Post by Gerhardt of Nuro on Dec 26, 2009 16:02:44 GMT -8
Never use your kids, scumbag. Never.
Name:
Gerhardt of Nuro
Gender:
Male
Age:
16
Birthday:
June 9 – 19th day of the Blue Moon
Species:
Mage
Affinity:
Sky
Abilities:
Prediction
Artifact:
A brown, spotted shell that hangs around his neck on a black cord; must be broken to use
Contains Chrono Master
Role:
Bounty Hunter
Alignment:
Lawful Evil
The captain is coming with me.
Body
I have a lean body built for fighting. Well, technically, it was built for dancing. It looks like it was built for fighting. My skin has been heavily darkened by the sun. I am no longer the pale white boy I once was. My red hair has grown almost down to my waist. I have dark eyes reminiscent of my gypsy blood that has been otherwise drowned out. My left eyebrow has been cut into three pieces by two thin scars that are barely visible. I have long, spidery fingers and thin lips. My features tend to be sharp.
Demeanor
I walk with pride and confidence. I do not show much emotion unless it is to my advantage at the time. When left to my own devices or when capturing a prize, I show absolutely nothing. I am not one to gloat over success. I find such a thing to be tasteless and foolish. My eyes are dull. My movements are deliberate. My steps are heavy and purposeful for the most part. I rarely need to use stealth. I am graceful thanks to my training as a dancer and I often seem taller than I am. Overall, my presence will either come off as mysterious or intimidating.
Style
I can normally be found wearing white. I have white robes for mage work. For casual wear, I have white tunics and coats. I also wear a lot of amber. Most of my pants are amber. I’ll wear browns, too. I’m not a fan of color, nor do I wear much black. Too cliché, I suppose. I dislike color because of my past. I refuse to wear any jewelry other than my shell. My clothes and shoes are built for practicality and made to be appropriate for the given situation. They are always clean. I will not wear something if it is stained or ripped.
Other
What is there to say? I carry my staff. It’s small, more like a mix between a staff and a wand, really. It’s made of wood and set with a crystal, rimmed with white gold with fleck of yellow gold. Very sturdy, but light. It took the blood of three and a half fairies to make it. I possess the golden seal of a weather mage. I keep this pinned to my mages robes for two reasons. I do not want to lose it and I do not always want to be identified as a mage. I play the role that is needed for the job.
Reality doesn't care if you believe it.
Dramatic
I have always had a flair for the dramatic. It could be the gypsy in me. I’m not sure. Devious smoke and mirror tricks make me smile. I love to make an entrance…and an exit. Presentation is everything. There seems to be a little bit of a performer in me yet. This could be my own way of gloating, since I refuse to show off in the traditional way. I am not one of those bad guys who delivers long speeches in front of the hero, giving him the time he needs to escape. I would much rather cut the hero to shreds and scatter the remains across the town square.
Creative
I am a good problem solver who enjoys a show. You know what that means? I have found art in what I do. I like making points, and if someone makes me angry I can find the perfect way to accomplish this. I am not bound by irrational insanity. I am simply a sociopath. My mind is sharp and enjoys thinking up ways to accomplish my goals. I am a good strategist (and accomplished chess player). I know how to utilize my resources. I think in an abstract way that confuses my enemies. I think as though I am an artist and the future is my canvas.
Sensitive
Okay, so I’m not as much of a sociopath as I make myself out to be. I retain loyalty to my own family. Also, I like children. Cruelty towards children is the lowest thing a person can do. I would never stoop so low as to harm an innocent child. Should you make this attempt, you will beg me for death. Should you make this attempt towards your own child, you will beg the gods for eternal torture rather than succumb to the mercy I will show you. Death would be a blessing. Yeah, I have a sensitive side; do not mistake that for weakness.
Other
I am enormously creative and inspiring to watch and be around. I have my own way of thinking and doing things. I come across as self-assured and powerful. I tend to have a strong point of view, so it is important to cultivate ease and flexibility when dealing with others. The thing is, I don’t really care much for others. I care about order and ideas. I care about logic. I can’t seem to understand the emotional side of things. For the most part, I am sickened by other living beings. Those who don’t sicken me make me feel nothing towards them at all.
You must be new here.
Basic History
I was born to a traveling troupe of gypsies. Of course, one would never guess by the looks of me. Red hair, pale skin. It did not make sense. I was a bastard child. As mother told it, she believed the man really did love her. He told her that he would come back for her one day. The others laughed at her foolishness. They did not trust outsiders.
They said that my hair and eyes were nothing short of magic. Gypsy hair and gypsy skin could easily cover such pale colors. Only a mage could have such strength to pass down.
I was never liked and never loved except for my mother, who doted on me in a manner I found suffocating. Of course, the troupe is family. They still helped to teach me and care for me. I kept to myself for the most part. I understood the status quo and I was at the bottom of it.
Like the others, I learned to dance. I was good at it. I was also a terrible student. I did not enjoy the structure and the classes and practices bored me. I much preferred to dance on my own, to free my own voice and expression. I never smiled when we practiced. Later, when I was old enough to perform, I would have my hands whipped for failing to smile when we performed. I did not show anything, actually. No sadness during sad parts. No intensity during intense parts. I was bored.
As I grew older, I became more and more rambunctious. I fought a lot with my own people. When we visited towns and cities, I fought a lot with the residents. People as a whole made me sick. Only children, with their sweet smiles and purity, could make me smile.
On my fifteenth birthday a messenger approached us.. He was a dull brown traveling cloak. His sandy hair was mussed and tangled. It looked as though this man had been traveling for quite some time. “I have a package for Gerhardt of Nuro. I believe he rides with you lot?” He did his best to look polite, but I could see disdain on his face. I snorted and his amber eyes darted towards me. He did not move, but I could tell by the way he stared that he knew I was his quarry.
Everyone else turned to stare at me, too. This was something unusual. My mother looked hopeful and frightened, like a timid mouse about to be given a crumb. I stepped forward and nodded to the man who promptly pulled out a small bag made of some kind of crude fabric and a scroll. I took them both, glad that I knew how to read. I did not want anyone reading this mysterious letter but me.
To my son on his birthday,
You are a man now, ready to see the world and take control. Inside that bag you will find a shell. Keep it safe and keep it with you always. Should you ever be in true danger, smash this shell into the ground. It will release a powerful magic. This is a rare gift and it will only work once, therefore I will emphasize one thing: use only in your most direst need.
One year from now, I will come for you. Tell no one.
For the first time in a long time, I smiled. People gathered around me to know what was in the bag and what the scroll said. I was too fast. Before the scroll could be taken from me, I began ripping it. I tore and tore until even the letters were ripped into pieces. Then, I threw it in a puddle on the road. It was the sort of puddle made by emptying a chamber pot out of a window. I knew nobody would go after it there. Even if they did, the letters would be nothing more than smeared ink.
My mother cried.
I hung the shell on a cord and wore it around my neck, hidden under my clothes. I mentioned nothing more about the messenger or the incident. I cheered mother up by performing well, expressions and all. I suppose there was a small part of me that still cared for her. She, at least, had tried to give me a happy life. Her naivety was not far from that of a child’s. I could not respect her, but I did care.
One year later, my father came as promised. We had the same red hair, though his was cut short. His skin was darkened from travel. So was mine by then. He was tall and dressed in white. His eyes were a piercing blue that startled me. He rode a handsome stallion. The beast was dark brown and had a black mane. Father called him Taavetti. My own painted mustang paled in comparison.
My people welcomed him when they learned who he was, though they were not friendly. Instead they regarded him with cold gazes and offered cool responses to anything he said. My mother wept openly and threw herself into his arms. He pried her away, gently, and looked into her honey amber eyes. “I come for my son,” he half whispered to her.
She stared back uncomprehendingly for what felt like hours but was probably much less. Finally she understood. Beyond tears, she simply nodded and walked away. My father mounted his horse and summoned me to do the same. I did, ignoring the hateful glares of those who raised me. I did not even tell my mother goodbye.
I am under my father’s guidance now. He is a sky mage of the highest order. He made my staff personally and bought my status with his experience. I am a quick learner. I can tell he is proud of me. When he noted my fighting prowess he introduced me to a friend of his who fights for the royal guard. We practice at least once a week. I practice every day.
I have recently been accepted into the family business. No, not magecraft. Bounty hunting. It is a job that suits me well. My father awakened within me a passion I never knew I possessed. Not that anyone can tell by looking at me. I still appear as emotionless as ever unless the occasion calls for me to be otherwise.
I do think of my mother at times. Even with my new work as a bounty hunter. One day, perhaps, I will visit her.
I love that he's a bounty hunter - very exciting! 
