Post by Cecil on Aug 22, 2013 7:48:38 GMT -8
Name: Cecil Calandra
Age: He looks like he's in his early thirties, but he won't say for sure.
Class: Fighter (10)
Appearance: He’s a big guy for a bard. Cecil is tanned but his mother is much darker-skinned than him, due to her desert origins. He takes after his father in that aspect. His hair is controlled chaos in every aspect of the word; he’d care more if he didn’t normally wear something over it.. He’s missing the pinky finger on his right hand and his right ear, but the story changes every time you ask him how he lost it.
His feet and hands are usually calloused and blistered, and there’s a nick in his left ear. There’s a few battle scars on his torso, but the most embarrassing injury he has is on his face. You’d have to really look closely to see it. He’d never say how, but bottom line is he hates cats. He’s got a thin face with thinner eyebrows, and when he can smiles you can clearly see sun crinkles on the sides of his eyes. His nose looks like it was dislocated and put back in place at least twice. Not a real pretty face, but he's smarter than you think at first glance.
Clothes: There are two main outfits that he can be seen in. One’s a dusty and ripped pillowcase which he passes for a shirt, pants of an almost usable state(pants have two legs, cecil), dark brown sandals, and leather armour strapped to two pauldrons . The pauldrons on the armour are studded with metal bumps. Strange thing is, Cecil finds the stuff comfortable after wearing and using it for so long, even falling asleep in it sometimes. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye as well, but it remains to be "seen" if it's fake or not.
His performing attire makes him look a bit different, but it’s a good disguise if you haven’t known Cecil long. He changes into a much nicer looking blue shirt with a long-sleeved white shirt underneath it. He wears a whitish turban with part of it trailing down to his legs, and sometimes wears an eye-hiding mask to go with it. At all times however, he carries a hatchet and an instrument, no exceptions. This draws a lot of attention and wariness from civilians and mercenaries. Say what you like about him, but he only carries the axe while he’s performing so he doesn’t have to club drunkards with instruments. That’s a waste of good money. And effort.
Personality: He's known for being secretive, if only because of some of the shadier things he does. When you get past that, Cecil's pretty down to earth and jovial, like most bards. Calling him clever is an understatement, but it's hard to see the grey matter past all that muscle. His mother taught him a lot of what he knows about the world as a child, bad things and good things. He's drifted all over the continent, but he has yet to really ever meet a dragon or a taguel and only sees them like a child would. His temper has a very long fuse, but quite the explosion should you ever be foolish enough to get him there. Or call him a bastard; he really hates that, so try at your own risk. His fighting style is also pretty wild since he's self-taught. Friend and foe alike have been caught on the back-swing, quite a few times on purpose.
Backstory: His father was out of the picture a while before Cecil was born, so he never really cared too much about it. It wasn’t a “one night only” kind of thing, his mother had told him. A brilliant man with a love of the world around him, but a coward. When he heard Cecil’s mother had been pregnant, he vanished. It was tough for her, being a sedentary dancer. waiting for her child. But it was worth it all in the end if only to spite his father.
Cecil was just another mouth to feed for the performer’s caravan he and his mother were a part of. But the group accepted him as one of their own. "It takes a whole village to raise a child," as they say. Years went by, and he watched, and learned, and practiced his heart out. His mother taught him all she knew about dancing and acrobatics as he grew up, and he picked up musical instruments on the side. It was harder to practice this stuff as he grew up and was handed more chores to do. One of which was chopping firewood, which was a great way to strengthen your arms. It took a long time at first, but he gradually got better. While no one was watching one evening as a young teenager, he snuck the hatchet under his clothes and hid it under his sleeping area. He was punished by his mother for “losing” it, but they picked up a new one in the northern town the group was staying in the following morning.
He started going out during the night and practiced with it. He gradually got better with it, but his wild style from being self-taught is still present even when he fights now. He practiced in shifts whenever they stopped in a place. One night hatchet, one night music, one night dance, rinse and repeat. Every night for many years he did this, and yet people the world over couldn't help but wonder why trees were getting such large cuts on them. As he reached twenty, he found a better way to make money than performing- arena fighting. He'd disappear into large cities during the day and return late at night with large bags of coins in each hand. His reputation grew despite his crude style; he could really wow the crowd with all the tricks he could do. The opponents he fought started getting tougher as his reputation skyrocketed, and it came to a head when he took on four enemies at once and was nearly slaughtered. That night he came home to the caravan bleeding in just about every major part of his body. He passed out after dropping the gold on the floor and slept for six days. He woke to see his mother caring for his wounds. He passed out again while she gave him the whole " brainless fool" and "you could've killed yourself" spiel.
He woke up again the next day, patched up and back in his proper clothes. According to the leader of his troupe, men from the arena's syndicate came looking for him, bearing arms. The group shooed them away, but they'd be coming back today. Cecil didn't want to endanger everyone just because he wouldn't fight, and argued for an hour on end with his mother about leaving. She caved after he promised that he was doing it to protect her. With tears in her eyes, she hugged him one last time and asked him to stay safe, before retreating back to her cabin. Cecil grabbed the strangest clothes he could find, a green wig, an instrument and supplies (ie Hatchet, food, water) before limping out of the caravan and on to the open road. He was dressed like any normal bard you could meet, right down to the wig. Cecil felt awful about leaving, but it had to be done. He was old enough as it was anyway, and had only seen the limited bits of the world the group ran through every year. Plotting a course for Arcadia, he set off down the road, playing a somber little tune on the flute he took with him.
It's been ten years since then and Cecil's still going strong. He's been around the whole of Elibe, and still finds new and exciting tales everywhere he looks. And started a few, himself. Ever hear the tale of Zanzibar the Gladiator? Or the one where Cecil took on a whole legion of bonewalkers? Well in reality it was two, but stories always over-inflate themselves. He wears disguises quite often, but only to avoid the many bandits and people who saw him as one of them over the years. Bad business to have people learn you're an ex-communicated bandit. His arsenal of music has vastly inflated, but he still carries that old and chipping ivory flute on his person. He's well versed in every single one he owns, like a proper bard. Just name a tune, he'll play it for ya and let you sit down and enjoy the show.
(This was edited from a bio I whipped up from WotW ages ago. Could you tell me if you see any inconsistencies that I missed?)
Age: He looks like he's in his early thirties, but he won't say for sure.
Class: Fighter (10)
Appearance: He’s a big guy for a bard. Cecil is tanned but his mother is much darker-skinned than him, due to her desert origins. He takes after his father in that aspect. His hair is controlled chaos in every aspect of the word; he’d care more if he didn’t normally wear something over it.. He’s missing the pinky finger on his right hand and his right ear, but the story changes every time you ask him how he lost it.
His feet and hands are usually calloused and blistered, and there’s a nick in his left ear. There’s a few battle scars on his torso, but the most embarrassing injury he has is on his face. You’d have to really look closely to see it. He’d never say how, but bottom line is he hates cats. He’s got a thin face with thinner eyebrows, and when he can smiles you can clearly see sun crinkles on the sides of his eyes. His nose looks like it was dislocated and put back in place at least twice. Not a real pretty face, but he's smarter than you think at first glance.
Clothes: There are two main outfits that he can be seen in. One’s a dusty and ripped pillowcase which he passes for a shirt, pants of an almost usable state(pants have two legs, cecil), dark brown sandals, and leather armour strapped to two pauldrons . The pauldrons on the armour are studded with metal bumps. Strange thing is, Cecil finds the stuff comfortable after wearing and using it for so long, even falling asleep in it sometimes. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye as well, but it remains to be "seen" if it's fake or not.
His performing attire makes him look a bit different, but it’s a good disguise if you haven’t known Cecil long. He changes into a much nicer looking blue shirt with a long-sleeved white shirt underneath it. He wears a whitish turban with part of it trailing down to his legs, and sometimes wears an eye-hiding mask to go with it. At all times however, he carries a hatchet and an instrument, no exceptions. This draws a lot of attention and wariness from civilians and mercenaries. Say what you like about him, but he only carries the axe while he’s performing so he doesn’t have to club drunkards with instruments. That’s a waste of good money. And effort.
Personality: He's known for being secretive, if only because of some of the shadier things he does. When you get past that, Cecil's pretty down to earth and jovial, like most bards. Calling him clever is an understatement, but it's hard to see the grey matter past all that muscle. His mother taught him a lot of what he knows about the world as a child, bad things and good things. He's drifted all over the continent, but he has yet to really ever meet a dragon or a taguel and only sees them like a child would. His temper has a very long fuse, but quite the explosion should you ever be foolish enough to get him there. Or call him a bastard; he really hates that, so try at your own risk. His fighting style is also pretty wild since he's self-taught. Friend and foe alike have been caught on the back-swing, quite a few times on purpose.
Backstory: His father was out of the picture a while before Cecil was born, so he never really cared too much about it. It wasn’t a “one night only” kind of thing, his mother had told him. A brilliant man with a love of the world around him, but a coward. When he heard Cecil’s mother had been pregnant, he vanished. It was tough for her, being a sedentary dancer. waiting for her child. But it was worth it all in the end if only to spite his father.
Cecil was just another mouth to feed for the performer’s caravan he and his mother were a part of. But the group accepted him as one of their own. "It takes a whole village to raise a child," as they say. Years went by, and he watched, and learned, and practiced his heart out. His mother taught him all she knew about dancing and acrobatics as he grew up, and he picked up musical instruments on the side. It was harder to practice this stuff as he grew up and was handed more chores to do. One of which was chopping firewood, which was a great way to strengthen your arms. It took a long time at first, but he gradually got better. While no one was watching one evening as a young teenager, he snuck the hatchet under his clothes and hid it under his sleeping area. He was punished by his mother for “losing” it, but they picked up a new one in the northern town the group was staying in the following morning.
He started going out during the night and practiced with it. He gradually got better with it, but his wild style from being self-taught is still present even when he fights now. He practiced in shifts whenever they stopped in a place. One night hatchet, one night music, one night dance, rinse and repeat. Every night for many years he did this, and yet people the world over couldn't help but wonder why trees were getting such large cuts on them. As he reached twenty, he found a better way to make money than performing- arena fighting. He'd disappear into large cities during the day and return late at night with large bags of coins in each hand. His reputation grew despite his crude style; he could really wow the crowd with all the tricks he could do. The opponents he fought started getting tougher as his reputation skyrocketed, and it came to a head when he took on four enemies at once and was nearly slaughtered. That night he came home to the caravan bleeding in just about every major part of his body. He passed out after dropping the gold on the floor and slept for six days. He woke to see his mother caring for his wounds. He passed out again while she gave him the whole " brainless fool" and "you could've killed yourself" spiel.
He woke up again the next day, patched up and back in his proper clothes. According to the leader of his troupe, men from the arena's syndicate came looking for him, bearing arms. The group shooed them away, but they'd be coming back today. Cecil didn't want to endanger everyone just because he wouldn't fight, and argued for an hour on end with his mother about leaving. She caved after he promised that he was doing it to protect her. With tears in her eyes, she hugged him one last time and asked him to stay safe, before retreating back to her cabin. Cecil grabbed the strangest clothes he could find, a green wig, an instrument and supplies (ie Hatchet, food, water) before limping out of the caravan and on to the open road. He was dressed like any normal bard you could meet, right down to the wig. Cecil felt awful about leaving, but it had to be done. He was old enough as it was anyway, and had only seen the limited bits of the world the group ran through every year. Plotting a course for Arcadia, he set off down the road, playing a somber little tune on the flute he took with him.
It's been ten years since then and Cecil's still going strong. He's been around the whole of Elibe, and still finds new and exciting tales everywhere he looks. And started a few, himself. Ever hear the tale of Zanzibar the Gladiator? Or the one where Cecil took on a whole legion of bonewalkers? Well in reality it was two, but stories always over-inflate themselves. He wears disguises quite often, but only to avoid the many bandits and people who saw him as one of them over the years. Bad business to have people learn you're an ex-communicated bandit. His arsenal of music has vastly inflated, but he still carries that old and chipping ivory flute on his person. He's well versed in every single one he owns, like a proper bard. Just name a tune, he'll play it for ya and let you sit down and enjoy the show.
(This was edited from a bio I whipped up from WotW ages ago. Could you tell me if you see any inconsistencies that I missed?)
