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Stephen_Zuckerman · 10-01-05, 03:19 PM

Full Name: Pyyran Rahth (Will be listed In-game as simply Pyyran, because of the 26 character name limit; Thanks SO much, Bioware.)
Age: Eightteen.
Class(es): Rogue.
Race: Human.
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Deity: None.
Bio/Description: Here's where it gets interesting...

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Well. Herein lies the (possible) final statement of Pyyran Rahth, self-named adventurer and infamous bloody fool. I have always despised the necessity to write; fooling with inks, charcoal, or even a woodmarker has always been tedious. It isn't that I lack mastry of the language, or that I have any deficiency in the fine control of my fingers... Merely that I find it far too time-consuming. Amusing, then, that I take the time to waste my figurative breath, complaining on this parchment about having to go on with what I am extending by my own actions?

I'm not sure how I got here. Mentally, yes; I walked, ran, hid in the backs of wagons, sneaked, slinked, and generally meandered down whatever roads I could find, resting in shelters much like this leaking, smelly amalgam of warped wood they call a barn. But it still seems as if I could not possibly have done this of my own volition; what adventure is there in this? What pleasure, what excitement, what plunder or fame? Admittedly, I have seen small bits of all of these, and have thought my travels the best investment of my time and effort, but at this moment, I have little more than the gloom of my surroundings.

Almost, I wish I were home again, back to that little village that I can't even be sure is East, West, over or under me. Back to farming, back to practicing with Elder Fynnel at fencing, back to the knife-throwing, stone-skipping, racing, and riddle matches at the Festivals, back to everything. But it was so unbearably dull, there! There was nothing more a man could hope for but to one day join the Village Council as an Elder, or to some day own a farm apart from that of his family's. Nothing changed, nothing grew. And when that Bard came through... The tales he had told, I have not the parchment to record, nor the skill to merit thier repetition. But I saw that there was more out in the world, greater things! A grand adventure, that has become a grand discomfort.

A man who passed me in the road told me that there is a city a few leagues from here; if I'm lucky, I'll make it before dark tomorrow. However, the luck that would take would be incredible, as I have not eaten anything in days... The homes I have approached refused to even let me work for a meal, and I was never one for forestry. I am struggling to stay awake even now, and am thankful that this farmer had forgotten his lantern out here; it is by that forgetfulness that I am able to scribe these words, which may well be my last. If I am found here, I doubt I will wake, and if I do, it will almost certainly be to a pitchfork in my belly. But... I cannot fight the natural course of things, only try to weasel out of them, as always. I've tried to lead my life well enough, and I hope there will be much more of it ahead. Thanks be to Katia if I find something edible before I keel over, and thanks be to Shadon if I escape here. If not...

Perhaps there will never be anything truly remarkable about this son of a grain-farmer. Perhaps there never has been. But perhaps, whoever reads this (as I plan on burning this, if I live) will take my advice, and stay in thier homes, instead of setting out on some mad quest for glory. If there is a wonder at the end of my journey, it is not worth this interim. Heed me, and live a full life where you are.

Myself, I'm going to sleep.

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Pyyran stands a small bit shorter than most human men, with a build slight enough to suggest an Elf. But noone could ever mistake Pyyran even a grey elf; the startling contrast between the deep black of his shoulder-length hair, and the fairness of his skin belies any such notions, even to those who wonder about his smooth, almost gliding gait. His face, much like his skin, is fair, and almost delicate in its lines, yet it somehow still radiates a sense of amusement and flamboyance, as if a laugh or a flourish were hovering just under the surface. The slender shape of his body is constantly moving in some small way, be it a twig, twirling in his fingers, or a tight circle, paced into the floor. This movement is the only thing keeping him from seeming frail; at rest, he appears almost fragile.

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Pyyran tends to prefer the rapier to anything else, though he will use a knife if given no choice. He tends to be disdainful of heavier armors, preferring not even to wear so much as studded leather. In... Acquisision of goods, he has a very simple, very cliched mantra: "Take everything that isn't nailed down, and a few things that are." Flamboyance is in the man's very nature, yet he knows when caution is more appropriate. Usually. His love for wine, women, and general debauchery tend to earn him reputations as either a lowlife or a grand spectacle, depending upon the establishment he is visiting, and while he does not worship any specific deity, he holds every human's love for Katia, and a personal fondness for Shadon, whom he claims to one day intend to meet in person.

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And that's really all I can think of, at the moment. I plan on taking him up to eleventh level or so, with Rogue, and then switch over to Duelist. In the PnP game I got this guy started in, he did five levels in each Rogue, Swashbuckler, Master Thrower, and Duelist, with some of the Munchkinest equipment you can name, but I feel like actually playing the character properly this time around. Here's to hoping it's good enough.

Bonne chance, n'est pas?

10-01-05, 03:19 PM	#1
Stephen_Zuckerman Ancient Dragon Characters Join Date: Oct 2005 Location: Look at me still talking when there's Science to do... Posts: 4,067 Thanks: 3,005 Thanked 349 Times in 255 Posts	Pyyran Rahth Full Name: Pyyran Rahth (Will be listed In-game as simply Pyyran, because of the 26 character name limit; Thanks SO much, Bioware.) Age: Eightteen. Class(es): Rogue. Race: Human. Alignment: Chaotic Good Deity: None. Bio/Description: Here's where it gets interesting... ------------------------------------------------------- Well. Herein lies the (possible) final statement of Pyyran Rahth, self-named adventurer and infamous bloody fool. I have always despised the necessity to write; fooling with inks, charcoal, or even a woodmarker has always been tedious. It isn't that I lack mastry of the language, or that I have any deficiency in the fine control of my fingers... Merely that I find it far too time-consuming. Amusing, then, that I take the time to waste my figurative breath, complaining on this parchment about having to go on with what I am extending by my own actions? I'm not sure how I got here. Mentally, yes; I walked, ran, hid in the backs of wagons, sneaked, slinked, and generally meandered down whatever roads I could find, resting in shelters much like this leaking, smelly amalgam of warped wood they call a barn. But it still seems as if I could not possibly have done this of my own volition; what adventure is there in this? What pleasure, what excitement, what plunder or fame? Admittedly, I have seen small bits of all of these, and have thought my travels the best investment of my time and effort, but at this moment, I have little more than the gloom of my surroundings. Almost, I wish I were home again, back to that little village that I can't even be sure is East, West, over or under me. Back to farming, back to practicing with Elder Fynnel at fencing, back to the knife-throwing, stone-skipping, racing, and riddle matches at the Festivals, back to everything. But it was so unbearably dull, there! There was nothing more a man could hope for but to one day join the Village Council as an Elder, or to some day own a farm apart from that of his family's. Nothing changed, nothing grew. And when that Bard came through... The tales he had told, I have not the parchment to record, nor the skill to merit thier repetition. But I saw that there was more out in the world, greater things! A grand adventure, that has become a grand discomfort. A man who passed me in the road told me that there is a city a few leagues from here; if I'm lucky, I'll make it before dark tomorrow. However, the luck that would take would be incredible, as I have not eaten anything in days... The homes I have approached refused to even let me work for a meal, and I was never one for forestry. I am struggling to stay awake even now, and am thankful that this farmer had forgotten his lantern out here; it is by that forgetfulness that I am able to scribe these words, which may well be my last. If I am found here, I doubt I will wake, and if I do, it will almost certainly be to a pitchfork in my belly. But... I cannot fight the natural course of things, only try to weasel out of them, as always. I've tried to lead my life well enough, and I hope there will be much more of it ahead. Thanks be to Katia if I find something edible before I keel over, and thanks be to Shadon if I escape here. If not... Perhaps there will never be anything truly remarkable about this son of a grain-farmer. Perhaps there never has been. But perhaps, whoever reads this (as I plan on burning this, if I live) will take my advice, and stay in thier homes, instead of setting out on some mad quest for glory. If there is a wonder at the end of my journey, it is not worth this interim. Heed me, and live a full life where you are. Myself, I'm going to sleep. ------------------------------------------------------- Pyyran stands a small bit shorter than most human men, with a build slight enough to suggest an Elf. But noone could ever mistake Pyyran even a grey elf; the startling contrast between the deep black of his shoulder-length hair, and the fairness of his skin belies any such notions, even to those who wonder about his smooth, almost gliding gait. His face, much like his skin, is fair, and almost delicate in its lines, yet it somehow still radiates a sense of amusement and flamboyance, as if a laugh or a flourish were hovering just under the surface. The slender shape of his body is constantly moving in some small way, be it a twig, twirling in his fingers, or a tight circle, paced into the floor. This movement is the only thing keeping him from seeming frail; at rest, he appears almost fragile. ------------------------------------------------------- Pyyran tends to prefer the rapier to anything else, though he will use a knife if given no choice. He tends to be disdainful of heavier armors, preferring not even to wear so much as studded leather. In... Acquisision of goods, he has a very simple, very cliched mantra: "Take everything that isn't nailed down, and a few things that are." Flamboyance is in the man's very nature, yet he knows when caution is more appropriate. Usually. His love for wine, women, and general debauchery tend to earn him reputations as either a lowlife or a grand spectacle, depending upon the establishment he is visiting, and while he does not worship any specific deity, he holds every human's love for Katia, and a personal fondness for Shadon, whom he claims to one day intend to meet in person. ------------------------------------------------------- And that's really all I can think of, at the moment. I plan on taking him up to eleventh level or so, with Rogue, and then switch over to Duelist. In the PnP game I got this guy started in, he did five levels in each Rogue, Swashbuckler, Master Thrower, and Duelist, with some of the Munchkinest equipment you can name, but I feel like actually playing the character properly this time around. Here's to hoping it's good enough. Bonne chance, n'est pas?