Averill Rooks

Summary

Beholden to no cause, no coin, no city-state, the scrimshander Averill is rarely found in the same place twice. Whispers of a life before his infamy on the road linger like ill winds.

Typically calm, collected, and irrepressibly curious, he can be found travelling alone or with companions, albeit rarely. Those that chance to meet him find a storied soul, seared with scars. Those that seek the vagrant out learn well, and quickly, of the strength that survived those wounds.

Inventory

Below is a small table of items visible or readily noticeable on Averill's person. Feel free to use them as hooks!

ITEM	DESCRIPTION
Dyrnwyn	A huge axe, as tall as the one who bears it, bound in thick white cloth - almost like bandages. Save to sleep, Dyrnwyn rarely leaves Averill's back, though he makes plain his intent not to draw it, favouring other weapons even whilst he bears such a crippling weight. The binding is wrapped tight, revealing its shape, but its origins and abilities are the deeper mystery.
Decorated Whetstone	A hard stone plucked from the bottom of a lake. Typically used in the sharpening of blades. This particularly fine specimen, rather than its normal function, has been decorated with a precious, painstakingly careful carving of the Eorzean word 'Freedom'. Such items are commonly found in possession of the Xaela tribes of distant Othard, signifying the desires of the one who carries them.

Traits

Some of Averill's more noticeable features. Again, use these for hooks!

ITEM	DESCRIPTION
Blind in One Eye	The most severe of Averill's scarring favours his left side. The tell-tale marks of repeated blade cuts bite deep into his chest and face, leaving his eye a mangled, useless pearl. For most, it would be a crippling disability. For Averill, it is a reminder to get closer - and swing harder.
Mangled Body	Common parlance describes scars as lessons hard-earned. A thousand of these twist and turn about Averill. carving swathes and biting deep into his body. Suffered all at once, there may not be much left of the Midlander to recognise. Fortunately, the road of experience is long, and he has travelled it for longer still.
Twisted Aether	Mages reckon well the shifting tides of the soul. Aether is their domain, and for spellcraft the balances are tipped with the utmost of care and precision. Small wonder then that all but the most trained eyes turn from staring too deeply into Averill's aether. A vortex of corruption roils just beneath the road-weathered surface, causing most to shrink, unnerved or disgusted. When one sees a storm on the horizon, one typically seeks shelter.