F I N N
Details
Full Name: Finn
Player: Antinoös/Hekatos
Race: Human
Sex: Cis-male
Height: 1.85 m
Weight: 100 kg
Birthdate: 18 Searing 95
Birthplace: A village near Kalzasi
Profession: Bard, Silver Sentinel
Housing: Palatium Umbrarum; Prædium Sorokys
Partners: Phædryn Sol'Zalkyrion Arvælyn, amatus; Zef Mirlind, tutor
Titles: "Farstrider," "the Fabulous" (an in-joke)
Factions: the Leh'anafel (pending)
Fluencies: Common, Synskrit
Conversationals: Vallenor, Vastian
Ineptitudes: Kathalan
Appearance
Tall, but not too tall. Strong, as violence aimed at him and his loved ones has made him master blades. Fair of feature, but his inquisitive blue eyes tend to catch most people's attention. Despite lavish meals as a prince's consort, his hard work for the Vigilia burns off excess. His hands are another defining feature for those who paid attention, with long, elegant fingers marred by calluses from the lute, the sword, and whatever labors he engages in.
Brand of Lyrielle: Nearly invisible, left side of neck.
Emblem of Majesty: Usually invisible, brow.
Mark of Lyrielle's Wrath: Nearly invisible, right hand.
Mesmer Rune: Framing right ear, hidden under hair.
Reaving Rune: Inner forearms.
Traversion Rune: Right shoulder.
Personality
Curiosity, they said, killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, and curiosity is the man's defining trait. Though his calling is to spin tales, his true joy is hearing them. Mercurial, his moods can change faster than the tides. He has grand ideas but struggles to stay the course and bring them to fruition. He has found that poverty is not ennobling but he is trying not to lose his sense of self and right and wrong eking out a living for himself.
History
Born to a smith and her husband in a village outside Kalzasi, Finn was the eldest of three children. As such, his mother wasn't too bothered when he didn't seem inclined to take up her hammer and the family business. His childhood was uneventful, learning a bit of his mother's trade, but also helping his father care for the younger children. Conscientious, he would also visit his paternal grandmother almost every day, not bothered by the occasional gestures to ward off the evil eye. Nan sold tinctures and poultices, but whether she was actually a witch was anyone's guess. She told him stories and a part of him believed they were all true, even when age brought skepticism. They had a bond that she didn't share with any of the rest of the family, it seemed. It was Nan who encouraged his errant fancies, which was probably for the best since the old lute she bought for him was how he eventually earned his own money.
Visits to the city were not unheard of. His maternal uncle had a smithy in the Low City with pretensions of rising. In his adolescence, he was allowed to stay there for stretches of time to receive actual instruction with his instrument and voice. His skill improved by leaps and bounds from where it had been when he was self-taught. He learned a bit of swordplay, as well, his uncle saying that a man ought to be able to protect himself, especially if he was going to frequent inns and taverns late at night for his coin. They did bond, though; they would speak of the fine work required to spin metal so fine that it could wrap around proper gut to give strings a more strident voice, for example.
Once an adult, he still split his time between the city and the village. His face wasn't unknown in the normal circuit of venues, though his name was hardly famous. Occasionally, he would land a gig at a party in a prosperous home or a more exclusive venue would have a need for his skills. Unfortunately, these only raised hopes and never amounted to joining a higher echelon of artists. But he moved out of his uncle's into a room above the Crown and Lion. He bought a better lute. He began to write music of his own, as well as scribbling down notes for future songs. But the reality of life as an artist, even one with talent and skill, was not a story to write home about. He was stuck.
The summer he turned twenty-five, he went home to the village for a few days. Nan died sometime in the night before he planned to return to the city. When his family went through her things, there was a note sealed with his name upon it. He didn't read it until he was back in the city, drinking a bit too much and trying to pour his grief into his lute. The note was simple. It bade him send an attached, sealed note to a certain personage within the Circle of Spells. He did and was visited within the week by a new audience. The red-robed man persuaded him to take him home, the which he did, bemusedly.
To repay a debt owed to his deceased grandmother, the man offered Finn a means by which to follow his dreams: the Rune of the Mesmer.
In short, he took it—what had he to lose?
After surviving his threshold sickness, the mage returned regularly to instruct him enough that he would not harm himself or—hopefully—others. Cognizant now of the risks, Finn was ready to try his hand at making something of himself.