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Description

| Bio | Medallion | Tracker | Plots |
Updates
08/03/2023 - ok his bio is mostly written tell me what u think guys
09/03/2023- he's officially a mercenary now!
09/23/2023- he has some plots and stuff up now

Biography

Name: Tavril
Nicknames:
  ⤷ Tav (I just think this would be an unavoidable nickname)
  ⤷ Lynx (Bandit handle)
Age: Adult (3 years)
Seasons: Winters
Sex: Male
Gender: Man (He/Him)
Height: 37in / 94cm
  ⤷ On the taller side, not notably huge.
Weight: 110lbs / 50kg
  ⤷ Doesn’t carry a lot of weight but has lean, rangy muscle
Fur: Dense, short coat, which tends to be unkempt.
Scars: Two scars across his throat. Large scars across his haunches. Right ear is torn.
Scent: Oak moss, mint, cardamom, and melon
Accessories: I’ll give him an accessory so help me god
Companions: -
Purchased Traits: -
Birthplace:
⤷ Onyx Peak
Hometown:
⤷ Currently, Tavril's lifestyle is itinerant, and he doesn't call any of the permanent settlements home for too long. That being said, in times of trouble he usually gravitates towards Onyx Peak to recuperate. Old habits die hard.

Guild: -
Reliability: New Trader
Specialty: Mercenary

Family

Parents:
  ⤷ Mother, Merrit (Unknown)
  ⤷ Father, Valdyn (Alive)
Siblings:
  ⤷ Older Sister, Bronwyn (Alive)
Extended Family:
  ⤷ None
Mate: None
Personality

⬆ | Sociable | Resourceful | Tenacious | ⬆
Tavril is a pack wolf. Although he likes to think he's completely self-sufficient he ultimately has no great love of solitude. He’s an extrovert with a keen need for company. This doesn't necessarily translate to loyalty per se, nor is he all that discerning about who he keeps company with. In fact he gravitates towards wolves who are objectively poor influences, leading to a series of noncommittal friendships that invariably fall apart. Despite this tendency to willfully waltz into trouble time and time again, he always lands on his feet. He's a wily sort, and although he may indulge in occasional fits of self pity he isn't one to let setbacks slow him down for long.

↔️ | Chaotic | Assertive | Sentimental | ↔️
Very attracted to the idea of danger although in practice it tends not to be all that fun. Undaunted, he continues to live a life packed with as much reckless nonsense as he can muster. He’ll do anything in his power to rope others into whatever passing whim has captivated him. In this way he’s happy to play the role of ringleader, sometimes to the point of coming off arrogant or domineering. But overall this is less a will to control than because he craves new experiences and wants to share it with his friends (or his ‘friends’). He’s all the more delighted with these schemes if they're a way to express his deep-set disdain for authority. All that being said, he tends to fall apart when he gets too sympathetic with whoever happens to be the victim of his schemes. He will go to great lengths to conceal this soft streak in order to save face. His life of crime was therefore always doomed to fail.

⬇ | Manipulative | Self-Centered | Distrusting | ⬇
Tavril subscribes to a sort of hazy morality, which shifts by some interminable calculus whenever it suits him. He's willing to say just about whatever he needs to in order to get his way. Of course he thinks other wolves must be doing the exact same to him, so despite a superficial layer of charm and amiability he is slow to actually trust people. Part of him always expects, to some degree, a stunning betrayal. And another part of him even craves it. He is the protagonist of his own personal drama, and, accordingly, the world revolves around him.

History

Tavril was born to a pair of wolves whose mateship had already fallen apart. He was young when his mother left- weaned, but too young to remember her at all. His impressions of her would be secondhand, from his older sister, Bronwyn, and, far more often, from the bitter words of his father, Valdyn. Their small family had already been of no regard and few resources before Merrit’s abandonment; the departure of a breadwinner and arrival of a hungry, useless pup did little to better their circumstances. Their father kept them together as best he could, which is to say he kept them alive and sheltered. But he seemed incapable of doing much more than stewing in his misery.

Tavril would wonder if it had to be this way. From time to time, usually when Valdyn had been out far too late seeking ‘curatives’ from a local apothecary that would leave him loose-tongued and nostalgic, he would catch glimpses of another life. He would hear about his parents when Bronwyn was small, and how they had set out to make a modest home for their children in Onyx Peak, armed with nothing but naïve, passive assurance that everything would work out for them. In any case, this taught Tavril a simple concept at an early age: Plenty of people had miserable lives for no reason at all. This bleak thought never left his head for long, although it did not sublimate into hopelessness. By the same token there was nothing fair about success. So why bother playing fair?

As he grew, Tavril began to act out. Petty theft was a favorite of his, moreso when he was smooth enough to pull it off without arousing suspicion. But his proclivities for mischief still led to fights, more severe as time dragged on. He drew disdainful comments from elders as an able-bodied wolf who refused to take up a trade, instead happy to traipse around like a hoodlum. In some other life he may have made a bright student, but as it stood education was out of the question. No one could confine him to any sort of classes, and the thought of a tutor or apprenticeship would never cross either of his father’s mind (nor could he have acquired one). Instead he was largely left to his own devices, and spent his time romping around with a select few like-minded young wolves sowing low-level discord.

There were plenty of things that could have set him on the right path. A more watchful eye from his parents, or perhaps another packmate to take him under their wing. But none of that happened. The detached social structure of the large pack left him free to wriggle his way into the cracks where he could do as he pleased.

Naturally he would outgrow this rebellious phase, if only because his father kicked him out. Or perhaps Tavril left. As it stood he spent less and less time at home, either spending it with friends or occasionally with more-than-friends. He would leave and return with no explanation, until finally he realized it had never been much of a home to begin with. Striking out on his own was a gradual process.

As his distance from his father grew, a natural estrangement which was no great loss to him, Tavril found himself seeking out his sister. She had made her name as a bandit- rent open the world to claw a space for herself from nothing. And now he was going to do the same. Like a magnet he snapped to her side, as if they had never spent a second apart. As if she hadn’t run off just as he had. As if he was her partner in crime, and not just her fawning shadow.

So began a life of crime. Tavril was sure that this was what he had always wanted- he would finally be taken seriously, feared if not respected. Under the alias Lynx he could take whatever he wanted for himself, answer to no one, and live every second on the edge of a knife. It was dirty, vile, exhilarating business. And if it hadn’t started to unravel he would have spent his days terrorizing the roads. Unfortunately for him, the business of a highwayman was punctuated with many wolves pleading for their safety, for their livelihoods. Most were easy to ignore. Most. But doubts crept in. Lives were taken. The line of work necessitated a certain callousness that Tavril simply lacked, try though he might to cultivate it. There were principles he could pretend to cling to, something like a ‘thief’s code’, but such things proved mutable time and time again. The thrill of constant peril began to erode, and all that remained in its wake was an aching, gnawing emptiness. The loneliness of an imposter.

Fortunately, circumstances would conspire to relieve Tavril of his moral distress. A job gone sideways. Their raiding party had been ambushed along a narrow cliffside pass, and the ensuing bloodshed left Tavril locked in the jaws of a mercenary. As he pulled back, fangs raked across his neck. The blood loss was immediate and immense. Another lunge from his opponent pitched both of them off the path, plunging his lifeless form into the icy waters of the river below. All it had cost to free him from banditry was his untimely death.

Well.
Almost-death.
Apparent death.

What a miracle it had been, then, for him to turn up in Waypoint Village a season later. His slashed throat had knit together, leaving only a scar and an edge to his voice. At first he kept to the fringes, saying little and living on the margins. But slowly he began to find the odd job here or there, parlaying his streetwise knowledge of the wastes into coin. He found he could make a career out of this, if he played it right. All he needed was a rebrand. Failed bandit didn’t have a ring to it- no, no, he was a reformed bandit. He had learned the error of his ways, and would use all of his hard-won experience to the benefit of his clients.

His former gang, Bronwyn unfortunately included, would just go on thinking he had died. And who could blame him? After all, who among them would speak ill of the dead?

In Game History

Once he’s in the game I’m sure I’ll remember to put something here. Surely.

Extras

A Little Trivia
⤷ Largely illiterate. He can recognize his name by the shape of it, and knows the numbers. In this manner he can usually half-guess at what a contract states, and fake it from there.

⤷ Loves the snow, but is built for the heat. He’ll insist he’s not cold until his corpse freezes solid.

⤷ When he was young he took to feeding mice in their home. Valdyn was quick to put an end to this practice when it was discovered.

⤷ To this day some of his lingering injuries will bother him from time to time. This is one of the only things his avoids complaining about, as he finds it mortifying if anyone becomes sincerely concerned about him.

⤷ Believes in ghosts.

Contact Preference: Discord
Random Events: Opt In

Design + Character Art © @CallbackNine
Background/App Sheet © Scribbleloupe
For use in Legends-End-ARPG only

Written character sheet by Unkn0wn5ender

Description

| Bio | Medallion | Tracker | Plots |
Updates
08/03/2023 - ok his bio is mostly written tell me what u think guys
09/03/2023- he's officially a mercenary now!
09/23/2023- he has some plots and stuff up now

Biography

Name: Tavril
Nicknames:
  ⤷ Tav (I just think this would be an unavoidable nickname)
  ⤷ Lynx (Bandit handle)
Age: Adult (3 years)
Seasons: Winters
Sex: Male
Gender: Man (He/Him)
Height: 37in / 94cm
  ⤷ On the taller side, not notably huge.
Weight: 110lbs / 50kg
  ⤷ Doesn’t carry a lot of weight but has lean, rangy muscle
Fur: Dense, short coat, which tends to be unkempt.
Scars: Two scars across his throat. Large scars across his haunches. Right ear is torn.
Scent: Oak moss, mint, cardamom, and melon
Accessories: I’ll give him an accessory so help me god
Companions: -
Purchased Traits: -
Birthplace:
⤷ Onyx Peak
Hometown:
⤷ Currently, Tavril's lifestyle is itinerant, and he doesn't call any of the permanent settlements home for too long. That being said, in times of trouble he usually gravitates towards Onyx Peak to recuperate. Old habits die hard.

Guild: -
Reliability: New Trader
Specialty: Mercenary

Family

Parents:
  ⤷ Mother, Merrit (Unknown)
  ⤷ Father, Valdyn (Alive)
Siblings:
  ⤷ Older Sister, Bronwyn (Alive)
Extended Family:
  ⤷ None
Mate: None
Personality

⬆ | Sociable | Resourceful | Tenacious | ⬆
Tavril is a pack wolf. Although he likes to think he's completely self-sufficient he ultimately has no great love of solitude. He’s an extrovert with a keen need for company. This doesn't necessarily translate to loyalty per se, nor is he all that discerning about who he keeps company with. In fact he gravitates towards wolves who are objectively poor influences, leading to a series of noncommittal friendships that invariably fall apart. Despite this tendency to willfully waltz into trouble time and time again, he always lands on his feet. He's a wily sort, and although he may indulge in occasional fits of self pity he isn't one to let setbacks slow him down for long.

↔️ | Chaotic | Assertive | Sentimental | ↔️
Very attracted to the idea of danger although in practice it tends not to be all that fun. Undaunted, he continues to live a life packed with as much reckless nonsense as he can muster. He’ll do anything in his power to rope others into whatever passing whim has captivated him. In this way he’s happy to play the role of ringleader, sometimes to the point of coming off arrogant or domineering. But overall this is less a will to control than because he craves new experiences and wants to share it with his friends (or his ‘friends’). He’s all the more delighted with these schemes if they're a way to express his deep-set disdain for authority. All that being said, he tends to fall apart when he gets too sympathetic with whoever happens to be the victim of his schemes. He will go to great lengths to conceal this soft streak in order to save face. His life of crime was therefore always doomed to fail.

⬇ | Manipulative | Self-Centered | Distrusting | ⬇
Tavril subscribes to a sort of hazy morality, which shifts by some interminable calculus whenever it suits him. He's willing to say just about whatever he needs to in order to get his way. Of course he thinks other wolves must be doing the exact same to him, so despite a superficial layer of charm and amiability he is slow to actually trust people. Part of him always expects, to some degree, a stunning betrayal. And another part of him even craves it. He is the protagonist of his own personal drama, and, accordingly, the world revolves around him.

History

Tavril was born to a pair of wolves whose mateship had already fallen apart. He was young when his mother left- weaned, but too young to remember her at all. His impressions of her would be secondhand, from his older sister, Bronwyn, and, far more often, from the bitter words of his father, Valdyn. Their small family had already been of no regard and few resources before Merrit’s abandonment; the departure of a breadwinner and arrival of a hungry, useless pup did little to better their circumstances. Their father kept them together as best he could, which is to say he kept them alive and sheltered. But he seemed incapable of doing much more than stewing in his misery.

Tavril would wonder if it had to be this way. From time to time, usually when Valdyn had been out far too late seeking ‘curatives’ from a local apothecary that would leave him loose-tongued and nostalgic, he would catch glimpses of another life. He would hear about his parents when Bronwyn was small, and how they had set out to make a modest home for their children in Onyx Peak, armed with nothing but naïve, passive assurance that everything would work out for them. In any case, this taught Tavril a simple concept at an early age: Plenty of people had miserable lives for no reason at all. This bleak thought never left his head for long, although it did not sublimate into hopelessness. By the same token there was nothing fair about success. So why bother playing fair?

As he grew, Tavril began to act out. Petty theft was a favorite of his, moreso when he was smooth enough to pull it off without arousing suspicion. But his proclivities for mischief still led to fights, more severe as time dragged on. He drew disdainful comments from elders as an able-bodied wolf who refused to take up a trade, instead happy to traipse around like a hoodlum. In some other life he may have made a bright student, but as it stood education was out of the question. No one could confine him to any sort of classes, and the thought of a tutor or apprenticeship would never cross either of his father’s mind (nor could he have acquired one). Instead he was largely left to his own devices, and spent his time romping around with a select few like-minded young wolves sowing low-level discord.

There were plenty of things that could have set him on the right path. A more watchful eye from his parents, or perhaps another packmate to take him under their wing. But none of that happened. The detached social structure of the large pack left him free to wriggle his way into the cracks where he could do as he pleased.

Naturally he would outgrow this rebellious phase, if only because his father kicked him out. Or perhaps Tavril left. As it stood he spent less and less time at home, either spending it with friends or occasionally with more-than-friends. He would leave and return with no explanation, until finally he realized it had never been much of a home to begin with. Striking out on his own was a gradual process.

As his distance from his father grew, a natural estrangement which was no great loss to him, Tavril found himself seeking out his sister. She had made her name as a bandit- rent open the world to claw a space for herself from nothing. And now he was going to do the same. Like a magnet he snapped to her side, as if they had never spent a second apart. As if she hadn’t run off just as he had. As if he was her partner in crime, and not just her fawning shadow.

So began a life of crime. Tavril was sure that this was what he had always wanted- he would finally be taken seriously, feared if not respected. Under the alias Lynx he could take whatever he wanted for himself, answer to no one, and live every second on the edge of a knife. It was dirty, vile, exhilarating business. And if it hadn’t started to unravel he would have spent his days terrorizing the roads. Unfortunately for him, the business of a highwayman was punctuated with many wolves pleading for their safety, for their livelihoods. Most were easy to ignore. Most. But doubts crept in. Lives were taken. The line of work necessitated a certain callousness that Tavril simply lacked, try though he might to cultivate it. There were principles he could pretend to cling to, something like a ‘thief’s code’, but such things proved mutable time and time again. The thrill of constant peril began to erode, and all that remained in its wake was an aching, gnawing emptiness. The loneliness of an imposter.

Fortunately, circumstances would conspire to relieve Tavril of his moral distress. A job gone sideways. Their raiding party had been ambushed along a narrow cliffside pass, and the ensuing bloodshed left Tavril locked in the jaws of a mercenary. As he pulled back, fangs raked across his neck. The blood loss was immediate and immense. Another lunge from his opponent pitched both of them off the path, plunging his lifeless form into the icy waters of the river below. All it had cost to free him from banditry was his untimely death.

Well.
Almost-death.
Apparent death.

What a miracle it had been, then, for him to turn up in Waypoint Village a season later. His slashed throat had knit together, leaving only a scar and an edge to his voice. At first he kept to the fringes, saying little and living on the margins. But slowly he began to find the odd job here or there, parlaying his streetwise knowledge of the wastes into coin. He found he could make a career out of this, if he played it right. All he needed was a rebrand. Failed bandit didn’t have a ring to it- no, no, he was a reformed bandit. He had learned the error of his ways, and would use all of his hard-won experience to the benefit of his clients.

His former gang, Bronwyn unfortunately included, would just go on thinking he had died. And who could blame him? After all, who among them would speak ill of the dead?

In Game History

Once he’s in the game I’m sure I’ll remember to put something here. Surely.

Extras

A Little Trivia
⤷ Largely illiterate. He can recognize his name by the shape of it, and knows the numbers. In this manner he can usually half-guess at what a contract states, and fake it from there.

⤷ Loves the snow, but is built for the heat. He’ll insist he’s not cold until his corpse freezes solid.

⤷ When he was young he took to feeding mice in their home. Valdyn was quick to put an end to this practice when it was discovered.

⤷ To this day some of his lingering injuries will bother him from time to time. This is one of the only things his avoids complaining about, as he finds it mortifying if anyone becomes sincerely concerned about him.

⤷ Believes in ghosts.

Contact Preference: Discord
Random Events: Opt In

Design + Character Art © @CallbackNine
Background/App Sheet © Scribbleloupe
For use in Legends-End-ARPG only

Written character sheet by Unkn0wn5ender