Post by Aeronaux on Jul 10, 2018 10:50:02 GMT -8
Maxwell Elchenheim Graham
Resolve level: 0
-Appearance
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Physical Description:
In bustling, city streets may a person spot a jolly figure in the crowd; his golden locks shining like the sun and neatly brushed back, the fair and smooth completion of his skin, and the striking craftsmanship of the smooth, white, porcelain mask that adorns his face painted into a smile. At any time of day he may come out to play his tunes, sing his odes, epics, poems, and stories of adventure to any and all who wishes to hear it without asking a copper in return.
“Why do you do what you do?” many ask.
“It lightens the hearts of others,” he always responds, “Because who knows what it could inspire.”
Beneath his mask lies the face of a kind, warm man with not a single hair on his chin; a triangular face, high cheekbones, and bears a nose that points out, but his eyes are emeralds with a smile made of pearls. Hands down quite the charming man with a silver tongue.
Attire:
During his travels he dons hardened leather armor stained black and trimmed with white. Its style is much like a sleeveless trench coat that falls just past the knees; tightly fitting around his torso, but free beneath his belt. A matching set of fine leather boots and gauntlets also go with it! Attached by the shoulders is a cloak dyed a fine leaf-green, however, is marked with weathering tears and frayed at the ends after the years of use. No matter what, however, there at his side will always be his trusty accordion nestled safely in its case.
-Biography
Quirks:
+Musical: “C’mon now! Everybody sing along with me!”
+Resilient: “That fellow looks frail, but boy can he take a beating.”
+Stress Faster: “You’ll be a skeleton in no time in there.”
+Fated: “I could have sworn he missed!”
-Sickly: “He won’t last long that one…”
-Anemic: “The bleeding won’t stop.”
-Tuckered Out: “He’s like an Italian; he can’t hike for ten minutes without complaining about his feet, but he can run 10 miles if he’s running away from the enemy.”
-Guilty Conscience: “Keep thinking that and soon your head is gonna explode.”
Synopsis:
Sick, frail, prone to injury and illness, it’s unbelievable that the man has yet succumb to death. However, all that time bedridden has gifted Maxwell the mastery for the musical arts! His performances brought even the most dreadful of days a flicker of light, and trickery to those that cross him. Unfortunately the ability to give joy to others does not extend to himself.
Guilt plagues this one’s mind ever since Jack, his older brother, disappeared unexpectedly for three months only to return as a blind, monstrous fright of the night. No amount of meditation, prayer, or flagellation will make him forgive himself. Only when he finds the answer to his affliction will make this sorry-sap of a bard free from his personal burden.
Full Backstory:
Misc. Notes: (Special items, notable scars, scents, how they walk, or talk, etc.)
Scents: Smells of pumpkins and honey.
Talk: Honey to the ears, smooth and sweet.
Suave: Whether he be in a performance or battle, he’ll always make the effort to look the nicest.
Frail: His only wish is to gain weight so that his clothes don’t look like they’re being hung to dry when he wears them.
Accordion: Will summon the nine hells to get it back or become it if it breaks beyond repair.
Mother’s Amulet: He’ll fight to the death if it’s snatched, and kill if it’s stolen.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons:
- Accordion: Play a wondrous tune or a discordant one, the enemy will hate it regardless!
- Rapier: Rusted, beaten, stolen off a corpse, but by golly it’s still pointy!
- Daggers: Stab-stab right in the gut! Hurts like a bitch and worse with a twist.
- Slide Whistles: Just when you thought you couldn’t shut him up with his accordion… Also sharpened to a point for a mini stab-stab in the gut!
Armor:
- Leather armor: He’d be a fool to go out in his performance attire!
Other gear:
- Shovel: The ground is where home feels like home.
- Medicine: He can’t afford to fall to sickness.
- Bandages: Trouble finds him, but mostly his brother.
Strengths:
- Silver Tongue: Through words he can persuade even the most stubborn of folks with reason, or bolster the hopeless to the light, but dare to cross him and he will prove that words can be sharper than a knife.
- Distraction Master: If being a complete and utter idiot will save him or his companions from danger, then Maxwell will concoct the most moronic song and dance imaginable.
- Musician: Through lyrics and odes, epics and poems, he’ll soothe the soul with notes of inspiration.
Weaknesses:
- Prone: Disease and ailments hit him first if not the bloody wounds that cripples him faster.
- Hopeless: When the tides turn sour and success no longer in sight, he falls prey to the suffocating pitch that lurks in his mind.
- Guilty: Even the smallest of faults he’ll find a way to make it a personal unnecessary burden.
Resolve level: 0
-Appearance
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Physical Description:
In bustling, city streets may a person spot a jolly figure in the crowd; his golden locks shining like the sun and neatly brushed back, the fair and smooth completion of his skin, and the striking craftsmanship of the smooth, white, porcelain mask that adorns his face painted into a smile. At any time of day he may come out to play his tunes, sing his odes, epics, poems, and stories of adventure to any and all who wishes to hear it without asking a copper in return.
“Why do you do what you do?” many ask.
“It lightens the hearts of others,” he always responds, “Because who knows what it could inspire.”
Beneath his mask lies the face of a kind, warm man with not a single hair on his chin; a triangular face, high cheekbones, and bears a nose that points out, but his eyes are emeralds with a smile made of pearls. Hands down quite the charming man with a silver tongue.
Attire:
During his travels he dons hardened leather armor stained black and trimmed with white. Its style is much like a sleeveless trench coat that falls just past the knees; tightly fitting around his torso, but free beneath his belt. A matching set of fine leather boots and gauntlets also go with it! Attached by the shoulders is a cloak dyed a fine leaf-green, however, is marked with weathering tears and frayed at the ends after the years of use. No matter what, however, there at his side will always be his trusty accordion nestled safely in its case.
-Biography
Quirks:
+Musical: “C’mon now! Everybody sing along with me!”
+Resilient: “That fellow looks frail, but boy can he take a beating.”
+Stress Faster: “You’ll be a skeleton in no time in there.”
+Fated: “I could have sworn he missed!”
-Sickly: “He won’t last long that one…”
-Anemic: “The bleeding won’t stop.”
-Tuckered Out: “He’s like an Italian; he can’t hike for ten minutes without complaining about his feet, but he can run 10 miles if he’s running away from the enemy.”
-Guilty Conscience: “Keep thinking that and soon your head is gonna explode.”
Synopsis:
Sick, frail, prone to injury and illness, it’s unbelievable that the man has yet succumb to death. However, all that time bedridden has gifted Maxwell the mastery for the musical arts! His performances brought even the most dreadful of days a flicker of light, and trickery to those that cross him. Unfortunately the ability to give joy to others does not extend to himself.
Guilt plagues this one’s mind ever since Jack, his older brother, disappeared unexpectedly for three months only to return as a blind, monstrous fright of the night. No amount of meditation, prayer, or flagellation will make him forgive himself. Only when he finds the answer to his affliction will make this sorry-sap of a bard free from his personal burden.
Full Backstory:
Born was he; small, sick, and frail. His poor mother thought he wouldn’t last a month outside her womb. Such a pretty infant he was whose locks looked to be spun from gold, eyes made of deep emeralds, and skin of flawless porcelain. Clearly he had inherited her beauty, but she was ashamed at herself that it was all she could offer him. She felt like life did this to her to tease her. A representation of herself, mocking her, taking her heart and wrenching it slowly, forced to watch her newborn son’s declining health.
But… Maxwell refused.
Time and time again he would run high fevers, cry, be frightfully pale, and every time both his mother and his older brother, Jack, would fret and did all that they could to nurse him back to health. Bound to bed, he was, but Maxwell never complained. How can he when he was showered in love with every waking moment? Despite everything, he kept the home bright. He made sure to lift their spirits with his songs and outrageous stories and tall tales – it was the least he could do for after all they’ve done for him!
Unfortunately, all his efforts couldn’t save his mother’s declining health. He was still so young at the time she passed. Often he wondered why she would teach him adult things such as how to keep track of gold, how to make remedies, what sort of herb to quell this kind of ailment amidst many other skills. It didn’t make much sense! But… it did when she took her last breath with glassy eyes staring up at them with love and wonder.
In the years following his mother’s death, Maxwell had gained enough strength to really help his older brother out. It wasn’t fair for him to do all the work in getting coin and scavenging. It was dirty work, acting like an adorable, frail urchin to distract merchants whilst his older brother snatched goods left and right. They wouldn’t know what was missing until the two were ways away laughing, eating, and having a good time! Life went on scrounging around in barrels of filth, stealing goods, conning folk alike, but it all changed when a musician wondered into their side of town. Airheaded he was, oblivious to danger, but most importantly of all a man who couldn’t hold his own liquor! It was the musician’s songs and odes that inspired little Maxwell to pursuit that profession; the instrument in his hands kept calling out to him, beckoning him to learn its craft – the accordion. Jack made quick work to get it for his little brother, a job made unbelievably easy tailing the man after a drunken time at the tavern.
Their lives changed from the moment Maxwell’s hands got a hold of that accordion. In the days when his body burned of illness, his time was spent learning how to play the instrument. As expected, it was rough on the ears at first. Drove Jack up the wall with every discordant note that was squeezed out of that thing! Maxwell didn’t let his brother’s misery get the best of him, however! He tried! Day in and day out he honed his art until Jack finally deemed it good enough. Jack was a brutal critic, but he’d rather himself tell Maxwell he was bad then somebody else.
Maxwell was a hit! His peppy and upbeat personality, his charm, his magnificent voice, his looks! It was like being serenaded by a siren, the attention naturally drawing towards himself until crowds gathered. Jack couldn’t be prouder for his little brother, and of course he did all he could to make the most of it. Soon enough the two were financially stable, and through him Jack even landed a good job at a tavern as their cook!
All seemed well until the night Jack had to feed his gluttonous binge. Maxwell didn’t think anything of it, and he’s done it many times before without a hitch, but… that particular night Jack didn’t return. At first Maxwell thought that maybe it was one of those intense urges, however the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks. Stress crept into his bones by the third day, and by the end of the week it started to effect his performance. As much fame as he had, it quickly went downhill as Maxwell stayed more and more indoors, waiting anxiously in the hole. At the second week he was frantically searching the town up and down for his brother, but everywhere he went, nobody had seen Jack. When Maxwell learned that the tavern owner that hired his older brother said that he hasn’t showed up to work since the night of his binge, he assumed the worse.
Maxwell was in ruin after the months end. His thoughts degrading into dust, and his health descending fast into a downward spiral of anxiety and depression. Those toxic thoughts skewered his rationality into shreds; believing that Jack’s disappearance and likely death attributed to him. Was it somebody he had somehow crossed and not realized it? An insane fan? Maybe a jealous musician? What if Jack was jealous and felt like he didn’t need him anymore? How could he have been so ignorant? So clueless? He deserves this. It’s all his fault he’s gone. It’s all his fault he might have left or died. Maybe if he had spent more time with him? Maybe if he offered to join him he’d still be here?
It was a cold and rainy night that might have been Maxwell’s final day alive after three months of his affliction. His sickness had taken full control over him, and his depression refusing to let him get up. It was his fate to die like this, he decided. There wasn’t any point if it was meant to be. Had it not been the stumbling, shambling footsteps above, the heavy clattering of chains, and the grating of the rock that acted as a door to their home followed by the blood-soaked, gray-skinned, sharp-toothed monstrosity that greeted him, Maxwell would have died that night.
Their reunion was a mash of ugly sobs, curses, and pathetic banter. Learning of all that had happened, the two could no longer stay in their hole. It was tainted now. Steeped in misery, agony, and grief. Both left with heavy hearts… however, amidst their travels did Maxwell hear tale of a mansion where unimaginable horrors lie in every corner and in every shadow of the Darkest Estate. Perhaps there… he may find the answers to his brother’s affliction…
But… Maxwell refused.
Time and time again he would run high fevers, cry, be frightfully pale, and every time both his mother and his older brother, Jack, would fret and did all that they could to nurse him back to health. Bound to bed, he was, but Maxwell never complained. How can he when he was showered in love with every waking moment? Despite everything, he kept the home bright. He made sure to lift their spirits with his songs and outrageous stories and tall tales – it was the least he could do for after all they’ve done for him!
Unfortunately, all his efforts couldn’t save his mother’s declining health. He was still so young at the time she passed. Often he wondered why she would teach him adult things such as how to keep track of gold, how to make remedies, what sort of herb to quell this kind of ailment amidst many other skills. It didn’t make much sense! But… it did when she took her last breath with glassy eyes staring up at them with love and wonder.
In the years following his mother’s death, Maxwell had gained enough strength to really help his older brother out. It wasn’t fair for him to do all the work in getting coin and scavenging. It was dirty work, acting like an adorable, frail urchin to distract merchants whilst his older brother snatched goods left and right. They wouldn’t know what was missing until the two were ways away laughing, eating, and having a good time! Life went on scrounging around in barrels of filth, stealing goods, conning folk alike, but it all changed when a musician wondered into their side of town. Airheaded he was, oblivious to danger, but most importantly of all a man who couldn’t hold his own liquor! It was the musician’s songs and odes that inspired little Maxwell to pursuit that profession; the instrument in his hands kept calling out to him, beckoning him to learn its craft – the accordion. Jack made quick work to get it for his little brother, a job made unbelievably easy tailing the man after a drunken time at the tavern.
Their lives changed from the moment Maxwell’s hands got a hold of that accordion. In the days when his body burned of illness, his time was spent learning how to play the instrument. As expected, it was rough on the ears at first. Drove Jack up the wall with every discordant note that was squeezed out of that thing! Maxwell didn’t let his brother’s misery get the best of him, however! He tried! Day in and day out he honed his art until Jack finally deemed it good enough. Jack was a brutal critic, but he’d rather himself tell Maxwell he was bad then somebody else.
Maxwell was a hit! His peppy and upbeat personality, his charm, his magnificent voice, his looks! It was like being serenaded by a siren, the attention naturally drawing towards himself until crowds gathered. Jack couldn’t be prouder for his little brother, and of course he did all he could to make the most of it. Soon enough the two were financially stable, and through him Jack even landed a good job at a tavern as their cook!
All seemed well until the night Jack had to feed his gluttonous binge. Maxwell didn’t think anything of it, and he’s done it many times before without a hitch, but… that particular night Jack didn’t return. At first Maxwell thought that maybe it was one of those intense urges, however the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks. Stress crept into his bones by the third day, and by the end of the week it started to effect his performance. As much fame as he had, it quickly went downhill as Maxwell stayed more and more indoors, waiting anxiously in the hole. At the second week he was frantically searching the town up and down for his brother, but everywhere he went, nobody had seen Jack. When Maxwell learned that the tavern owner that hired his older brother said that he hasn’t showed up to work since the night of his binge, he assumed the worse.
Maxwell was in ruin after the months end. His thoughts degrading into dust, and his health descending fast into a downward spiral of anxiety and depression. Those toxic thoughts skewered his rationality into shreds; believing that Jack’s disappearance and likely death attributed to him. Was it somebody he had somehow crossed and not realized it? An insane fan? Maybe a jealous musician? What if Jack was jealous and felt like he didn’t need him anymore? How could he have been so ignorant? So clueless? He deserves this. It’s all his fault he’s gone. It’s all his fault he might have left or died. Maybe if he had spent more time with him? Maybe if he offered to join him he’d still be here?
It was a cold and rainy night that might have been Maxwell’s final day alive after three months of his affliction. His sickness had taken full control over him, and his depression refusing to let him get up. It was his fate to die like this, he decided. There wasn’t any point if it was meant to be. Had it not been the stumbling, shambling footsteps above, the heavy clattering of chains, and the grating of the rock that acted as a door to their home followed by the blood-soaked, gray-skinned, sharp-toothed monstrosity that greeted him, Maxwell would have died that night.
Their reunion was a mash of ugly sobs, curses, and pathetic banter. Learning of all that had happened, the two could no longer stay in their hole. It was tainted now. Steeped in misery, agony, and grief. Both left with heavy hearts… however, amidst their travels did Maxwell hear tale of a mansion where unimaginable horrors lie in every corner and in every shadow of the Darkest Estate. Perhaps there… he may find the answers to his brother’s affliction…
Misc. Notes: (Special items, notable scars, scents, how they walk, or talk, etc.)
Scents: Smells of pumpkins and honey.
Talk: Honey to the ears, smooth and sweet.
Suave: Whether he be in a performance or battle, he’ll always make the effort to look the nicest.
Frail: His only wish is to gain weight so that his clothes don’t look like they’re being hung to dry when he wears them.
Accordion: Will summon the nine hells to get it back or become it if it breaks beyond repair.
Mother’s Amulet: He’ll fight to the death if it’s snatched, and kill if it’s stolen.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons:
- Accordion: Play a wondrous tune or a discordant one, the enemy will hate it regardless!
- Rapier: Rusted, beaten, stolen off a corpse, but by golly it’s still pointy!
- Daggers: Stab-stab right in the gut! Hurts like a bitch and worse with a twist.
- Slide Whistles: Just when you thought you couldn’t shut him up with his accordion… Also sharpened to a point for a mini stab-stab in the gut!
Armor:
- Leather armor: He’d be a fool to go out in his performance attire!
Other gear:
- Shovel: The ground is where home feels like home.
- Medicine: He can’t afford to fall to sickness.
- Bandages: Trouble finds him, but mostly his brother.
Strengths:
- Silver Tongue: Through words he can persuade even the most stubborn of folks with reason, or bolster the hopeless to the light, but dare to cross him and he will prove that words can be sharper than a knife.
- Distraction Master: If being a complete and utter idiot will save him or his companions from danger, then Maxwell will concoct the most moronic song and dance imaginable.
- Musician: Through lyrics and odes, epics and poems, he’ll soothe the soul with notes of inspiration.
Weaknesses:
- Prone: Disease and ailments hit him first if not the bloody wounds that cripples him faster.
- Hopeless: When the tides turn sour and success no longer in sight, he falls prey to the suffocating pitch that lurks in his mind.
- Guilty: Even the smallest of faults he’ll find a way to make it a personal unnecessary burden.
