Hey, sorry I haven't been here. Just finished up with midterms.
I'll be posting as soon as I can.
I'll be posting as soon as I can.
MZambos Member
A Man for all Seasons
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Mikael dropped his bags on the dormitory floor. It was strange. He had become so used to his family's old rural house that here, he felt like an intruder. The irony of his being out of place in a university designed for people like him to "fit in" was not lost.
After claiming his bed and setting his things up, he decided to head outside and take a look around. This was his new home, after all: probably best to be familiar with it.
After claiming his bed and setting his things up, he decided to head outside and take a look around. This was his new home, after all: probably best to be familiar with it.
Name: Mikael mab Roparzh (Michael Roberts)
Age: 19
Powers: Shapeshifting
Appearance: As a shapeshifter, Makael is capable of taking on most any form. However, he prefers the appearance by which most people know him: A short, small man, with a pale complexion and brownish hair. His clothes are rarely anything out of the ordinary.
Bio: Born in Rural Brittany, Mikael's parents were always of the nationalistic sort. Rather than a normal name like 'Michel' or 'Jean', his parents had insisted on a "traditional" name, and were always the once to insist (loudly) that school papers and newsletters be written in Breton as well as French. Of course, Breton was his "Keryhez" and French his "Langue de Vie".
A compassionate and idealistic person, Mikael was well-liked by his friends, and growing up in a poor, rural area, he was well-acquainted with what few neighbors he had. Though a bright student, he can be hopelessly absent-minded, and often gets lost in thought. Despite his humble upbringing, he had always dreamed of receiving an education at one of France's many universities.
Mikael's powers began to manifest themselves in his later childhood. His talents aren't the sort that occur spontaneously, but, of course, every 8-year-old has thought, at one point, "I want to be a dragon!" Mercifully, nobody was harmed in the ensuing confusion, but it was still a rather defining moment in his life. He had been brought up on the tales of the polpegan, but it had always been just that: a fairy tale. Now, it was very real, and very scary.
Despite now attending a university for the supernatural, Mikael still considers himself very much human, and his tenuous-at-best knowledge of English further exasperates his ability to fit in. Not, of course, that he doesn't try.
Age: 19
Powers: Shapeshifting
Appearance: As a shapeshifter, Makael is capable of taking on most any form. However, he prefers the appearance by which most people know him: A short, small man, with a pale complexion and brownish hair. His clothes are rarely anything out of the ordinary.
Bio: Born in Rural Brittany, Mikael's parents were always of the nationalistic sort. Rather than a normal name like 'Michel' or 'Jean', his parents had insisted on a "traditional" name, and were always the once to insist (loudly) that school papers and newsletters be written in Breton as well as French. Of course, Breton was his "Keryhez" and French his "Langue de Vie".
A compassionate and idealistic person, Mikael was well-liked by his friends, and growing up in a poor, rural area, he was well-acquainted with what few neighbors he had. Though a bright student, he can be hopelessly absent-minded, and often gets lost in thought. Despite his humble upbringing, he had always dreamed of receiving an education at one of France's many universities.
Mikael's powers began to manifest themselves in his later childhood. His talents aren't the sort that occur spontaneously, but, of course, every 8-year-old has thought, at one point, "I want to be a dragon!" Mercifully, nobody was harmed in the ensuing confusion, but it was still a rather defining moment in his life. He had been brought up on the tales of the polpegan, but it had always been just that: a fairy tale. Now, it was very real, and very scary.
Despite now attending a university for the supernatural, Mikael still considers himself very much human, and his tenuous-at-best knowledge of English further exasperates his ability to fit in. Not, of course, that he doesn't try.
@Bai Suzhen Lol, that's a pretty good question for this kind of thing. For Mikael, I would say 'No'.
Honestly, I just googled "Breton Folklore" and went off from there.
Honestly, I just googled "Breton Folklore" and went off from there.
@KatherinWinter Sorry. I ought to have specified.
I based him on this: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%BAca. So it's more of a animal transformation thing, but he prefers his 'default' human form.
I based him on this: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%BAca. So it's more of a animal transformation thing, but he prefers his 'default' human form.
Wasn't quite able to find a picture, sadly. If I find one, I'll update this.
Name: Mikael mab Roparzh (Michael Roberts)
Age: 19
Powers: Shapeshifting
Appearance: As a shapeshifter, Makael is capable of taking on most any form. However, he prefers the appearance by which most people know him: A short, small man, with a pale complexion and brownish hair. His clothes are rarely anything out of the ordinary.
Bio: Born in Rural Brittany, Mikael's parents were always of the nationalistic sort. Rather than a normal name like 'Michel' or 'Jean', his parents had insisted on a "traditional" name, and were always the once to insist (loudly) that school papers and newsletters be written in Breton as well as French. Of course, Breton was his "Keryhez" and French his "Langue de Vie".
A compassionate and idealistic person, Mikael was well-liked by his friends, and growing up in a poor, rural area, he was well-acquainted with what few neighbors he had. Though a bright student, he can be hopelessly absent-minded, and often gets lost in thought. Despite his humble upbringing, he had always dreamed of receiving an education at one of France's many universities.
Mikael's powers began to manifest themselves in his later childhood. His talents aren't the sort that occur spontaneously, but, of course, every 8-year-old has thought, at one point, "I want to be a dragon!" Mercifully, nobody was harmed in the ensuing confusion, but it was still a rather defining moment in his life. He had been brought up on the tales of the polpegan, but it had always been just that: a fairy tale. Now, it was very real, and very scary.
Despite now attending a university for the supernatural, Mikael still considers himself very much human, and his tenuous-at-best knowledge of English further exasperates his ability to fit in. Not, of course, that he doesn't try.
Name: Mikael mab Roparzh (Michael Roberts)
Age: 19
Powers: Shapeshifting
Appearance: As a shapeshifter, Makael is capable of taking on most any form. However, he prefers the appearance by which most people know him: A short, small man, with a pale complexion and brownish hair. His clothes are rarely anything out of the ordinary.
Bio: Born in Rural Brittany, Mikael's parents were always of the nationalistic sort. Rather than a normal name like 'Michel' or 'Jean', his parents had insisted on a "traditional" name, and were always the once to insist (loudly) that school papers and newsletters be written in Breton as well as French. Of course, Breton was his "Keryhez" and French his "Langue de Vie".
A compassionate and idealistic person, Mikael was well-liked by his friends, and growing up in a poor, rural area, he was well-acquainted with what few neighbors he had. Though a bright student, he can be hopelessly absent-minded, and often gets lost in thought. Despite his humble upbringing, he had always dreamed of receiving an education at one of France's many universities.
Mikael's powers began to manifest themselves in his later childhood. His talents aren't the sort that occur spontaneously, but, of course, every 8-year-old has thought, at one point, "I want to be a dragon!" Mercifully, nobody was harmed in the ensuing confusion, but it was still a rather defining moment in his life. He had been brought up on the tales of the polpegan, but it had always been just that: a fairy tale. Now, it was very real, and very scary.
Despite now attending a university for the supernatural, Mikael still considers himself very much human, and his tenuous-at-best knowledge of English further exasperates his ability to fit in. Not, of course, that he doesn't try.
Sounds like this would be fun.
Felix had to smile a bit. "I don't think I've been around long enough to have worked anywhere for long", he said, playfully. "Only seen about twenty summers. But my father didn't pass on without making sure I was well-prepared for the world". He was far from an expert, of course. The guild had only seen it fit to award him a journeymanship the last year. "My name's Felix, for what it's worth. I'm no noble or merchant of standing, so if you need to specify, Felix of Nikephora usually works for most people". Felix racked through his brain, trying to remember if there were any Halyn he could remember. A few popped to mind, but none of them seemed to fit the criteria to be the man across from him. This man must have been of some importance, given the broach signifying a family of stature. He decided that he didn't recognize it, but its simple existence told him enough about the man he was talking to.
Of course, it would've been easier to try and make a sale if Halyn hadn't been so distracted. The whole time, he kept looking back at something, making Felix wonder if he had interrupted something. Though, when the eyepatched man suddenly turned around to wave at some woman in the distance, and this was one that Felix knew. He leaned forward to whisper to the older man. "Careful. That's one of the Beffelets". Then, realizing how rude he must have sounded, tried to correct himself. "They're not bad people, by no means. But be careful talking to her. Draw too much attention, and the other noble families won't be too... fond of you, to put it lightly". Felix wasn't particularly fond of any of the noble patricians: he had always chalked up the pining for the Pre-Arcartian days up to nostalgia, and the exaltation of the modern system to imperial nationalism. Still, a lot of good people were bound to end up in the cannon-fire. "Not that I'm trying to dictate what you do. Just a word of warning. Hate to see more innocent people get caught up in all this noble bickering".
Of course, it would've been easier to try and make a sale if Halyn hadn't been so distracted. The whole time, he kept looking back at something, making Felix wonder if he had interrupted something. Though, when the eyepatched man suddenly turned around to wave at some woman in the distance, and this was one that Felix knew. He leaned forward to whisper to the older man. "Careful. That's one of the Beffelets". Then, realizing how rude he must have sounded, tried to correct himself. "They're not bad people, by no means. But be careful talking to her. Draw too much attention, and the other noble families won't be too... fond of you, to put it lightly". Felix wasn't particularly fond of any of the noble patricians: he had always chalked up the pining for the Pre-Arcartian days up to nostalgia, and the exaltation of the modern system to imperial nationalism. Still, a lot of good people were bound to end up in the cannon-fire. "Not that I'm trying to dictate what you do. Just a word of warning. Hate to see more innocent people get caught up in all this noble bickering".
It was one thing, trying to be heard over the bustle of the market. Trying to be heard when you're short, and selling something that few were willing to purchase was another thing altogether. Felix's clientele were usually the moneyed, noble, snooty types: the ones who demanded everything tailor-made, and fit-to-form. On market days, buyers usually showed up in the form of canvassers and pilgrims who were preparing to make the long journey across the central mountains. Unfortunately, those people were particularly sparse on these days, and Felix had never felt quite right to over-charge those people. The trek west was hard enough, especially in the winter: travelers would need any provisions they could get their hands on, and the more money that was spent on clothing, the less was spent on food or oil. All of this was complicated by the ever-nauseating city politics: Sell to this person, and that person will stop buying. Don't sell to anyone that might be 'unpopular' with the Tolbert family. If you want to keep your license (and your head), don't sod with anyone from the House of Affairs. It was a game that Felix hated, but one that he had to play to survive the nasty intrigue that was Geltreisian politics.
But beyond all that, Felix was still as bright as ever. It was a relatively sunny winter morning, and the sound of people hawking their wares and dashing about was a symphony in its own right: the padding of feet on the ground as a chorus of drums, and the voices of marketeers like a battalion of coronets. So often, it was easy to get lost in the sights and sounds of the crowd, which happened to Felix more than a little often. Today, however, he was just attentive enough to catch the man passing buy his tent. He was tall, bright, and (Felix admitted to himself) more than a little handsome. He stood out like a black radish, what with the eye-patch and the (much more important) large fur coat draped around his shoulders. The sword he carried and the broach around his neck indicated that he was likely of some stature, and though the crest was familiar, Felix couldn't quite place from where.
Leaning forward, Felix tried to get the attention of the older man. "Morning!" he said, cheerfully. "If you've been traveling, you might want to get that coat cleaned and mended. Neglect it too much, and it'll be tatters before you know it." He tried to be as tactful as possible: too aggressive, and people'l avoid you. Not aggressive enough, and they'll ignore you. It was a balancing act, and Felix was by no means an expert, but he did have a certain tool at his disposal. "And I'm just about the only furrier here. If anyone's going to do it, it'll have to be me." He hoped he hadn't come off as an ass, but he needed to make at least one sale for the day, even if it was just patching and cleaning. And besides, there was something about this man. He was new, and yet there was something about him that made Felix want to keep him by for just a while longer. Maybe it was the familiar-looking broach, or maybe the boyish-yet-rugged look was something Felix found attractive. Whatever the case, a sale would be a sale, and that was something Felix needed more than anything.
But beyond all that, Felix was still as bright as ever. It was a relatively sunny winter morning, and the sound of people hawking their wares and dashing about was a symphony in its own right: the padding of feet on the ground as a chorus of drums, and the voices of marketeers like a battalion of coronets. So often, it was easy to get lost in the sights and sounds of the crowd, which happened to Felix more than a little often. Today, however, he was just attentive enough to catch the man passing buy his tent. He was tall, bright, and (Felix admitted to himself) more than a little handsome. He stood out like a black radish, what with the eye-patch and the (much more important) large fur coat draped around his shoulders. The sword he carried and the broach around his neck indicated that he was likely of some stature, and though the crest was familiar, Felix couldn't quite place from where.
Leaning forward, Felix tried to get the attention of the older man. "Morning!" he said, cheerfully. "If you've been traveling, you might want to get that coat cleaned and mended. Neglect it too much, and it'll be tatters before you know it." He tried to be as tactful as possible: too aggressive, and people'l avoid you. Not aggressive enough, and they'll ignore you. It was a balancing act, and Felix was by no means an expert, but he did have a certain tool at his disposal. "And I'm just about the only furrier here. If anyone's going to do it, it'll have to be me." He hoped he hadn't come off as an ass, but he needed to make at least one sale for the day, even if it was just patching and cleaning. And besides, there was something about this man. He was new, and yet there was something about him that made Felix want to keep him by for just a while longer. Maybe it was the familiar-looking broach, or maybe the boyish-yet-rugged look was something Felix found attractive. Whatever the case, a sale would be a sale, and that was something Felix needed more than anything.
I'm ready whenever. I'll post as soon as the first. IC goes up.
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