and his brother Sigmund fly patrols around Vaucluse, spotting packs of monsters and beasts that stray too close to the town, then supporting the teams the militia send out to fight off the encroaching beasts.

Summary:
A confident, but relaxed young man and his loyal mount.

Other:
Emil's mount is a dusty brown colored stryx resembling a hawk. Named Greytail, for its ash colored tailfeathers, Emil's stryx is rather aggressive and highly protective of its rider.

[Sen]

Vane Hadleigh

_{credit to rondeau}
"It’s cow blood, I swear."

Name: Vane Hadleigh
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Class: Marksman
Country of Origin: Lutaire

Weapons: - A recurve bow made out of monster parts and wood. It holds up pretty well, even if it’s a bit DIY.
- Standard broadhead arrows meant for hunting.
- A hunting knife used for whatever needs cutting. Useful enough as a last resort in a battle.
- Light leather armor used for protection when hunting.

Appearance: About 5 foot 9 inches in height. His eyes are a dull green, similar in overall color to his blonde hair. Though not notably muscular as a whole, he has a well-developed upper body with wide shoulders, and as a result he can shoot a hunting bow with relative ease. His hands have an uncountable amount of nicks and scars from a lifetime of using knives and other kinds of blades.

Personality:: He’s one bad, bad boy… Though, that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration, seeing as he’s more snide than anything else. He’s not exactly the most morally aligned, what with the lying (“inaccurate advertising”, they call it), but it’s not like he’s about to go rob a store or kill a guy or anything. Apart from that though, Vane is a dreamer more than anything. He spends his days thinking of the future, of what he could be and what he could do. It’s easy to see why he’s a bit repressed living in Vaucluse-- bottled up feelings are the quickest path to a short temper. At least he’s passionate?

Short Biography: Vane isn’t quite a disappointment per say, but his parents definitely wish he wasn’t… like that. He’s the only son to a family running a butcher shop and there’s some real heavy implications that he’s going to be the one that takes over the business and continues the lineage. You see, Vane doesn’t hate his parents or anything, and he doesn’t even hate the work, but the concept of staying in Vaucluse for the rest of his life in that dingy little butcher shop? Yeah, that’s… That sounds insufferable. There’s a whole world out there and Vane is going to rot away surrounded by rotten meat… Not that the meat’s rotten or anything. It’s completely fresh. Totally. No salmonella here.

When Vane’s not having weird existential crises, he’s usually either working with his father or out hunting. Most of the time they just do business with ranchers (plenty of domestic animals waiting for slaughter after all), but Vane’s been taught the art of hunting quite well. He does his part in quelling monster populations, half because it’s the moral thing to do and half because certain people pay good money for some weird and dangerous beast meat. You ever have drake steak?

He’s not exactly the most popular kid on the block, what with his rather unique hobby (if that’s what you want to call it), but Vane found friends in the sons of other shop owners. When you have to see the same person again and again and again for business, it’s only a matter of time before you get along one way or another. Vane’s known for his habit of springing long rant sessions upon anyone who listens, which unfortunately means he preys upon the quiet ones the most.

Summary: Bored butcher boy with a basketcase of bratwurst.

Other: He’s really good at cooking, but he would never tell you that.