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Joined: 12 Oct 2008
Posts: 1
Location: Clarksville, TN

PostPosted: Sun Oct 12, 2008 5:38 pm    Post subject: Bryn Reply with quote

Preferred method of contact: E-mail. skoll0528[at]

Character's Full Name: Bryn de la Cruz

Character's Login Name: Bryn

Character's Species: Monkey Furre

Character's Age: 37

Physical Description: A monkey furre, how odd, with a face like an old mask. Fur stained tawny by the overbearing sun of the desert and frosted grey with the everlasting chill of the mountains. His eyes are dull amber hidden behind a lazy visage, his hair is the feild of grain bowing uncontrolled in the wind. The ragged cloak on his back was the undulating sea, loose fitted shirt a nest of snow on a craggy peak, woolen breeches the subtle clouds of a midday rain, and leather boots the brackish muck of a boggy recluse.

Character's History : Those of primate blood are a rare sight to see on the mainlands of Ansteorra, suggesting that he has family ties in another country; perhaps it is a humid country where he once learned to speak his foreign tongue. However exotic his lineage may be, he was born in Ansteorra, long ago. As a child his mother's mother helped him hone a magical art dealing with plants and nature. Eventually, he set off , his heart being fickle and fleeting, and traveled throughout many lands, adding to his knowledge with every year, every new face.

Desired IC Position: Apothecary, healer, mage-for-hire? Bryn follows his whims.

Other Notes: Smoker, slight limp in the left leg, and his fleeting youth. Generally has a wide assortment of various dodads in his pack.

Sample RP Post: Bryn's face comes alight as he inhales on that antique pipe, the embers now lighting the lines of his face orange in the thick darkness of the old tavern. He exhales, slowly, through the corner of his mouth, smoke like ghostly dancers in the moon, and turns the yellowing page of some old book. It didn't matter, he couldn't read; never learned and never tried to. But the smell of dying books was always one of his favorites. And even though his sense of smell and taste were wrecked after the numerous years of smoking the pipe, he'd always remember that gentle warm feeling he always got when Mama read him the stories.
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