Marcus Feral
Error creating thumbnail: File missing Marcus Feral
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| Biographical Information | |
|---|---|
| Birth Name | Marcus Feral |
| Nickname(s) | None |
| Guardian | Nald'thal, the Trader |
| Birthplace | Elsewhere |
| Race | Miqo'te |
| Clan | Miqo'te Seeker of the Sun |
| Physical Attributes | |
| Hair | Blonde |
| Eyes | Gold |
| Height | 5'7" |
| Weight | ~125-135 |
| Equipment | |
| Primary Weapon | Sword |
| Career Information | |
| Occupation | Merchant, Captain |
| Out-of-Character Information | |
| Time Zone | PST |
| Server | Balmung |
| Job | Dark Knight/White Mage |
| Footnotes | |
This page is under construction; typos are very likely
Contents
Captain's Log
The Miqo'te closed the hardwood door behind himself, looking into his office. It was neatly kept and furnished with nautical items collected while sailing over the years. A large table to his right had a map or Eorzea intricately carved and painting right into the wood with carved pieces indicating ports he planned to trade with this season. The trade routes themselves were locked away someplace safe, only shared with his most trustworthy of captains.
He was in his late thirties and just entering his prime. Light blonde hair swept back into a neat tail, decorated with a dark ribbon. His coat was heavy and Ishgardian in make, and every bit of him seemed covered in expensive clothe. Perfectly tailored leather gloves and boots, a few rings made with only the finest gems, and earrings dangled from his long, black-tipped and spotted ears with a hint of classic piracy in their style that matched the golden color of eyes.
He made his way to his desk, enjoying the warmth of the nearby fire that had been prepared for him. He set aside his scales and a stack of documents as he sat down and pulled out a clear, heavy glass which he filled with a dark amber liquid. Placing a fresh sheet of parchment on the desk, he took up his quill.
"I've been told I should write some sort of biography. I do not know who for, as I will likely decline to share this with anyone, but I suppose the exercise could prove therapeutic. Even still, I refuse to put in writing that which I cannot bring myself to put into words. A man's past is his own, and we will leave my beginnings at that. All that needs be said is, as some vagrant once put it himself, that I have 'come from nothing.' Soon I will have everything.
"But even that statement puts me ahead of myself. I am Marcus Feral of the S&S Trading Company. A company that I built from nothing, but truthfully, it did not become something without help. In my early days as a captain I had the privilege" the word seemed to be emphasized in the flourish of his penmanship, "of transporting a band of mercenaries, among which my future wife, Lady Dovienya se'Tovya Cuenn made her company. I did not know at the time that we would have anything to do with one another after the trip was over, but she had other plans for me. Perhaps just as well, as I would never have made the time for a wife otherwise. With the help of her family's fortune and my knack for deal making, S&S has business across several continents and we are happily wealthy, if a little bored."
Marcus looked at the parchment with a sour expression. The writing was straightforward with little about himself in truth. He sniffed, uncaring, and refilled his glass.
"As a side business, I find I enjoy uprooting evil in Ul'dah and other parts of Aldenard. I do not wish to see people suffer any more than the next perhaps, but honestly, I hate the monopoly the Syndicate holds on trade. I would better fit their seats, I'm sure. In fact, I'm positive I could run the underground better than they, but of course; I would never stoop so low. I run an honest business and it has garnered me enough wealth and prestige to even own property in Ishgard. How many foreigners can say they have earned citizenship in Ishgard? Not many, I'd wager, and I'm not the betting type."
A small smudge in the ink caused the Miqo'te pause, but he continued.
"I do not gamble, of course. Not frequently. Just the occasional trip to the Gold Saucer is enough to satisfy me. A few nights at best, really. The point is, I do not gamble—I am always certain of my chances. Like dueling, I know when I have my opponent beat before the first strike is made. Hopefully, Doevienya has not noticed how dusty my dueling coat became last week. It isn't as if I entered the Grindstone purposefully, I just happened to be there. No one would recognize me either way; my mask continues to be a flawless disguise."
The last paragraph drifted in a downward slant, but Marcus continued on to the next page without worrying about it.
"Fencing is a gentlemanly sport, and a proper pastime, I think. I practiced for hours every day in my youth, and still dedicate at least thirty minutes a day to the exercise. Now that I am not sailing as much, it keeps me in shape. I can't very well keep those lazy, brutish Xaela dockworkers in check if I can't intimidate them. And with a wife like Doevienya, one must indeed keep their form strong. The woman will likely crush me one of these days...
"To think I used to be skittish whenever a woman so much as complimented me. I abhorred anyone touching me. Well, that had to change. Damned Roegadyn's, they just bully their way through every...
The above paragraphs look as if the Miqo'te tried to brush them away before realizing they were inked.
"I should perhaps speak of my abilities beyond trading and dueling. I'm an avid collector of not only maps, but also soul stones. Marvelous things, soul stones. Any merchant who is worth his salt should have a set they carry on their person at all times. The knowledge they carry is vital for survival if you've been dealt bad hand. They certainly help my meager skill with heavier swords and of course magic. I recently acquired a soul stone from an unruly Dark Knight. He owed me more than he could ever repay me anyway. He isn't missing it, but trust me when I say he would have missed his right hand.
"That reminds me of a song, in fact. I can't remember the lyrics. Mayhap I can recount the notes?"
The rest of the sheets are filled with notes in no particular order and a few drawings of what could perhaps pass for ships and a leviathan towering over them.
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