Pyyran Rahth

[Stephen_Zuckerman]

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?

[steverimmer]

Approved. Welcome to Layonara.

The server IP is 64.127.106.68 and Layonara can be found under Roleplay on Gamespy.

The server password is layoplayer

Heh nice bio by the way

[Stephen_Zuckerman]

Hey, thank you. I figured I'd do something interesting with the history; the standard third-person past format seemed a bit dry for this character. I've been having some trouble with third-person lately, actually, but hey. Whatever gets the job done well, non?

[Stephen_Zuckerman]

Well, my original application for Pyyran was, to say the least, a bit incomplete. It was a decent sub for the time, but only barely meets (if that) today's submission standards. I'd originally played him as an extension of my PnP character, who was part of a campaign setting wholely different from Layonara - pulled by Ozlo to fight for the Dragoncalled to this world. Unfortunately, due mainly to laziness, I didn't bother elaborating on the fact that he wasn't from Layo originally, and, as such, it was not part of the approved submission.

In an effort to bring him in line with current approval standards, and fix my maynardism, I'm retconning his past. The following is verbatim from my Character Notes thread, finalized and posted here for approval. If there's anything I need to elaborate upon, correct, etc., just let me know and the changes will be made. Because of the nature of his original backstory, I've always kept the impact of that backstory fairly minimal to the character, with a couple of exceptions, so, barring a major change to Elder Fennyl or Derald, I'm entirely open.

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Due to some intellectual property issues, and the fact that I was too lazy to write things up in my initial submission (ironically becoming a wonderful example of pseudo-imaginative cheesing, for all that I was very well aware and familiar with his origins), I'm retconning his past to fit in Layonara.

---

Name: Pyyran Rahth
Race: Human
Class: Rogue
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Deity: Not devout.

Pyyran Rahth lived in a small, unnamed village on the northern shores of Lake Lodan in what would, much later, become the southern Brelin Kingdom. His mother and father were a part of the tiny community, both part of lines that had lived in the village for many generations, and his father, like his grandfather before him, was slated to become a Town Elder, if the other Elders were amenable. But Pyyran's mother died in giving birth to the infant adventurer, and his father became more and more reclusive. A farmer, the man withdrew from the community, and Pyyran was left mostly to his own devices throughout much of his childhood.

It was in his youthful wanderings that he met Derald Stonespirit, a dwarven child of twenty from the relatively nearby quarry in the foothills of the Ire Mountains. The two quickly became fast friends. Pyyran learned much of the dwarven culture, a not insignificant fascination growing in him with the legends of old; the tales of great works and divine quests. The two managed to get into a fair bit of trouble throughout their shared youth, be it rousing badgers, climbing in the quarry, or even once nearly setting Elder Fennyl's barn aflame, but always they remained close.

Their spirits of adventure, moreover, were fanned to new heights when a bard of some skill passed through, spinning tales of Bloodstone's menace against the world, and the heroes who were called by a great Dragon from ages past to fight him. Like most inhabitants of the smaller communities across the countryside, however, they paid little mind to the tale, thinking it, like all the rest, was another grand yarn, sheared, spun, and carded for the minstrel's use.

Pyyran's relationship with the village varied from week to week - he and Derald were as often cursed as welcomed with wide smiles - but his relationship with the Elder Merrick Fynnel, a fencer of some skill, was at times closer than with his own father. The old man had been an adventurer himself, in his youth, and, perhaps not realizing how encouraging he was being to the young boy, taught him much of what he knew.

But when a small band of goblins broke into the village's small temple to Prunilla, and stole the silver braziers in which the harvest's offerings were burned, Pyyran and Derald set out after them, unbeknownst to all. While the village was still organizing a group of men to track the goblins, the headstrong pair of youngsters was sneaking through the woods, thinking to simply stumble across their quarry.

They never found the goblins.

It was bugbears they stumbled across, and Pyyran, in his fear, loosed an arrow at one of the bunch. The goblinoids, much larger than those they had sought, charged through the underbrush to find, and squash, this nuisance from the shadows of the forest, but Derald met them with dwarven steel, bringing down three with the swiftness of Voraxian training, and another soon after. Meanwhile, Pyyran was doing his best to fend off one, who sprawled him out on the ground with brutal ease. As the bugbear drew back to strike the final blow, Derald again charged in, axe swinging wildly. The dwarf's strike fell home, but the bugbear's found flesh, as well. Derald's neck was gashed open, and Pyyran's childhood friend bled out upon the ground.

The young lad ran for all his sixteen years were worth, shoving from his mind as best he could over the next lonely, hungry week, the memories of what had happened. Over and over, he told himself, he would find glory - become a great adventurer! None would question his origins, none would force him back to face his shame.

For many months, he roamed from town to town, desperately trying at once to keep himself fed, and to save enough for a worthwhile rapier, as often stealing as working for coin and sustenance. In Orlbar, a small gang of local thieves caught him filching bread in the market, and decided to take the nimble lad in... Albeit with much in the way of persuasion. They taught him their signs, the little motions a man could make to convey hidden meaning on the sly, and managed to continue their healthy business. For the most part unwilling, the young man still did his part as a pair of eyes and hands, seeing the work as nothing more nor less than another way to get by. However, this thief's life was not to last, for Pyyran; when the guild's leader was caught, and hanged, each member went his own seperate way... And, having spent only a few months in Orlbar, the young man's boots were set back to walking.

It was luck he owed, like many of the happenings in his life, for stumbling across the roaming clan of gnomes who called themselves Derakin. They welcomed the sharp-witted, if decidedly ragged boy, as not even the Guild of Orlbar had, and allowed him to travel with them on their way from Port Hempstead towards Luxia, in what would later become northeastern Trelania. Recognizing their goodwill, the travel-weary Pyyran made no efforts to continue his brief time as a professional larcenist.

Over the first four months of the journey, he learned much about the arts of alchemy and engineering - so apt was he, for a human, that some among the clan considered quite strongly to keep the lighthearted tallfolk boy along, even after reaching their destination. However, the discussion would soon become moot, when a budding romance between the human and a young gnomish girl named Robin was discovered. Furious, the clan elders literally chased Pyyran off, pursuing him until they were certain the fleetfooted human would never seek them out again.

The young man's luck took a turn for the worse, after that - with no real money, and no real aim, he did his best to pick up his life where it had left off in Orlbar, wandering down the roads and stopping at every farm, home, and tavern to beg for work. Slowly starving, he thought his journey might end in the rickety barn in which he took shelter, and wrote what he thought very well could be his final words.

But, that night, like so many before and after, he dreamed of a Dragon.

[Stephen_Zuckerman]

Is this under discussion, or on the list?

[darkstorme]

Low priority compared to new character submissions, Stephen. We'll get to it.

[Stephen_Zuckerman]

Understood; thanks.

[darkstorme]

Approved as a retcon, and appended to the original approval.