I'll try to keep seriousness down - the protagonists won't be angsty most of the time, and some parts may even see some light-hearted humour. I'm not making a tradegy here, I'm trying to create a beliveable main character with some flaws, and parts where he becomes driven to the brink of darkness, who struggles with his nature.
Also, I'm kind of iffy on lore at times, so feel free to correct any mistakes I may make.
Without further Adeu, let's start.
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“Pfhah!”
Perhaps not the finest word to kick-start a conversation with, but Michael Leomorn found it appropriate for the situation. See, it was just after a friend of his, “Left-fist” Earn, finished explaining to him as to how he was, one day, going to woo Queen Anora away from the headstrong and impulsive King Cailin, become the new king, and make it so the elections are chosen by whoever can drink the most Ale
without passing out.
Ironically, that's exactly what Earn just did as he collapse and pitched to the floor. Michael stared at him for a few minutes, pondering what to do, before scurrying him off to lean against a nearby wall in an inconspicuous position against a wall somewhere.
Now the problem wasn't Earn's charisma, no – He was a kind man (when he wasn't drunk), earnest, too. It was the simple fact that Earn was... Well, not ugly, but slightly misshaped. The kind of person who just doesn't seem quite right. He has messy ginger hair, a goatee which, despite all of his efforts, he could never get rid of, and he was rather overweight, but all the fat seemed to of collected into his stomach. Giving him an odd body shape.
Michael was rather better off. His hair was a slick, jet black. His face was... Gaunt, but still had some meat on it. A small amount of stubble had collected around his jaw, and his eyes were piercing and blue, like ice-cold water. Not to say he was dazzlingly handsome, like some fairytale prince, but he was easy on the eye.
The only downside was a strand of hair that dangled from his fringe, threatening to split his forehead in two, that he found it infuriatingly hard to keep where it SHOULD be. He often found it dangling back into place when he got nervous, scared or angry.
Financially, his family barely managed to get by. His father, Richard, was a musician for the Pearl – which didn't pay him much, and his mother, Ellis, was always too busy with raising his little brother, David. However, he was fed, and he had some increasingly good city eyes. He had done some petty crime to help push his family along, yes, but he only stole from the people who looked like they could afford it. He never kicked anyone who was down, and if the person he stole from looked like they were -really- stressed about it, or he had accidentally laid his hands on a family heirloom, he would always give it back.
Which is why, over the past few months, his family had been planning to move from Denerim to Redcliffe. The plan was that his father would join Eamon's knights – who were slightly more lenientin recruiting than the Denerim watch – which, in turn, would give Michael, his mother, and Daved, a better state of affairs.
He strolled to his house, rapped a few times on the door, and came face to face with his mother, who was white. Her lower lip was trembling with panic, and her fists were clenched together with worry.
Michael felt the strand of hair slip back into place on his forehead.
“What's happened.” He asked, though it was more of a statement that something had gone wrong.
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To be continued.
Modifié par Lest, 25 mars 2010 - 09:31 .
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