Sir Merek the Brave, the Giving, Baron of Ashenfield, Champion of Nesaelyra, Man of the People, Beast-Tamer, Slayer of Dragons, the Destroyer of. . .
6’1
Weight: 200 lbs
Age: 32
Race/Species: Human
Appearance: Merek cuts a pretty average figure, standing slightly above most and with a normal physique. His muscles bulge slightly, but fail to achieve any level of strong definition, a thin layer of persistent fat preventing him from looking lean. Not a potbelly, but certainly no 6-pack. Much of his tanned skin is marred with a variety of scars from his less fortunate days, though a collection of fresh cuts cover his face. Merek's wavy brown hair is usually cut fairly short and he tries his best to stay clean-shaven to accentuate his and strong jaw line and chin.
Personality: Arrogant. Merek is just
really arrogant. The haughty baron is extremely confident in his abilities, even though he truly isn't skilled in much, just graced with luck by Nesaelyra. Still, Merek feels as though he is simply great at everything. Philosophy? No problem. Swordplay? Easy. In his mind, there isn't much he
can't do. Still, his self-assurance has some merits. He has an extraordinarily positive outlook despite his oftentimes pessimistic sense of humor, and is never afraid to give something his all, the thought of failure never even considered. Despite his comical hubris, Merek can be charming, though often in an overbearing way. His cockiness gives him an air of being almost larger than life, deep voice boasting of his hyperbolic accomplishments in both bed and battle, which may appeal to some. He doesn't often lie, per se, but definitely likes to exaggerate.
Merek doesn't much care for his new title as baron, though he loves to flaunt the others, preferring earned ones over those bestowed. The man much prefers the company of simple commoners in a rowdy tavern over royalty in a stuffy great hall, and tends to mock the latter. Merek doesn't like to display his wealth either, placing more value in actions rather than possessions as evident by his rather worn-down gear and clothing. Merek hates being alone, and requires almost constant companionship, be it a lover or simply someone to share a drink with; the more the merrier, in either case. In private, Merek's confidence is slightly toned down and he becomes less boastful, one would never call him humble. Merek is quick to trust people and always willing to give second chances, though those that cross him can be sure he'll do his best to spite them.
Statistics:-Strength: 5
-Perception: 3
-Endurance: 5
-Charisma: 7
-Intelligence: 3
-Agility: 3
-Luck: 9
Abilities, Talents, Traits, Powers:Drunken Champion: Alcohol has a peculiar effect on the champion of Nesaelyra. He is able to draw significant power from drinks depending on the type of alcohol. Wine provides Merek with wit and persuasion at the cost of some of his motor functions (+1 charisma, -1 agility), beer and mead make him stronger but even more idiotic (+1 strength, -1 intelligence), and spirits allow the baron to shrug off heavier blows but cloud his vision (+1 endurance, -1 perception). To receive these bonuses, Merek must drink enough that it would intoxicate a normal man his size. The bonus lasts for as long as he is intoxicated, which is roughly 4 hours. If he tries to drink enough of each, or more after four hours, however, Merek just gets sloppy drunk, and possibly sick. Afterwards, the positive effect returns to normal, but the negative effect remains for another 6 hours.
Novice Combatant: Though he’s been in countless scraps and fights, Merek doesn’t often brawl with trained fighters, and as a result is fairly inexperienced. He’s been training with a sword and spear as of late, and knows enough to get by, but relies heavily on luck alone to win.
Wheelin’ and Dealin’: Merek knows a good deal when he sees one. His time as a merchant, though tainted with bad luck, has given the him a knack for buying and selling goods of all sorts at better prices than most could manage.
Iron Will: Even when his body is broken, Merek’s spirit will never falter. He spent almost his whole life on the down-and-out, but always managed to look on the bright side of life, or at least ignore the bad. Merek is less susceptible to mind spells, intimidation, and torture than the average person.
Folk Hero: Merek’s deeds in Ashenfield haven’t gone unnoticed by the peasants of Gadabastia. The tale of “Merek the Brave” slaying the evil baron and breathing life back into the town is known all across the land, and his reputation earns him instant rapport in the household of any peasant; they will go out of their way to help him and his companions, be it friendly advice or safe lodging. However, many nobles are not fond of his actions, calling him “Merek the Fool,” arguably a more accurate title. Royalty tolerate him at best, and become hostile at the most insignificant slight.
Praying Man: Once a day, Merek can pray to the goddess Nesaelyra and receive her blessing. For an hour, Merek has a +1 bonus to luck, strength and endurance, but suffers -2 to these stats for 24 hours after time is up. The prayer takes little time, maybe half a minute, and requires no sacrifices or paraphernalia.
Read’em and Weep: After years of losing, Merek loves playing card games and emptying others’ pockets. Not just lucky, Merek is a skilled player in all card games, and is quick to pick up any new ones he encounters.
Items:Merek carries most gear on his trusty stallion, a great white warhorse he can barely ride named Stormy Weather, or Stormy. In his saddlebags and slung across the beast he carries two modest healing potions, a waterskin of water and another two of wine, three days worth of rations (salted pork and bread), his crossbow and bolts, a whetstone, a bedroll and small grey tent bearing his crest on it. On his person, Merek carries a steel longsword on his hip along with a dagger in his boot, and a spear with a wooden shaft and long steel tip. He typically wears high-quality armor, but he appears to have lost much of it somehow. Merek has a simple blue gambeson, slightly faded grey trousers, plate boots, a breastplate with his crest painted on the front, one gauntlet, couters, and a ragged grey cloak.
History: Sir Merek of Ashfield didn’t always live in the fine Ashen Keep with his regal title. No, when he was born, the baron was known as simply known as Merek, a simple peasant and son of a poor wares peddler. His parent’s terrible fortune bestowed upon their last son of many, and he quickly earned the decidedly un-noble epithet “Merek the Unlucky.” He was an average boy, a little dumber than most, but the root of all his woes came from his terrible luck. If there was a sickness plaguing the village, Merek would be the first one to catch it. If a thief slipped into the village, they’d steal everything but the kitchen table from Merek’s home. Though he constantly suffered, the young Merek learned to power through any challenges life threw at him with a smile. After his parent’s early death, Merek slipped out of his village by joining a passing merchant’s caravan, puffing himself up as both a savvy trader and excellent swordsman; the former had some truth to it, but the latter was a complete lie.
Though the scenery changed, Merek's hardships did not. After taking him on, the merchant noticed that he was constantly being hit by bandits, corrupt guards seeking bribes, and missing goods. Merek quickly found himself unemployed, though this time in Ashenfield. The town was surrounded by bountiful farmlands, and rested in the shadow of a massive mountain, once a volcano but now inactive. The place earned its name long ago when the volcano erupted and coated the land in black ash, but that very same ash created the fertile soil hundreds of years later. The young man carried on in the city bouncing from job to job, gambling and drinking his money away when he ever had any, but always ended back in Ashenfield. After being fired for the umpteenth time, Merek visited the local tavern to waste his meager severance package on as much mead as he could drink, which wasn’t much; the baron of Ashenfield, Sir Roderik, was harsh on his citizens, taxing them heavily, restricting the flow of alcohol within the city to almost nothing, and executing criminals for the slightest charges. Suddenly, armed guards burst through the door, arresting all occupants of the tavern. Sir Roderik had set forth a new law that day, completely prohibiting the consumption of alcohol for peasants. Merek was taken to the dungeon below Ashenfield Keep and locked in chains along with the others.
Merek wasn’t sure how many days had passed in the dungeon, but one night, a vision came to him in his sleep. A scantily-clad, voluptuous woman sprawled elegantly on a floating cloud with a goblet of red wine in her hand spoke to him. She said she was Nesaelyra, goddess and patron saint of thieves, gamblers, cheats and drunks. The goddess explained little, but named Merek as her champion to return “the light” to the downtrodden city. When he awoke, the newly crowned champion of Nesaelyra found the bolts binding his shackles to the dungeon walls were heavily rusted and shattered with a tug. Merek found the rest of the escape just as easy, with the door unlocked and the guards asleep. He was about to leave Ashenfield for good when he remembered the dream; it was best not to anger the gods. For better or worse, Merek charged into Roderik’s great hall and challenged him to a duel, despite his inexperience with a blade. Seeing this as a good opportunity to show off his prowess before the peasants, the baron accepted.
The duel took place in the town square, Sir Roderik wearing full plate armor and wielding a massive mace and shield, while Merek was armed with nothing but a crude and rusted broadsword. The baron mopped the floor with the peasant, knocking him senseless with blow after blow, intentionally drawing the fight out to make an example of him. Just as Roderik wound up for the killing strike, Merek staggered and tripped on his own feet, falling flat on his face before the baron. He waited for the mace to crush him, but all Merek heard was the clatter of armor as Roderik fell beside him, a rusty sword sticking out of his stomach.
When Merek awoke, he was no longer just a peasant merchant. The laws of the land dictated that the victor of a duel is entitled to all property of the defeated, and with Sir Roderik soundly dead, Merek became baron of Ashenfield, much to the citizen’s joy. As the new ruler, Merek set about striking down all of Roderik’s laws, and the town became a haven for gambling, taverns and brothels. Half of the harvests were directed solely to the production of alcohol. The peasants loved him, and Merek enjoyed his newfound luck, and the perks that came with it. He spent his days travelling, drinking and adventuring, delegating his noble responsibilities to his seneschal, a former inn-keeper. Even then, Merek still grew bored, and when he caught word of the King sending out need for assistance in a dire matter, the baron immediately left for the capital in search of adventure.
