Van'ir Mohlkoth
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Van'ir Steelheart  About
 Full bodied, Van'ir keeps a fit, athletically toned musculature built for endurance and speed from years of basic survival in the wilds of Gridania. Van'ir's strength is practical, though definitely visible in the actual volume of muscle behind layers of fabric. Almost everything on his person is designed for practicality and efficiency, if a bit rough and trimmed for his taste. Most of all, Van'ir has a roguish appeal, with rugged facial hair and a slicked back, short hair style - black and sleek, with the aged gray and white edging the tips and sides. He's got a perpetual severeness to him, as a simple, default look that often falls to soften the sharpness of his edges and tone down the critical aspect of his features. He smells of sharp pine, with a smooth, subtle tone of lavender beneath. Scars & Markings: A survivor is nothing without the scars that remind him of his own perils; Van'ir has many that dot his body, though he somehow keeps his face clean of any blemishes save for a heavy scar near his nose. Most of his scars are very clear due to the paleness of his skin. Nothing is quite so smooth with Van'ir on the surface and the callouses that harden his feet and hands, as well as the numerous cuts and gashes that blemish every inch of him don't help dismiss that idea. All of which belies a softer interior just beyond the hardened, cracked surface. Voice: Van'ir has a voice akin to rolling fog. It's a heavy baritone that clouds and rasps against the ears, with a thick twang that keeps him from fully enunciating his words. However rough it might come out, at first, the more Van'ir talks the softer his speech gets and the easier it is to listen to him. It's a quick punch to hear him at first, but his voice tends to lull and whisper a fine, hard whisky. Burns down the throat, but sits in the chest like a tamed, rustling fire. Clothing: Like everything with Van'ir, his clothing comes in hard leathers and rough fabric that's ample in protection against the wilds. Usually. Mostly. Ah, sometimes Van'ir has a flair for the dramatic that he likes to call swashbuckling romanticism. For the most part, what he wears is practical, to a point. Once he hits that line, Van'ir tends to do what he will with the rest and it comes off as mildly flamboyant, though keeping to the roguish theme he likes to purvey. It's rough, like him, but with a touch of flair that he tries hard to hide beneath and fails in that. Anytime Van'ir gets asked, he likes to spin a mighty tale of heroics of a dashing rogue out on the seven seas that eventually hit port and got stranded in the wilds. It aligns with everything Van'ir presents himself as: a romantic at heart with a flair of extreme exaggerations. Van'ir actually started out the sixth son in a growing litter of Miqo'te boys to a mother thought cursed. He grew up not knowing Miqo'te traditions, language, or culture due to his mother's oft vindictive nature. He grew up Gridanian through and through, even with the strained ties between the Keeper tribes of the Shroud and the Gridanian government. Beyond that, Van'ir simply picked up the bow and sought to teach himself - it didn't work out. In the long run, he had many a mentor throughout his life that allowed him to correctly learn how to survive on his own for as long as necessary. Van'ir did such for most of his life, jumping from area to area within Eorzea with hardly any contact outside of himself. Much of his issue with people was that many of them already had preconceived notions of character on the basis of appearance alone. Changing that vital first impression often took too much effort for what little use he could garner out of relationships. Thus, Van'ir spent most of his time alone and without care for others. A life of loneliness often forces one to adapt in personality and mind set. Much of Van'ir's time outside of survival was spent reading books he'd pawn off of wandering merchants, most of them grand tales of adventure. When he'd run out of books to read, Van'ir often wove his own tales, talking to himself or to whatever docile creature nestled up to him. It shaped him, in a way, into a silver-tongued story teller, charismatic to the last and with a voice smooth as silk - at least, the tales worth silky smooth. Before that had any effect, however, Van'ir had to learn the meaning of socialization, of culture and customs. The cities and villages that dot Eorzea have a wildly different atmosphere than Gridanian's wooden labyrinth. So, he took to talking to merchants first, then random tavern goers, and eventually worked his way further and further until he got a decent handle on how to act in polite company. Even if it's still a work in progress, he's got some idea of how to interact with people, what to say and what to do - he's pretty damn good at lying through his teeth, so that's a plus. Years of isolation has kept him from developing any noticeable ticks simply because he doesn't understand the social morality behind lying and the repercussions that often follow. Unfortunately, with every lie and story told, he comes this much closer to finding out just how dire those consequences can be.
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