Post by Ollie on Jun 7, 2009 14:23:56 GMT -5
FIRST
Name: Lord Warren Marbrand
Age: b.547 (24)
Nationality: Westerman
Skills:
Legendary Stealth
Grandmaster Intrigue
Master Forgery
Master Poison
Expert Crossbow
Expert Disguise
Noteworthy Small Blades
Noteworthy Running
Apprentice Stewardship
Apprentice Horsemanship
Novice Ravenry
Novice Cyvasse
Beginner Oil Painting
Beginner Sailing
History: Warren Marbrand was born Warren Hill. His mother had always delighted in telling him that his father had been some charmingly handsome lord who had whisked her off her feet and into a warm, candle-lit evening of romance on the strawberry-covered hillock overlooking her modest inn. While the story was all well and good and made for a very fanciful fairy tale, the fact still remained that while he had quickened in his mother's belly, his father had vanished, leaving her unmarried and condemning Warren to a life as a Hill. As a bastard.
Though his mother had loved to regale him with the story of the marvelous night of his conception, the one detail she constantly left out was with who she shared that night. The more he asked about it, and the more she evaded the question, the more Warren realized that it was very likely his mother did not know her lordly lover had been herself. If there was anything worse than being a lord's bastard, Warren figured it would have to be being any lord's bastard.
Some men wear their names better than others. Heroes wear their names like shining armor while lesser men wear names like dull, threadbare wool. With a name like Warren Hill, the young bastard felt as though he wore his name like a young lady's evening gown. An ill fitting name for a man who wanted more, Warren bore his bastard's burden, and swore to himself that one day he would rise above it.
And so for years, Warren shed his name and took up others, when they suited him. Sometimes he was a mummer from across the Narrow Sea who charmed hearts and opened purses. Other times he was a septon, wandering from hamlet to hamlet, performing marriages and leading sermons. Still at other moments he was a master blacksmith, collecting commissions for work he would never do in a shop he never owned. Warren had been a sailor, a vintner, a pickpocket, a craftsman, a master-at-arms, and even an acolyte from the Citadel. Through his travels he had met hundreds of men and scores of highborn folk, as well as dozens of lords, though at no point could he have named one his father. Warren Hill had worn more names than he could have counted, but there was still one that eluded his grasp, one that should have been rightfully his. The name of Lord.
His plan was set in place. A smart man never tells all his secrets, nor does he ever shows all the names he wears, for he never knows when he might need don them again. And so Warren did what was necessary, and indeed some things he was not proud of. When the traitor Thatcher declared the West in rebellion and sent his Riverland and Mander troops forth, Warren acted. The vanguard of the Western defenders was lead by the Lord Dudley Marbrand, and when it met the advancing armies of Thatcher, the Westermen were decimated. Among the dead was Lord Marbrand himself, slain without a legitimate male heir.
Until his bastard son, Warren Hill made himself known. A young man that looked impressively similar to the late lord came armed with a stack of letter written in the Lord Marbrand's own hand along with a legion of septons, merchants, and other goodmen eye witness accounts. Claiming himself as the heir of Lord Dudley Marbrand, the former bastard was quick to align his forces with Thatcher's men, and aided in putting the Western rebels down. Finally, Warren Hill shed that name for good, and donned his next: Warren Marbrand, Lord of Ashemark.
Appearance: Warren Marbrand is an outstandingly average looking man. He stands of usual height and holds a normal build, with an entirely regular looking head of fair hair and an unexceptionally crooked nose. A typical dusting of stubble covers his plain face, and ordinary slate blue eyes peer almost-but-not-quite interestingly from beneath his commonplace brow.
What sets Warren Marbrand apart, however, is his clothing. The lord has a full, dramatic wardrobe, ranging from regal looking smoky grey, black, muted green wools and linens to rich burning red, orange, and yellow leathers and silks and laces. The colors of House Marbrand are everywhere, as is the symbol of the burning tree set in embroidery as well as jeweled cufflinks, buttons, and clasps.
Reputation: Warren Marbrand is known as the legitimized bastard son of Dudley Marbrand, and as one of the first Westerlords to submit to and aid Thatcher's invading force. Other than that, little is known aside from a few mundane or contradictory rumors.
Name: Lord Warren Marbrand
Age: b.547 (24)
Nationality: Westerman
Skills:
Legendary Stealth
Grandmaster Intrigue
Master Forgery
Master Poison
Expert Crossbow
Expert Disguise
Noteworthy Small Blades
Noteworthy Running
Apprentice Stewardship
Apprentice Horsemanship
Novice Ravenry
Novice Cyvasse
Beginner Oil Painting
Beginner Sailing
History: Warren Marbrand was born Warren Hill. His mother had always delighted in telling him that his father had been some charmingly handsome lord who had whisked her off her feet and into a warm, candle-lit evening of romance on the strawberry-covered hillock overlooking her modest inn. While the story was all well and good and made for a very fanciful fairy tale, the fact still remained that while he had quickened in his mother's belly, his father had vanished, leaving her unmarried and condemning Warren to a life as a Hill. As a bastard.
Though his mother had loved to regale him with the story of the marvelous night of his conception, the one detail she constantly left out was with who she shared that night. The more he asked about it, and the more she evaded the question, the more Warren realized that it was very likely his mother did not know her lordly lover had been herself. If there was anything worse than being a lord's bastard, Warren figured it would have to be being any lord's bastard.
Some men wear their names better than others. Heroes wear their names like shining armor while lesser men wear names like dull, threadbare wool. With a name like Warren Hill, the young bastard felt as though he wore his name like a young lady's evening gown. An ill fitting name for a man who wanted more, Warren bore his bastard's burden, and swore to himself that one day he would rise above it.
And so for years, Warren shed his name and took up others, when they suited him. Sometimes he was a mummer from across the Narrow Sea who charmed hearts and opened purses. Other times he was a septon, wandering from hamlet to hamlet, performing marriages and leading sermons. Still at other moments he was a master blacksmith, collecting commissions for work he would never do in a shop he never owned. Warren had been a sailor, a vintner, a pickpocket, a craftsman, a master-at-arms, and even an acolyte from the Citadel. Through his travels he had met hundreds of men and scores of highborn folk, as well as dozens of lords, though at no point could he have named one his father. Warren Hill had worn more names than he could have counted, but there was still one that eluded his grasp, one that should have been rightfully his. The name of Lord.
His plan was set in place. A smart man never tells all his secrets, nor does he ever shows all the names he wears, for he never knows when he might need don them again. And so Warren did what was necessary, and indeed some things he was not proud of. When the traitor Thatcher declared the West in rebellion and sent his Riverland and Mander troops forth, Warren acted. The vanguard of the Western defenders was lead by the Lord Dudley Marbrand, and when it met the advancing armies of Thatcher, the Westermen were decimated. Among the dead was Lord Marbrand himself, slain without a legitimate male heir.
Until his bastard son, Warren Hill made himself known. A young man that looked impressively similar to the late lord came armed with a stack of letter written in the Lord Marbrand's own hand along with a legion of septons, merchants, and other goodmen eye witness accounts. Claiming himself as the heir of Lord Dudley Marbrand, the former bastard was quick to align his forces with Thatcher's men, and aided in putting the Western rebels down. Finally, Warren Hill shed that name for good, and donned his next: Warren Marbrand, Lord of Ashemark.
Appearance: Warren Marbrand is an outstandingly average looking man. He stands of usual height and holds a normal build, with an entirely regular looking head of fair hair and an unexceptionally crooked nose. A typical dusting of stubble covers his plain face, and ordinary slate blue eyes peer almost-but-not-quite interestingly from beneath his commonplace brow.
What sets Warren Marbrand apart, however, is his clothing. The lord has a full, dramatic wardrobe, ranging from regal looking smoky grey, black, muted green wools and linens to rich burning red, orange, and yellow leathers and silks and laces. The colors of House Marbrand are everywhere, as is the symbol of the burning tree set in embroidery as well as jeweled cufflinks, buttons, and clasps.
Reputation: Warren Marbrand is known as the legitimized bastard son of Dudley Marbrand, and as one of the first Westerlords to submit to and aid Thatcher's invading force. Other than that, little is known aside from a few mundane or contradictory rumors.
Hope you all are well and happy.