TruthHurts22

PERSONA RP WITH A BOAT

Dibs on Davy Jones.

PERSONA RP WITH A BOAT

I just so happen to have my own water-based Persona idea knocking on the back burner so I don't see why I shouldn't throw my hat in!

Strange Gospel: A Heavily Persona-Inspired Urban Fantasy RP

Think you could give a sorta example sheet so we know what kinda thing you're looking for?

Strange Gospel: A heavily Persona-inspired Urban Fantasy RP interest check

Putting my Tag of Interest on this here, might have an idea or two knockin' on my head already

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

Having a huge cast just means that any problem we come across we can just swarm like ants on a crumb and kick into submission.

Cricket can go for the eyes.

World of Light

Level 2 (XP: 13/20)
Ace (@Yankee), Frisk (@Majoras End), Prisoner (@XoXKieroBombXoX)
Edinburgh MagicaPolis

Wonder Red and Big Band had filed back into the general crowd before the All Round show could begin, with a newly awakened and quickly debriefed Lucia Morgan at their side. It was good timing, too, seeing as the show was just starting when they returned. Unfortunately Red couldn't entirely enjoy it. He was taking to his role as security detail a tad more seriously than what was probably necessary, scanning the crowd for any potential ne'er-do-wells and keeping an eye on the entry points into the plaza. It reminded him of when he would take his students on a field trip, and he would have to always be on the lookout for them getting into trouble, meaning he never got to partake in the experience.

The job of a protector was never put on hold.

Still, it was hard to outright avoid catching the show, and from what Red saw it was impressive. The team of Spheals were in good sync with one another, and showed off their individual talents with ease. Wonder Red was impressed. Not even the Wonderful One-Double-Oh was always in line. Maybe he was giving too much credit to the Spheals, not that they weren't trying their best. It was the brains behind the operation that lead their squad to such cohesion, the trainers. Much like his own Commander Nelson.

Red felt like he learned something today. What that was, he couldn't tell ya.

The show went off without a hitch, at least where security was concerned. Did that mean they did their jobs exceedingly well, or barely at all? One of the great mysteries of the world, even in one such as this. Still, peace was peace, and that was worth celebrating. As the crowd dispersed and everyone gathered around the All Round's transport vehicle, Wonder Red stopped next to one of the cage - Dumpy, he was pretty sure - and gave it a gentle pat on the head.

"You did good today," he said. He was on the fringe of the conversation with Sierra, but he did pipe up midway through to add in his two cents, as usual. "Poachers might not have struck during the show, but if you would prefer it we could help escort you and the All Round to your next destination, to be on the safe side." The topic quickly moved on to the promised payment, though Red would've been fine to forgo his or allow someone else his share. A job well done was more than enough for him. There was a hitch, however, since it was less a reward and more of a promise of a reward. Shady hiring practices aside, Wicke, the analyst, was warm to the group, and offered a trip to someplace to discuss their pay. "Excellent idea," Red commented.

When they arrived, Red moved to hold the door open for everyone else. "Pardon me, Wicke?" Red started to ask as he filed in behind the others. "I was curious - those Spheals are pretty impressive creatures. I've seen a few of these Pokemon before, and they seem quite capable. Sierra mentioned that the Aether Foundation has its fair share of detractors. What is it you do, as a corporation?" Red doubted they did little more than put on Pokemon shows. They seemed too big a company for that, especially to garner such animosity.

---

566 Words
+1 EXP

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

The Bloodletting Barman

_{though he's quite a bit more}

Wilhelm van Seinth

Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Bog-standard Human (not a Bog Human, those are different). 64 years old. Close to a month with the Caravan, though it's his second time joining on.

Appearance:
Take the above picture, remove the breastplate, and put him in a big coat. Wilhelm always has it on, coattails brushing along the ground at his feet, pockets stitched every which way from years of overstuffing them with his odds and ends. And he's always got stuff hanging off of him, his bags and his belts and his quivers. It makes him appear bulkier than he really is.

Little less of a beard too.

History:

bit of a long one

Wilhelm was born into a family of tavern keepers, specifically to one Dursin van Seinth. His mother, Amalia, didn't survive childbirth, so it was on his father's shoulders to raise young Wilhelm to continue the family business. He grew up in Beggar's Border, a town (in)famously situated on the only accessible pass through the Yutin Mountains. It was a hub of activity due to many a-traveler needing to cross the mountains - meaning that the tavern owned by Wilhelm's father, named The Seventh Isle, always had business. Dursin was as wonderful a father as he could be to Wilhelm, miraculously able to divide his attention between running the bar and keeping his son happy and healthy. Try as he might, though, it was hard for him to capture Wilhelm's interest in the bar. Wilhelm seemed to express no interest in anything for a time, long past when he learned walk and talk on his own. One such interest did develop with time, however. A worrying, troublesome interest:

Killing.

As if overnight, Wilhelm gained a fixation on death, the act of causing death and the potential to do so. His father did his best to curb this urge, only just managing to keep him satisfied hunting animals in the mountains' wilderness. As he grew older and his conscience developed, Wilhelm would turn to other interests to occupy his mind, keep his focus away from those inclinations. He honed his hunting skills and took regular camping trips away from town, learning to create small traps to ensnare and kill his prey. He would spend time at the weaponsmith, picking up skills for repairing, improving, and maintaining weapons. He'd read books on the anatomy of the various races of the world, journals on healing, medicine, bloodletting and inoculation, what may best injure a person and how to avoid or fix it..... eventually, he realized, it all still connected to that want. That desire, to hurt and to maim and to murder and--

Something had to change. He was nearing 20, having spent his teenaged years helping run the tavern and collecting all this fringe knowledge, and he simply didn't trust himself to keep the plates spinning in the air. Around that time the Pilgrim's Caravan ambled through town, and that's when Wilhelm made the choice. He joined them. In part in the hopes that travel, exploration, and discovery would better distract his mind, but also, he knew, to spare his father from the possibility that he'd slip. He'd write, keep in touch with his dad, though he wasn't sure when he'd return.

It was the last time he'd see his father alive.

Wilhelm spent a good few years with the Caravan. His hopes came to fruition, in a way. All the different sights they traveled to and all the different people to meet and learn from was enough to hold the tide of his inner turmoil, at the cost of his already fraying attention span, and that time was nice. At one point he stopped hearing back from his father, then the news of his passing came right as the thought sunk in. Wilhelm left the Caravan then, returning to Beggar's Border to mourn. In the time it took him to travel back, The Seventh Isle fell into some disuse, and seeing it in such a sorry state made Wilhelm swell with determination. He'd take his father's place as the head of the tavern, to honor his spirit.

And that was life for a long while. Wilhelm was able to fix the tavern up and get things moving again, fitting nicely into the role of barkeep. The downside to it was how the bustling business left him with little time to wrestle the bloodlust that sat deep in his heart. He had to return to... "supplementing" the urge with his hobbies adjacent to the violence; weapons, hunting, traps, and blood. As the years went on this need grew, driving Wilhelm to sanction off an entire guest room in the tavern for personal use, turning it into some macabre stage for him to enact some of his fantasies. Using dummies and effigies instead of real people, of course.

This all worked up until recently, when - in a state of carelessness brought on by the routine and familiarity of his daily life (and the mounting attention issues) - Wilhelm mistakenly let one drunkard take that very room for a night. They were too drunk to notice most of the disquieting elements inside, but when they went to lay in the bed, a trap of Wilhelm's design sprung, spearing them right through the stomach. They thankfully survived, though the incident and the uncovered room full of murderous implements made the town's opinion of Wilhelm plummet. He was practically run out of town the next day.

Lost, directionless, with the very seams of his constructed life of coping mechanisms coming apart, Wilhelm found one last fortune: the Caravan. Some twist of fate landed him in a village the Caravan was passing by. With nowhere else to go and the encroaching fear of his mental collapse. he jumped at the opportunity, falling in with the group for the second time in his life. Some faces familiar, most entirely new.

Things were different for him this time, though. His past lost, his future shaky. Hopefully that would change too.

Personality:
There's quite a bit to unpack, in case you couldn't tell. Let's get one thing out of the way: Wilhelm is not a killer. There is a darkness within that bubbles constantly and threatens to boil over, but he does not let it control him. In his efforts to keep his murderous inclinations down, he's grown increasingly scatterbrained, his attention always divided, as hard to hold as it is easy to catch. He can be curt, abrasive, sardonic, aloof, and irritated, though it's less because of a nasty attitude and more to do with the general abruptness he carries himself with. There's a warmth from him that easily comes across in his better moments, a charm and charisma you wouldn't expect from his shabby appearance. He's also incredibly eager to learn, indulging in new pastimes or crafts as often as he breathes.

He hates talking about himself, for obvious reasons, preferring to partake in the stories of others as any true barkeep would. There are a few scruples that he does without - petty thievery, vandalism, disrespectful to most unless they earn it - but the morals he does abide be are ironclad.

Motivation:
To partake in his hobbies and interests so the murderous urge stays buried. To find a new place for himself, even if that's with the Caravan. Perhaps visit the other taverns owned by his relatives.

Skills & Strengths:
_{Practical Knowhow -} the sum of Wilhelm's extensive knowledge, some learned in his efforts to stifle The Urge, some he was taught by his father in order to run The Seventh Isle. An eclectic skillset to be sure, the many years of Wilhelm's life devoted to these pursuits assured that no one tool up his sleeve got too rusty. These skills are:

• Weapon maintenance & repair, the crafting of arrows and ammunition
• Hunting, survival, herbology (natural poisons and their antidotes), trap-making
• Anatomy of common races, apothecary, infectious diseases
• Brewing, cooking, mixology
• Sewing, embroidery, weaving, woodworking

_{Spry -} Despite his age and lack of clear athletic practice, Wilhelm proves to be surprisingly agile and limber, able to sprint and climb as if he hadn't grown old at all.
_{Fast Learner -} Always eager for more knowledge under his belt, Wilhelm possesses an avid mind, one that absorbs information and understands things quick. Give him a day to learn something, he'll have a month's worth of working knowledge. Give him a week and it'll be as if he's done it his whole life.
Weaknesses:
_{The Urge -} a facet of Wilhelm's personality that manifested early, one that instills a hunger in him, a desire, a compulsion to murder. He does a decent job at keeping it under the surface, refusing to indulge that part of himself, but emotions always get the better of logic. There will be times where it's near irresistible, wresting his thoughts towards that urge, and while he may not go through with it, this will happen at the worst of times.
_{Absolute Pacifist -} no matter the circumstance, no matter the rationale, Wilhelm absolutely will not raise his hand against another. Even in self defense, he won't draw arms against a sentient foe, nor willingly assist in bringing harm them. Hurting in order to help - resetting a dislocated bone, for instance - is the exception, as it's the intent that's important to him.
_{Magically Dumb -} no, not that he's been turned dumb by magic. Rather, for all of Wilhelm's interest and aptitude, the one area of expertise he hasn't ventured in is all things magical. He possesses no natural talent in magic, can't seem to attune to any force that governs them, and staunchly refuses to partake besides. It leaves him defenseless in the face of it all.
_{Scatterbrained -} Wilhelm's attention is horribly shot. It's a tossup whether his mind will flit between a dozen different topics in the span of one conversation or if he will hyperfixate for days on end. It's not terribly common for these issues to line up with what's needed of him, either too unfocused to pay attention to an important task, or focusing too hard on one while ignoring what's around him.
Tools:
As stated above, Wilhelm carries a lot on his person at any given time. His large overcoat, roomy with more than a dozen deep pockets, holds anything that Wilhelm might need or what interests him, primarily things such as glass vials, scrap wood, herbs, plants, writing utensils - minor implements. He shoulders a couple of larger bags on him, which hold more meaningful items; coils of rope and binding, portable cookware, bits of weaponry for field repairs, apothecary supplies. There's also his toolbelt, which is a belt that holds his tools, go figure.

He likes to be prepared.

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

@TruthHurts22
Wilhelm is approved. I feel pretty bad for him, honestly.

@Tortoise

I was originally going for a more unrepentant serial killer vibe, but I think this'd be more fun to play, and also mesh better with the cast. So, yay!

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

The Bloodletting Barman

_{though he's quite a bit more}

Wilhelm van Seinth

Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Bog-standard Human (not a Bog Human, those are different). 64 years old. Close to a month with the Caravan, though it's his second time joining on.

Appearance:
Take the above picture, remove the breastplate, and put him in a big coat. Wilhelm always has it on, coattails brushing along the ground at his feet, pockets stitched every which way from years of overstuffing them with his odds and ends. And he's always got stuff hanging off of him, his bags and his belts and his quivers. It makes him appear bulkier than he really is.

Little less of a beard too.

History:

bit of a long one

Wilhelm was born into a family of tavern keepers, specifically to one Dursin van Seinth. His mother, Amalia, didn't survive childbirth, so it was on his father's shoulders to raise young Wilhelm to continue the family business. He grew up in Beggar's Border, a town (in)famously situated on the only accessible pass through the Yutin Mountains. It was a hub of activity due to many a-traveler needing to cross the mountains - meaning that the tavern owned by Wilhelm's father, named The Seventh Isle, always had business. Dursin was as wonderful a father as he could be to Wilhelm, miraculously able to divide his attention between running the bar and keeping his son happy and healthy. Try as he might, though, it was hard for him to capture Wilhelm's interest in the bar. Wilhelm seemed to express no interest in anything for a time, long past when he learned walk and talk on his own. One such interest did develop with time, however. A worrying, troublesome interest:

Killing.

As if overnight, Wilhelm gained a fixation on death, the act of causing death and the potential to do so. His father did his best to curb this urge, only just managing to keep him satisfied hunting animals in the mountains' wilderness. As he grew older and his conscience developed, Wilhelm would turn to other interests to occupy his mind, keep his focus away from those inclinations. He honed his hunting skills and took regular camping trips away from town, learning to create small traps to ensnare and kill his prey. He would spend time at the weaponsmith, picking up skills for repairing, improving, and maintaining weapons. He'd read books on the anatomy of the various races of the world, journals on healing, medicine, bloodletting and inoculation, what may best injure a person and how to avoid or fix it..... eventually, he realized, it all still connected to that want. That desire, to hurt and to maim and to murder and--

Something had to change. He was nearing 20, having spent his teenaged years helping run the tavern and collecting all this fringe knowledge, and he simply didn't trust himself to keep the plates spinning in the air. Around that time the Pilgrim's Caravan ambled through town, and that's when Wilhelm made the choice. He joined them. In part in the hopes that travel, exploration, and discovery would better distract his mind, but also, he knew, to spare his father from the possibility that he'd slip. He'd write, keep in touch with his dad, though he wasn't sure when he'd return.

It was the last time he'd see his father alive.

Wilhelm spent a good few years with the Caravan. His hopes came to fruition, in a way. All the different sights they traveled to and all the different people to meet and learn from was enough to hold the tide of his inner turmoil, at the cost of his already fraying attention span, and that time was nice. At one point he stopped hearing back from his father, then the news of his passing came right as the thought sunk in. Wilhelm left the Caravan then, returning to Beggar's Border to mourn. In the time it took him to travel back, The Seventh Isle fell into some disuse, and seeing it in such a sorry state made Wilhelm swell with determination. He'd take his father's place as the head of the tavern, to honor his spirit.

And that was life for a long while. Wilhelm was able to fix the tavern up and get things moving again, fitting nicely into the role of barkeep. The downside to it was how the bustling business left him with little time to wrestle the bloodlust that sat deep in his heart. He had to return to... "supplementing" the urge with his hobbies adjacent to the violence; weapons, hunting, traps, and blood. As the years went on this need grew, driving Wilhelm to sanction off an entire guest room in the tavern for personal use, turning it into some macabre stage for him to enact some of his fantasies. Using dummies and effigies instead of real people, of course.

This all worked up until recently, when - in a state of carelessness brought on by the routine and familiarity of his daily life (and the mounting attention issues) - Wilhelm mistakenly let one drunkard take that very room for a night. They were too drunk to notice most of the disquieting elements inside, but when they went to lay in the bed, a trap of Wilhelm's design sprung, spearing them right through the stomach. They thankfully survived, though the incident and the uncovered room full of murderous implements made the town's opinion of Wilhelm plummet. He was practically run out of town the next day.

Lost, directionless, with the very seams of his constructed life of coping mechanisms coming apart, Wilhelm found one last fortune: the Caravan. Some twist of fate landed him in a village the Caravan was passing by. With nowhere else to go and the encroaching fear of his mental collapse. he jumped at the opportunity, falling in with the group for the second time in his life. Some faces familiar, most entirely new.

Things were different for him this time, though. His past lost, his future shaky. Hopefully that would change too.

Personality:
There's quite a bit to unpack, in case you couldn't tell. Let's get one thing out of the way: Wilhelm is not a killer. There is a darkness within that bubbles constantly and threatens to boil over, but he does not let it control him. In his efforts to keep his murderous inclinations down, he's grown increasingly scatterbrained, his attention always divided, as hard to hold as it is easy to catch. He can be curt, abrasive, sardonic, aloof, and irritated, though it's less because of a nasty attitude and more to do with the general abruptness he carries himself with. There's a warmth from him that easily comes across in his better moments, a charm and charisma you wouldn't expect from his shabby appearance. He's also incredibly eager to learn, indulging in new pastimes or crafts as often as he breathes.

He hates talking about himself, for obvious reasons, preferring to partake in the stories of others as any true barkeep would. There are a few scruples that he does without - petty thievery, vandalism, disrespectful to most unless they earn it - but the morals he does abide be are ironclad.

Motivation:
To partake in his hobbies and interests so the murderous urge stays buried. To find a new place for himself, even if that's with the Caravan. Perhaps visit the other taverns owned by his relatives.

Skills & Strengths:
_{Practical Knowhow -} the sum of Wilhelm's extensive knowledge, some learned in his efforts to stifle The Urge, some he was taught by his father in order to run The Seventh Isle. An eclectic skillset to be sure, the many years of Wilhelm's life devoted to these pursuits assured that no one tool up his sleeve got too rusty. These skills are:

• Weapon maintenance & repair, the crafting of arrows and ammunition
• Hunting, survival, herbology (natural poisons and their antidotes), trap-making
• Anatomy of common races, apothecary, infectious diseases
• Brewing, cooking, mixology
• Sewing, embroidery, weaving, woodworking

_{Spry -} Despite his age and lack of clear athletic practice, Wilhelm proves to be surprisingly agile and limber, able to sprint and climb as if he hadn't grown old at all.
_{Fast Learner -} Always eager for more knowledge under his belt, Wilhelm possesses an avid mind, one that absorbs information and understands things quick. Give him a day to learn something, he'll have a month's worth of working knowledge. Give him a week and it'll be as if he's done it his whole life.
Weaknesses:
_{The Urge -} a facet of Wilhelm's personality that manifested early, one that instills a hunger in him, a desire, a compulsion to murder. He does a decent job at keeping it under the surface, refusing to indulge that part of himself, but emotions always get the better of logic. There will be times where it's near irresistible, wresting his thoughts towards that urge, and while he may not go through with it, this will happen at the worst of times.
_{Absolute Pacifist -} no matter the circumstance, no matter the rationale, Wilhelm absolutely will not raise his hand against another. Even in self defense, he won't draw arms against a sentient foe, nor willingly assist in bringing harm them. Hurting in order to help - resetting a dislocated bone, for instance - is the exception, as it's the intent that's important to him.
_{Magically Dumb -} no, not that he's been turned dumb by magic. Rather, for all of Wilhelm's interest and aptitude, the one area of expertise he hasn't ventured in is all things magical. He possesses no natural talent in magic, can't seem to attune to any force that governs them, and staunchly refuses to partake besides. It leaves him defenseless in the face of it all.
_{Scatterbrained -} Wilhelm's attention is horribly shot. It's a tossup whether his mind will flit between a dozen different topics in the span of one conversation or if he will hyperfixate for days on end. It's not terribly common for these issues to line up with what's needed of him, either too unfocused to pay attention to an important task, or focusing too hard on one while ignoring what's around him.
Tools:
As stated above, Wilhelm carries a lot on his person at any given time. His large overcoat, roomy with more than a dozen deep pockets, holds anything that Wilhelm might need or what interests him, primarily things such as glass vials, scrap wood, herbs, plants, writing utensils - minor implements. He shoulders a couple of larger bags on him, which hold more meaningful items; coils of rope and binding, portable cookware, bits of weaponry for field repairs, apothecary supplies. There's also his toolbelt, which is a belt that holds his tools, go figure.

He likes to be prepared.

Optional: Extra Details

What They Most Want:

If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be:

Three Likes:

Three Dislikes:

Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?:

Worst Fear:

Favorite Color:

Most Like The Animal:
_{That is, which animal they are most like- not which one they like the most.}

Favorite Time of Day:

How They Dress:

Favorite Season:

What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any):
_{No, M., Jesus isn't an option}

Work In Progress, here. Got all the character bits done with, so's you can judge them! Will finish the skills and other bits tomorrow.

@TruthHurts22

Finished it! Largely. The optional stuff is still blank but all the non-optional stuff is done-zo :D

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

The Bloodletting Barman

_{though he's quite a bit more}

Wilhelm van Seinth

Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Bog-standard Human (not a Bog Human, those are different). 64 years old. Close to a month with the Caravan, though it's his second time joining on.

Appearance:
Take the above picture, remove the breastplate, and put him in a big coat. Wilhelm always has it on, coattails brushing along the ground at his feet, pockets stitched every which way from years of overstuffing them with his odds and ends. And he's always got stuff hanging off of him, his bags and his belts and his quivers. It makes him appear bulkier than he really is.

Little less of a beard too.

History:

bit of a long one

Wilhelm was born into a family of tavern keepers, specifically to one Dursin van Seinth. His mother, Amalia, didn't survive childbirth, so it was on his father's shoulders to raise young Wilhelm to continue the family business. He grew up in Beggar's Border, a town (in)famously situated on the only accessible pass through the Yutin Mountains. It was a hub of activity due to many a-traveler needing to cross the mountains - meaning that the tavern owned by Wilhelm's father, named The Seventh Isle, always had business. Dursin was as wonderful a father as he could be to Wilhelm, miraculously able to divide his attention between running the bar and keeping his son happy and healthy. Try as he might, though, it was hard for him to capture Wilhelm's interest in the bar. Wilhelm seemed to express no interest in anything for a time, long past when he learned walk and talk on his own. One such interest did develop with time, however. A worrying, troublesome interest:

Killing.

As if overnight, Wilhelm gained a fixation on death, the act of causing death and the potential to do so. His father did his best to curb this urge, only just managing to keep him satisfied hunting animals in the mountains' wilderness. As he grew older and his conscience developed, Wilhelm would turn to other interests to occupy his mind, keep his focus away from those inclinations. He honed his hunting skills and took regular camping trips away from town, learning to create small traps to ensnare and kill his prey. He would spend time at the weaponsmith, picking up skills for repairing, improving, and maintaining weapons. He'd read books on the anatomy of the various races of the world, journals on healing, medicine, bloodletting and inoculation, what may best injure a person and how to avoid or fix it..... eventually, he realized, it all still connected to that want. That desire, to hurt and to maim and to murder and--

Something had to change. He was nearing 20, having spent his teenaged years helping run the tavern and collecting all this fringe knowledge, and he simply didn't trust himself to keep the plates spinning in the air. Around that time the Pilgrim's Caravan ambled through town, and that's when Wilhelm made the choice. He joined them. In part in the hopes that travel, exploration, and discovery would better distract his mind, but also, he knew, to spare his father from the possibility that he'd slip. He'd write, keep in touch with his dad, though he wasn't sure when he'd return.

It was the last time he'd see his father alive.

Wilhelm spent a good few years with the Caravan. His hopes came to fruition, in a way. All the different sights they traveled to and all the different people to meet and learn from was enough to hold the tide of his inner turmoil, at the cost of his already fraying attention span, and that time was nice. At one point he stopped hearing back from his father, then the news of his passing came right as the thought sunk in. Wilhelm left the Caravan then, returning to Beggar's Border to mourn. In the time it took him to travel back, The Seventh Isle fell into some disuse, and seeing it in such a sorry state made Wilhelm swell with determination. He'd take his father's place as the head of the tavern, to honor his spirit.

And that was life for a long while. Wilhelm was able to fix the tavern up and get things moving again, fitting nicely into the role of barkeep. The downside to it was how the bustling business left him with little time to wrestle the bloodlust that sat deep in his heart. He had to return to... "supplementing" the urge with his hobbies adjacent to the violence; weapons, hunting, traps, and blood. As the years went on this need grew, driving Wilhelm to sanction off an entire guest room in the tavern for personal use, turning it into some macabre stage for him to enact some of his fantasies. Using dummies and effigies instead of real people, of course.

This all worked up until recently, when - in a state of carelessness brought on by the routine and familiarity of his daily life (and the mounting attention issues) - Wilhelm mistakenly let one drunkard take that very room for a night. They were too drunk to notice most of the disquieting elements inside, but when they went to lay in the bed, a trap of Wilhelm's design sprung, spearing them right through the stomach. They thankfully survived, though the incident and the uncovered room full of murderous implements made the town's opinion of Wilhelm plummet. He was practically run out of town the next day.

Lost, directionless, with the very seams of his constructed life of coping mechanisms coming apart, Wilhelm found one last fortune: the Caravan. Some twist of fate landed him in a village the Caravan was passing by. With nowhere else to go and the encroaching fear of his mental collapse. he jumped at the opportunity, falling in with the group for the second time in his life. Some faces familiar, most entirely new.

Things were different for him this time, though. His past lost, his future shaky. Hopefully that would change too.

Personality:
There's quite a bit to unpack, in case you couldn't tell. Let's get one thing out of the way: Wilhelm is not a killer. There is a darkness within that bubbles constantly and threatens to boil over, but he does not let it control him. In his efforts to keep his murderous inclinations down, he's grown increasingly scatterbrained, his attention always divided, as hard to hold as it is easy to catch. He can be curt, abrasive, sardonic, aloof, and irritated, though it's less because of a nasty attitude and more to do with the general abruptness he carries himself with. There's a warmth from him that easily comes across in his better moments, a charm and charisma you wouldn't expect from his shabby appearance. He's also incredibly eager to learn, indulging in new pastimes or crafts as often as he breathes.

He hates talking about himself, for obvious reasons, preferring to partake in the stories of others as any true barkeep would. There are a few scruples that he does without - petty thievery, vandalism, disrespectful to most unless they earn it - but the morals he does abide be are ironclad.

Motivation:
To partake in his hobbies and interests so the murderous urge stays buried. To find a new place for himself, even if that's with the Caravan. Perhaps visit the other taverns owned by his relatives.

Skills & Strengths:
_{Practical Knowhow -} the sum of Wilhelm's extensive knowledge, some learned in his efforts to stifle The Urge, some he was taught by his father in order to run The Seventh Isle. An eclectic skillset to be sure, the many years of Wilhelm's life devoted to these pursuits assured that no one tool up his sleeve got too rusty. These skills are:

• Weapon maintenance & repair, the crafting of arrows and ammunition
• Hunting, survival, herbology (natural poisons and their antidotes), trap-making
• Anatomy of common races, apothecary, infectious diseases
• Brewing, cooking, mixology
• Sewing, embroidery, weaving, woodworking

_{Spry -} Despite his age and lack of clear athletic practice, Wilhelm proves to be surprisingly agile and limber, able to sprint and climb as if he hadn't grown old at all.
_{Fast Learner -} Always eager for more knowledge under his belt, Wilhelm possesses an avid mind, one that absorbs information and understands things quick. Give him a day to learn something, he'll have a month's worth of working knowledge. Give him a week and it'll be as if he's done it his whole life.
Weaknesses:
_{The Urge -} a facet of Wilhelm's personality that manifested early, one that instills a hunger in him, a desire, a compulsion to murder. He does a decent job at keeping it under the surface, refusing to indulge that part of himself, but emotions always get the better of logic. There will be times where it's near irresistible, wresting his thoughts towards that urge, and while he may not go through with it, this will happen at the worst of times.
_{Absolute Pacifist -} no matter the circumstance, no matter the rationale, Wilhelm absolutely will not raise his hand against another. Even in self defense, he won't draw arms against a sentient foe, nor willingly assist in bringing harm them. Hurting in order to help - resetting a dislocated bone, for instance - is the exception, as it's the intent that's important to him.
_{Magically Dumb -} no, not that he's been turned dumb by magic. Rather, for all of Wilhelm's interest and aptitude, the one area of expertise he hasn't ventured in is all things magical. He possesses no natural talent in magic, can't seem to attune to any force that governs them, and staunchly refuses to partake besides. It leaves him defenseless in the face of it all.
_{Scatterbrained -} Wilhelm's attention is horribly shot. It's a tossup whether his mind will flit between a dozen different topics in the span of one conversation or if he will hyperfixate for days on end. It's not terribly common for these issues to line up with what's needed of him, either too unfocused to pay attention to an important task, or focusing too hard on one while ignoring what's around him.
Tools:
As stated above, Wilhelm carries a lot on his person at any given time. His large overcoat, roomy with more than a dozen deep pockets, holds anything that Wilhelm might need or what interests him, primarily things such as glass vials, scrap wood, herbs, plants, writing utensils - minor implements. He shoulders a couple of larger bags on him, which hold more meaningful items; coils of rope and binding, portable cookware, bits of weaponry for field repairs, apothecary supplies. There's also his toolbelt, which is a belt that holds his tools, go figure.

He likes to be prepared.

Optional: Extra Details

What They Most Want:

If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be:

Three Likes:

Three Dislikes:

Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?:

Worst Fear:

Favorite Color:

Most Like The Animal:
_{That is, which animal they are most like- not which one they like the most.}

Favorite Time of Day:

How They Dress:

Favorite Season:

What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any):
_{No, M., Jesus isn't an option}

Work In Progress, here. Got all the character bits done with, so's you can judge them! Will finish the skills and other bits tomorrow.