face claim: Lorenzo Richelmy
Age: 26
Race: Mortalborn/Famula
Date of Birth: Saun 30, Arc 695
Languages Spoken: Fluent Common / Broken Rakahi
Partners: Faith
Basic Information
Appearance
Padraig is an attractive young man. But if he's aware of it; he seems for the most part unconcerned.That's not to say that he ignores his appearance or that of others completely. He only believes that vanity and its dressings are shallow distractions from much more important things.
He is just half an inch over six feet tall, and just shy of one hundred and seventy pounds. His eyes are the color of aged brandy with spare flecks of darker brown stirred in. His hair is dark brown, kept regularly trimmed and clean; like the rest of him; but is often unkempt, as if he'd forgotten or not cared to drag a comb through it. He prefers clothing with unremarkable lines; usually choosing shades of black, gray, camel or white. Sometimes, on a whim, he mixes them up by adding a splash of blue or green. But while he may opt for clean lines in his wardrobe, often as not, like his hair, they tend to err on the side of rumpled.
Padraig carries himself straight and tall, and moves with purpose from place to place, or task to task. He can sometimes appear aloof, or indifferent, although in reality he is neither. He may seem immune to excitability. He isn't that either. By all appearances, he is a serious young man not quick to smile. But he does, on occasion; and more so when good and abundant liquor gets the better of his more serious impulses.
He is just half an inch over six feet tall, and just shy of one hundred and seventy pounds. His eyes are the color of aged brandy with spare flecks of darker brown stirred in. His hair is dark brown, kept regularly trimmed and clean; like the rest of him; but is often unkempt, as if he'd forgotten or not cared to drag a comb through it. He prefers clothing with unremarkable lines; usually choosing shades of black, gray, camel or white. Sometimes, on a whim, he mixes them up by adding a splash of blue or green. But while he may opt for clean lines in his wardrobe, often as not, like his hair, they tend to err on the side of rumpled.
Padraig carries himself straight and tall, and moves with purpose from place to place, or task to task. He can sometimes appear aloof, or indifferent, although in reality he is neither. He may seem immune to excitability. He isn't that either. By all appearances, he is a serious young man not quick to smile. But he does, on occasion; and more so when good and abundant liquor gets the better of his more serious impulses.
Personality
Padraig's appearance, his affectations, his manner of speech; all combined paint a fairly accurate picture of who he is. But not the reasons why. He doesn't hide behind half altered truths. At his best he is honest and forthright. At his worst, he can be painfully blunt. Politeness, or rarer, flattery, is something he sees as virtuous, desired and often necessary. On the other hand, like his unkempt hair and sometimes rumpled clothing, too much of a good thing is a wasted distraction.
He is a creature of habit. From his grooming rituals, such as they are, to his dietary choices. Padraig eats the same morning meal, every morning without fail. Two eggs, soft scrambled. A slice of crusty bread, lightly toasted in a buttered iron pan. An apple. He finds that simple rituals with few exceptions, free his mind to focus on much more important things. Therefore it shouldn't come as a surprise that he believes romantic attachments are shallow endeavors that distract from more serious ones. But he's a young man, and like any other appreciates pretty faces and swaying hips. And he is no more immune to engaging when the inclination strikes. But he finds it more reasonable, more conducive to maintaining his focus, to indulge those whims at a local brothel. If anyone said he hasn't met the right woman yet, he would say that there isn't one.
Padraig isn't lacking in compassion or kindness; though children, especially young ones, unnerve him. Many of his apparent constraints, in defiance of his wishes, tend to evaporate somewhere near the bottom of a good bottle of liquor. On the other hand, even when not entirely sober, he is driven, focused and ambitious. He isn't arrogant, so much as he can seem to be. Still, he has little patience for ignorance, yet respects a quick and inquisitive mind. Science is his passion. Alchemy, Chemistry, Physics and Mathematics, Astronomy, the sciences in general, which he finds to be much more worthy of devotion than religion or worship. He'd prefer to remain out of the fray, the struggle between factions, immortal or no. If only any mortal could.
He is a creature of habit. From his grooming rituals, such as they are, to his dietary choices. Padraig eats the same morning meal, every morning without fail. Two eggs, soft scrambled. A slice of crusty bread, lightly toasted in a buttered iron pan. An apple. He finds that simple rituals with few exceptions, free his mind to focus on much more important things. Therefore it shouldn't come as a surprise that he believes romantic attachments are shallow endeavors that distract from more serious ones. But he's a young man, and like any other appreciates pretty faces and swaying hips. And he is no more immune to engaging when the inclination strikes. But he finds it more reasonable, more conducive to maintaining his focus, to indulge those whims at a local brothel. If anyone said he hasn't met the right woman yet, he would say that there isn't one.
Padraig isn't lacking in compassion or kindness; though children, especially young ones, unnerve him. Many of his apparent constraints, in defiance of his wishes, tend to evaporate somewhere near the bottom of a good bottle of liquor. On the other hand, even when not entirely sober, he is driven, focused and ambitious. He isn't arrogant, so much as he can seem to be. Still, he has little patience for ignorance, yet respects a quick and inquisitive mind. Science is his passion. Alchemy, Chemistry, Physics and Mathematics, Astronomy, the sciences in general, which he finds to be much more worthy of devotion than religion or worship. He'd prefer to remain out of the fray, the struggle between factions, immortal or no. If only any mortal could.
History
In Arc 695, a pretty young woman named Etta showed up at her widowed father's doorstep in the village of Venora. It was long after dark, closer to early morning, and she was heavy with child. Cy, her father, hadn't seen his daughter since she was sixteen. She'd left in the night then too, unexpectedly. She had come from Andaris, where she'd been earning her living at prostitution. He took her in, but as always the relationship between father and daughter was a contentious one. Nothing had changed in that respect. She refused to name the father, if she even knew who he was. Still, when she gave birth, she named the boy Padraig, meaning nobly born, as if she thought the name might somehow propel him to better things than she had done.
In spite of Cy's efforts to convince her to stay and make something better of herself, she soon returned to Andaris, leaving her infant son in his grandfather's care. She'd promised to write, to eventually come back. But she never did. With the help of a nurse, Cy did well enough. But he was a dour and critical man, who grew more so as he aged. But Etta had been an only child, and in Padraig, Cy saw a boy that might become useful when he was old enough. Someone to inherit his work as a shoemaker and cobbler once his own eyes and hands found the job too difficult. Someone who might care for him in his old age.
Unfortunately, as he grew, Padraig showed little interest in mending or making shoes, and even less inclination. He resisted at every turn, and took every opportunity he could to slip away to a small house in town, where an eccentric old man spent his waning arcs mixing potions, experimenting and selling cures to unsuspecting travelers; and welcomed the boy in. But however odd the old alchemist might be, he was learned and must have been quite the success in his youth. Or at least to hear him tell it, he was. His name was Adhamh. And while Padraig's grandfather found scholarly pursuits to be a waste of time for a commoner with otherwise capable hands; this man had shelves full of scrolls, tattered and yellowed notes of his own, racks of beakers and vials full of mysterious things, pots full of powders, and plenty to teach a young man who was fascinated and eager to learn before he'd reached even seven or eight. Even then, Padraig yearned to escape what seemed a very small world in Venora compared to what he saw of the land and the heavens through the old man's treasured telescope, and make something great of himself.
But if Padraig had found a source with which to fuel his voracious appetite for the sciences, his childhood was far from ideal. Friendships were difficult, especially after the other children in Venora uncovered his mother's identity and his father's lack of one. But it hadn't been difficult. Padraig was blunt and straightforward even then, and had as much as told them so. As a result, he learned to defend himself early with his fists and feet, and became even better at it as he grew into a young man. To a lesser extent, he picked up a knack for knife fighting. Turned out Adhamh had more to teach him than what could be found in his notes and his potions.
He made a place, well as he could. But so far as Padraig was concerned, it was only temporary. He'd learn what he could, he'd earn enough coin for what he needed, and then he'd leave for Andaris. Not to find his mother. He had as little interest in her as she'd apparently had in him. He worked beside his grandfather, as poor a job as he made of it. And to make his way quicker, he worked for a baker as well. He'd save what he could, as quickly as he could. And when he had enough, he'd leave for Andaris, secure himself a place to live, and a living to go with it, and attend the university there. If he was lucky and could prove himself, he'd get himself a scholarship. But no matter how he had to go about it, so far as Padraig was concerned, it was only the beginning.
In spite of Cy's efforts to convince her to stay and make something better of herself, she soon returned to Andaris, leaving her infant son in his grandfather's care. She'd promised to write, to eventually come back. But she never did. With the help of a nurse, Cy did well enough. But he was a dour and critical man, who grew more so as he aged. But Etta had been an only child, and in Padraig, Cy saw a boy that might become useful when he was old enough. Someone to inherit his work as a shoemaker and cobbler once his own eyes and hands found the job too difficult. Someone who might care for him in his old age.
Unfortunately, as he grew, Padraig showed little interest in mending or making shoes, and even less inclination. He resisted at every turn, and took every opportunity he could to slip away to a small house in town, where an eccentric old man spent his waning arcs mixing potions, experimenting and selling cures to unsuspecting travelers; and welcomed the boy in. But however odd the old alchemist might be, he was learned and must have been quite the success in his youth. Or at least to hear him tell it, he was. His name was Adhamh. And while Padraig's grandfather found scholarly pursuits to be a waste of time for a commoner with otherwise capable hands; this man had shelves full of scrolls, tattered and yellowed notes of his own, racks of beakers and vials full of mysterious things, pots full of powders, and plenty to teach a young man who was fascinated and eager to learn before he'd reached even seven or eight. Even then, Padraig yearned to escape what seemed a very small world in Venora compared to what he saw of the land and the heavens through the old man's treasured telescope, and make something great of himself.
But if Padraig had found a source with which to fuel his voracious appetite for the sciences, his childhood was far from ideal. Friendships were difficult, especially after the other children in Venora uncovered his mother's identity and his father's lack of one. But it hadn't been difficult. Padraig was blunt and straightforward even then, and had as much as told them so. As a result, he learned to defend himself early with his fists and feet, and became even better at it as he grew into a young man. To a lesser extent, he picked up a knack for knife fighting. Turned out Adhamh had more to teach him than what could be found in his notes and his potions.
He made a place, well as he could. But so far as Padraig was concerned, it was only temporary. He'd learn what he could, he'd earn enough coin for what he needed, and then he'd leave for Andaris. Not to find his mother. He had as little interest in her as she'd apparently had in him. He worked beside his grandfather, as poor a job as he made of it. And to make his way quicker, he worked for a baker as well. He'd save what he could, as quickly as he could. And when he had enough, he'd leave for Andaris, secure himself a place to live, and a living to go with it, and attend the university there. If he was lucky and could prove himself, he'd get himself a scholarship. But no matter how he had to go about it, so far as Padraig was concerned, it was only the beginning.
Injuries/Weird Abilitites
From the Ice CavesLink
Breathing in the dust Padraig breathed in a toxic sample of dust. This is something which is going to lie dormant until Ymiden, but at some point in Ymiden (depending on your own time scale) he will start to notice mild bouts of nausea which last, off and on, for a five trial period. After that Padraig will start to experience grapheme-color synethesia.
Ice Tiger Mauling Padraig has scarring on his leg from where the tiger mauled him. He will need pretty urgent medical attention. Once it has healed, he will discover that the scars itch at odd times, usually when he’s experiencing a rush of adrenaline. If he explores this, it will become evident that, during times of crisis, he can seem to pull on greater “inner reserves” and maintain longer.
Killing the Necromancer here When fighting Alexander, the necromancer who had spent seasons tormenting him and Faith, Padraig was stabbed with a sword through his shoulder. This has left a faint but jagged scar.
Breathing in the dust Padraig breathed in a toxic sample of dust. This is something which is going to lie dormant until Ymiden, but at some point in Ymiden (depending on your own time scale) he will start to notice mild bouts of nausea which last, off and on, for a five trial period. After that Padraig will start to experience grapheme-color synethesia.
Ice Tiger Mauling Padraig has scarring on his leg from where the tiger mauled him. He will need pretty urgent medical attention. Once it has healed, he will discover that the scars itch at odd times, usually when he’s experiencing a rush of adrenaline. If he explores this, it will become evident that, during times of crisis, he can seem to pull on greater “inner reserves” and maintain longer.
Killing the Necromancer here When fighting Alexander, the necromancer who had spent seasons tormenting him and Faith, Padraig was stabbed with a sword through his shoulder. This has left a faint but jagged scar.
Titles
Cage Breaker Those freed by Faith and Padraig have given them both the title of Cage Breaker, and will oft refer to them and about them with that title. here