Rowan

[rukio 8910]

Rowan

Nicknames: None yet

Age:19

Gender: Assumed a Male

Race: Assumed a human

Status: Alive and well

Description

Height:5'7

Weight:124 lbs

Body Type: Lean but muscular

Eyes: Light red

Hair: Dark brown

Skin: Slightly tan

Markings/Tattoos: None noticeable

Health: In good shape, mentally and physically

Personality: Tends to look down upon 'peasant' types (even if he is one), always on a quest for any form of knowledge

Inventory: Occasionally food, sometimes a book, always a

broadsword

Further Details: Has three clothing styles:

1. His green 'peasant' clothes: For when he wants to 'fit in'

2. His armor: For when he plans on serious fighting

3. His white uniform: Purpose unknown

Life Style

Alignment*: None

Deity*: The Creator

Religion: Tends to question everything, even if only inwardly

Alliance/Nation/Home: Traveler for the time being

Job/Class: Learning, gathering intellegence for purposes only he

knows

Title(s): None

Profession(s): Formerly a scholar of many subjects

Special Skill(s): Reading, broadswords, dog training

Flaw(s): Ego, superiority complex, mouthing off, archery

Magic*

Current Status: Wants to learn some form of magic

Arch-type:

Sub-Type:

Rank:

Weakness(es):

Strength(s):

Current Spell(s):

Weaponry

Fighting Style: Up close and personal

Trained Weapon: Broadsword

Favored Weapon: Broadsword

Archery: Couldn't hit the broadside of a barn

Biography

Parents: Pa: Deceased

Ma: Deceased

Siblings:

Brother: Whereabouts unknown

Children: None

Extended Family: None known

Pet(s): Has a pet mastiff called 'Mopsus', age: three years

History

Young childhood:

As a young child, Rowan grew up in a normal home. His ma tended to the young ones while his pa worked the fields. Being an only child, the pressure to help when his pa fell ill was quite serious. Rowan himself was a child weak of the stomach, prone to nausea, oftentimes prefering to be in the cloud temple library, learning more every day. When pa fell ill though, it fell to Rowan to tend the farm. How he loathed such peasant work, as he believed it beneath himself. His ma needed him though, and so he did not complain about it openly at least. From the time he was old enough to tend a field, his father put him to work. Harder each year, none of which helped his stomach in the slightest. From his constantly need to throw up upon even a trace of blood, he had weak lining in his stomach. Every illness that made him throw up caused him serious pain. Finally, upon turning ten his ma died and his pa, too heartbroken, sent hin away, as though ashamed of him. Rowan spent three years at the cloud temple, eventually his ailments subsided enough his father let him return home. The things rRowan had seen while in the world scarred him mentally. Many things plagued his dreams for years, whether a heartless murder or just n unthinkable thing. To be added soon.

Teens:

` The War Dog

"Never was there so brave an ally as this dog." -Rowan

Springtime was just around the corner, many plants had

already began to bloom. A young scholar sat in his room, locked

away from the rest of the world, studying from his books. His dark

brown locks covered his red eyes, yet not hindering his ability to

read. He was leaned back in an old wooden chair, tilted at a

dangerous angle. His worn out, dusty boots rested on his desk, the

only thing preventing him from tipping over backwards as he read,

enthralled by the words.

Several species of birds chirped from outside his window,

a mid-day breeze occasionally blowing in, parting the old fabric

currently hung inside of the cut out that served as his only window.

Rowan sighed, closing a book on poetry. He glanced to the books

piled haphazardly all over his desk for a moment. Resting his left

index finger against his chin, he holds the book close to his chest,

reviewing the different piles of books.

"Mathematics...no....philosophy perhaps?" Rowan says to

himself, making a "Hmm" noise as he finally spots it "Ah, poetry,

there it is."

Using his left hand to hold the desk, he removes his

boots from it and rightens the chair to all four legs. with a satisfied

grin he lays the book in his right hand on top of four other poetry

books. Scooting out from the desk, he stands up and stretches his

five foot five inch sixteen year old lean body. Letting a yawn escape

his lips he slowly rubs his eyes for a moment before turning toward

his window. Seeing movement in the distance he smiles wide,

recognizing that slow, confident gait anywhere.

"Pa!" He exclaims, noticing something moving within his

father's grasp.

Rowan's father waves as best he can, a wriggling mass

within a potato sack making it all the more difficult. Rowan quickly

unlocks his door, the echo of his boots thudding across the house

as he runs to the front door. He shoves it open, running to his father

happily.

"Pa! You're home, finally!" Rowan says, his light red eyes

glimmering with joy.

"Aye son, have ye been good while I was away?" His

father smiles as he speaks in his warm, old and wise voice.

Rowan nods, looking at the sack with sheer fascination.

He looks up toward his father's face with curiousity, his unspoken

question answered when a small yap comes from the bag. His

father chuckles and bends down, Rowan copying his father's

movement. Rowan reaches toward the bag, slowly openning it to

reveal a small tan and black puppy. It's eyes shine as it sees him, and

it begins to crawl onto his lap. Rowan looks at the pup's wrinkled

face with curiousity. He pats it on the head and it responds with a

quick lick.

"It's what they call a 'mastiff' son, supposedly they make

rather good guard dogs." His father says, smiling as he watches

Rowan and the dog "I figured you'd want a companion while I'm

away as well, seems he's already taken a liking to you."

Rowan nods, thinking for a moment "I guess I'll have to

name him....hmm." the puppy headbutts his hand as Rowan pauses

to think, content to lay down in his lap only once Rowan begins to

pet him again. After a long while Rowan snaps his fingers "I've got

it! I'll call him Mopsus." As though confirming his decision, he

quietly repeats the name, nodding at the same time.

....To be continued

Adult:

Still a teen

Artwork

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