chandler, rowan wurlow

[ROWAN CHANDLER]

[atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, border-left: #3A4748 8px solid; border-right: #839175 2px dashed; background: #d8d8d8; padding-top: 16px; padding-right: 16px; padding-left: 16px; padding-bottom: 12px; -moz-border-radius: 10px; width: 368px;] -- ROWAN WURLOW CHANDLER -- ----- LYRICS HERE ----- ----- IS YOUR CHARACTER IN SUPPORT OF THE REBELS? : Be kind of weird not to considering I sort of helped form the whole thing don’tcha think? Point blank, yes I am in full support of the rebel forces and as the Gods as my witness I will see that whore woman Kazimr married gone. It’s unnatural! They’re all staff waving loons if you ask me (no offense Ric) and we’d all be better off without them meddling with the royals. Leave the magick to the fairies and what have you and keep it far from the throne. ----- WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTERS RACE? : WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTERS RACE? : Human and proud, nothing too fancy by the look of things but I've got no complaints. Wouldn't have minded being a werewolf though, nasty S.O.B's let me tell you. ----- WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTERS OCCUPATION? : Oh boy, where do I start? Uh, well my name is Rowan Chandler, thirty – gosh I feel old just saying it. I’m originally from Vala but let’s face it, living in the slums of the kingdom doesn’t make much in the way of coin or decent women. Don’t get me wrong the rough upbringing and fast paced lifestyle definitely did me good in terms of profession but not much work for a name sword from a city of cut-throats and vagabonds. I figured that much out while scrounging in the filth and muck of alleys, trying to avoid catching the eye of the more unsavory rabble. Hard to do when you don’t have money, status or parents to hide behind. Don’t sweat it; orphans are generally overlooked unless they make the mistake of stealing from the wrong cart or picking the wrong pocket. I never knew my folks; they didn’t leave me with anything memorable, no convenient clue to my heritage. I was just another screaming baby left on the porch of an orphanage a little ways out of Vala. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t a bitter about it, I was just an envious as any kid without family but you get over it. You have to – especially when you’re a grubby little nothing who people wouldn’t give two shits about. I might have been around eight or nine when I ‘escaped’ from the clutches of the orphanage caretakers, me and a few of the other boys and a girl a two years older then me. We were young and without a plan, determined to do more then become farmers on land that wouldn’t grow weeds if we tried, turning to the streets and its dangers. Stealing didn’t come easy, like forcing yourself to learn to run before you learn to walk. I couldn’t tell you how many times I was whipped for getting caught, how many nights I’d sit awake in our drafty hovel too hungry to sleep. It was worse for the younger ones. They were the first to go. We just couldn’t provide for all seven of us so by our first winter on our own we were down to four. It wasn’t like the stories the caretakers used to tell us. There was no way of going from rags to riches. I wished I’d realized it sooner but I was too stubborn and too stupid to save our skins by going back to the Orphanage. After three years I was all alone. The two boys older then I got themselves killed robbing the wrong place; the girl was taken and sold, I was the only one left at thirteen. It dawned on me then that I was headed to an early, unmarked grave. There wasn’t anything in Vala for a runty scrapper with no heritage, I didn’t have smarts to fall back on and my only skill back then was shooting off at the mouth and pissing off all the wrong people. But I could take a hit, I was good at that, so I put it to use in a way. A penniless kid bribing a merchant for transport is a hard thing to do, I’m a poor linguist if you can imagine but I managed to hitch a ride to Ferdis and enlisting in the army. Naturally it wasn’t all sword fighting and glory from the start as I’d imagined, I was the new meat everyone liked to pick on. We had out own vicious circle, they roughed me up, I dumped their ale in the river but I was serious about my work. I might have been a toady for the first two years but I was the best damned one of the bunch. I ran the blades to the blacksmith halfway across the city every other morning, relined the hides in the armor, tacked, fed and cleaned the horses, you name it. I hated it but I applied myself, not that I was sad to leave it when they put a sword in my hand and gave me a target to hit. The next five years was pretty much just training – though I did manage to sneak in some time for the ladies between sparring and physical training. Meeting Rican happened by chance, he was surveying the use new recruits and making sure we were up to snuff. [ND] ROLEPLAY SAMPLE HERE your name; here -- age; here -- template by eliza @ shadowplay