Roelon Geraux
| Roelon Geraux | |
| |
| Gender | Male |
| Race | Hyur |
| Clan | Unknown |
| Citizenship | Unaffiliated |
| Name | Roelon Geraux |
| Profession | Courier |
| Age | Late 20s, Early 30s |
| Nameday | 20th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon |
| Height | 6'3" |
| Weight | 220 lbs. |
Basic Info
- Pronunciation: ROE-lin Jurr-OH
- Body type: Lean muscle - much like a laborer.
- Hair: Brown, thick, and wavy. Medium length, common style.
- Eyes: Dark Brown
- Skin: Noticeably tanned, but not overly so.
- Marks: Below his neckline, a truly observant person may note a few dark marks. It's not likely that such an observer would be able to identify the marks when Roelon is clothed.
- Place of Birth: Referred to simply as an "outsider" by the locals. (There is no way anyone would know this about him. He's not one to chat about such things.)
- Religion / Philosophy: A "Free Spirit" - Roelon wouldn't entertain a conversation about religion.
- Occupation: Simply from looking at him, one might assume he's nothing more than a commoner.
- Weapon of Choice: When in the wild, he's sometimes seen with a longstaff. One might assume that it's nothing more than a walking stick.
Appearance
His clothes are now faded and worn. Tanned skin, rough calloused hands... From the look of him, one might assume that he is at home outdoors. He carries about him the odor of burnt timber, and the slightest hint of alcohol. As he moves, a small flask can be seen on his hip. Though otherwise quite handsome; tall, slender, and muscular; in his current condition, one might not be inclined to view him as anything other than another face in a crowd. Unremarkable clothes, no visible weapons. One wouldn't be able to discern a specific profession or skill from the attire he wears. He's clad in rough-stitched cloth; a slate-grey hooded tunic atop dark-toned leggings - garb that is not too uncommon amongst dockworkers, laborers, and general merchants. A single copper ring adorns his left ring finger. There's something about him... The silence in his gait... his head on a swivel... A truly observant person might notice something in the way he moves. ...Something that might lead them past an apparent facade of a "commoner." Barely a word spoken... The quiet type, it would seem. Should one hear him speak, they'd note a calm tone, low and coarse. He bears a solem expression. An intuitive person might conclude that he's lost someone close to him. ...Family member? ...Lover? This feeling drawn by this notion might warrant a hint of caution, should one choose to ask him of it.
History
A brief in-character history of Roelon:
"Tell me about yourself." Said the barman, his intent; no more than smalltalk.
Roelon moved toward the barkeep. Resting both palms upon the countertop, he took time to survey the area. Wood-paneled walls met a weathered floor decorated by stains and filth. The dimly-lit setting was accompanied by the smell of spilt spirits and the sounds of boisterous patrons. The barkeep's question went unanswered for an uncomfortably long moment.
In a calm tone, low and coarse, he answered, "What is it you want to know...?"
"I dunno... Where ye' comin' from?"
Roelon hesitated. Swaying slightly, he fumbled for the pewter mug in front of him. Pawing it with both hands, ale spilt from the brim as he brought the mug to his lips.
The barman produced a rag and wiped the mess from the weathered wooden countertop as he spoke, "You've been at it all night... Don't you think it's best you slow dow..."
"Highbranch..." Roelon interjected. "Two day's journey from here.... Little better than an outpost."
Leaning on an his elbow upon the countertop, the barman raised a brow. "I've heard of that place. Best leathercraft in the region, I'm told."
His head now in his hands, Roelon's gaze turned to the barman as he continued to speak.
"I've 'eard tale o' tragedy there... some winters ago." The barman continued, settling into a comfortable pose as he began his story.
"Local legend 'as it that there was a fire. Killed a woman. That might be o' little interest 'cept that the fire was caused by the woman's lover. Said to be of suspicious nature, it was - a crime o' passion."
Roelon brought the mug to his lips again, spilling more ale this time. His features hardened as he furrowed a brow, listening as the barman spoke.
The barman, without missing a beat, wiped the countertop clean again, then continued, "Details vary depending on who tells the story. Some be sayin' the guilty lover left, never to be seen again. Others profess 'is innocence - even so much as to offer their own aid to 'im."
"I'm told he's hidin' out in these here lands, now. Word has it, 'e be searchin' for somethin'."
A mug paused at his lips, Roelon finally spoke through clenched teeth. Barely audible, he muttered, "I know this tale... and he's not searching for something... he's searching for someone... Welkin."
As if Roelon went unheard by the barman, he continued, "The one who started the fire... His name, Rellaux... Rowler... I don't recall. 'Tis not important."
Pushing away from the countertop, the barman wiped the surface once more. Upon his face was a smirk of self-contentment in his storytelling. Then, as if to ask the patron's name, the barman asked, "Anything else I can get'cha, Mister...?"
"Roelon." he replied. "The one you speak of... his name is Roelon."
"Aye! That was 'is name!" The barman exclaimed.
Roelon paused, then wiped his lip with his sleeve as he set the half-full mug upon the bar. With a brisk backhand, he knocked the mug over, spilling its contents upon the countertop. In the midst of the spilt ale, Roelon dropped a few coins as he turned to leave. With no loss of calm, Roelon spoke from over his shoulder.
In his usual calm tone; low and coarse, he said "You're better with wiping countertops than telling tales. Stick with that. ...Check your facts."
Personality
Though it does no justice to sum up a personality in a few lines, Roelon is best described as a jaded, tactless man. His heart is always aligned toward the "greater good", but he has no problem with sacrifice along the way to accomplish it.
His personae may come across as abrasive, but never overly-disrespectful. Often, Roelon's scornful remarks can be washed away with the notion of, "that's just how he is."
To elaborate on this note, I'd refer one to a personae akin to "Sawyer" on the TV show "Lost" (Sad reference, I know.) In short, Roelon will answer a question without regard to one's feelings. He will deliver his impression of the blunt, honest, truth. As he is not one to elaborate on an answer, he will likely deliver a short, decisive response that is best described as a "true neutral" alignment.
- Positive Personality Traits: Aids certain people without offer of reward.
- Negative Personality Traits: Though rather quiet, when he does speak, it is short and to the point. He's honest, often at the expense of tact.
- "Sore" points of disccusion: A few drinks has been known to loosen his tongue. One such event has led to mention of a "Traitorous Old Man." He'd likely offer nothing further, should one ask him about it.
Abilities
From "The Path of a Rogue - The Tale of Roelon"
Roelon made his way to the end of the pier toward the ferry when he was met by the onslaught of the disembarking passengers. Finding himself in a wall of people, he slowly made his way down the pier. He was overcome by what he saw. So many bodies rushed past him... so many memories filled his mind - ... so many images flashed in his head.
A young boy passed by, an image of wooden horse filled Roelon's mind. A fat woman... an image of a stone-laden forge. So overwhelmed was he, that he lost sight of the slender figure that had preceded him onto the ferry. As the pier emptied, composing himself, Roelon again advanced toward the ferry. One last passenger approached him. He was the slimy sort; carried about him the air of self-importance. As he left the ramp from the ferry, Roelon scowled at the image in his mind.
...a woman. Screaming.
...“No!! ...please stop!”
Roelon stopped in his tracks. Without a word, he gave way to the man on the narrow pier. Just as the man passed by him, Roelon turned toward the stranger. The stranger's back was to Roelon. He quickly grabbed the stranger by the back of his shirt. With the man's collar in his hand, Roelon pulled forcefully toward the ground, causing the man to fall, slamming him to the ground with such a force as to shake the floating pier. Flat on his back, quite dazed, the stranger looked to Roelon with a puzzled look on his face. A swift kick to his ribs sent the stranger rolling off of the pier into the sea.
Roelon took a long moment and paused to look upward toward the dismal rain, calming himself. His glance turned toward an onlooking dockworker. The dock worker was frozen, unsure of how to react to what she had just seen.
In a calm tone, low and coarse, Roelon spoke only one word.
“Rapist.”
((Roelon has only two In-character abilities. They're difficult to understand without "demonstration." One is a sort of mild Telekinesis (Geez... that word really does absolutely -no- justice to his ability. Sounds cheesy - his abilities are more complex, have limitations, are not an "everyday thing," and are never over-done.) The other is a limited clairvoyance. I hesitate to even list his abilities because of the mental image drawn by these words. I HATE God-Moders... So I'd like it to be understood that though Roelon's abilities possess potential for some crazy Uber-Moding, I am a very experienced RPer, and I've -never- been called a "God-moder."))
