Ravaquinal Goreobanious Manglyeo was born in Rivendell, but more importantly, he isn’t dead yet. His fears stemmed from a traumatic child experience in which he was jumped by chickens with beards. Was raised to speak Silvan and Sindarin alike. Had a happy child hood with the only problem being that he was short compared to his peers. Wears shoes with slight platform. Likes to read books and shoot arrows from his mother’s bow. Likes to enjoy his time with his friends, and often spends most of that time worrying about them. He mostly enjoys time alone, however, away from his mother to sit in a tree, looking at a waterfall near his house. He tries to possess every bit of knowledge he can find for fun. He currently lives in his mother’s home. Now in his “adolescence,” he aspires to become an adventurer despite his mother’s wishes.
- grey eyes
- fair skin
- slightly muscular, but more on the agile side
-5'8, 145 pounds
- dark brown leggings/ blue tunic
Bad: overly empathetic, slightly annoying, stubborn, impulsive, perfectionist
has Alektorophobia and Pogonophobia
Read the scenario below this box and type out inside of this box how your character might respond. Your response must be at least four sentences long and include at least one action and at least one piece of dialogue surrounded by quotes. You’ve just stepped off of the boat in the port of a massive and fortified city. Before you lies a sprawling bazaar, with numerous shops, stalls, and seated traders selling wares to folk of all walks of life. Just as you’re about to continue walking onwards, into the market, you’re approached by a well-dressed gentleman who looks upon you with a big smile. “Welcome!” He began. “What brings you to this lovely city? Adventure? Wealth? Or some grand aspirations to elevate your place in society?
Ravaquinal turns his head toward the man, who doesn’t seem to have facial hair. Noticing that he seems friendly, Ravaquinal turn to the man, a smile on his face. Happy to be there, he turns on his charm, saying, “Hello! I, good Sir, have come to this lovely city to seek out bread. But, not just any bread. A legend states that the finest bread is made by a baker here who makes ‘the heaven’s gift to mouths.’ I do, Sir, hope that you have an idea where I might the man himself?”