• Memory • Crude

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
User avatar
Peake
Approved Character
Posts: 333
Joined: Mon Apr 18, 2016 2:17 am
Race: Human
Profession: A**hole
Renown: -60
Character Sheet
Plot Notes
Partner
Personal Journal
Templates
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Contribution

Milestones

RP Medals

Miscellaneous

Events

Crude

Image
33rd Saun of the 700th Arc

9th Break
The carriage came to a halt at last, as the driver shifted in his seat and approached the door, opening it ceremoniously as Peake exited. Wrapped in his fine clothing and his leather pack full of books hanging from his shoulder, his eyes ignored the chauffer as the young man joined the ranks of the students. The Andaris School was a jungle of young feet, sponsored by the kingdom, in which all young boys and girls were obligated to attended and gain knowledge in their years of youth. Laughs, giggles, and hormones all mixed in each classroom, shaping each and every last one of them into the men and women they’d become in their adult lives. Many would not reach far, this being just another step in their miserable lives, although Peake was certainly not included. Now that he was twelve arcs old and his father had taken the title of Baron and his Grandfather had assumed the Duchy, Peake was the one son responsible of earning the title – want it or not. He would never fall into a life of misery, instead his life would be a line that only went upwards.

Losing himself in the jungle of children, Peake kept his eyes down. He didn’t like his baggy-eyes, and despite all the luxurious lifestyle he got, he was far from perfect. Arriving at his classroom and taking a seat in the epicenter of all the chairs and desks, Peake let his bag down onto the floor before he extracted his books. His classmates started arriving, one by one, taking their seats after a chat or two, after laughing here and there and commenting this and that. Peake didn’t talk, as he had no friends. His lineage and all the special treatment he received served as another barrier between him and the rest of the class, which combined with his shy attitude and refined manners made him the nothing but an outcast of the class. To even worsen his relationships, lately he had become strangely violent, with a temperament that exploded without warning. They feared him as much as they mocked him. Even the teachers did so. It wasn’t long before the teacher arrived, a woman of approximately 40 arcs, whose hair had already greyed out due to the stress of her profession. With a few claps and a few comments, the class began.

Peake didn’t even bother to pay attention. Every year they taught the same, adding just a few details or elaborating on that subject just to make it feel new and crave more attention. All the money his father spent in tutors had paid off, as Peake had four breaks of tutoring thrice a week, something that had set him far ahead in terms of knowledge. Coming into class was just a formality, just an excuse for his father to fuel his own ego when his son’s grades arrived with a maximum score. If it wasn’t for that, he wouldn’t even care of his son learned or not, enjoyed or not. The teacher’s voice became noise, as well as the occasional coughs, giggles and whispers exchanged between students. It was all the same, over and over again, for the many years this had went on. Daydreaming, meditating, or just wasting his time was how Peake dealt with this classes. Suddenly, the noise that had submersed him in his slumber cleansed, and Peake looked up. What he found was the eyes of everyone in the classroom, the teacher’s gaze being somewhat annoyed, while his classmates’ were either amused, confused, or simply indifferent.

“Peake, did you hear what I said?” Peake blinked, eyes going down on his table as he lacked the strength to meet anyone’s gaze. A girl giggled somewhere behind him, and a boy laughed discreetly somewhere ahead. The silence from the teacher extended itself, Peake’s heart beating with strength as the tension was slowly driving him mad. “Peake the Freak can’t open his little beak…” The comment from one of his classmates caused a general uproar of laughter, which the teacher immediately tried to contain with her yelling. Peake felt his tears already trying to escape him, yet he didn’t let them. Bobas Feenet was the one that made the comment, a boy from low town, son of a fisherman and a whore. He was by far the biggest boy in class, the one that got away with anything due to his confidence. Unlike him, Peake was by far the shortest and thinnest of all the class, even the girls being taller and stronger than him. Not because of that he would just get that boy get away with said comment. Peake would remember that.
----------------
After the third class came an entire break of rest, break in which the children ate lunch, talked, and prepared for the remaining three classes of the afternoon. Peake’s lunch consisted of a sandwich, the bread being baked this very moment, and the filling being smoked ham of the highest quality, on top of a small waterskin filled with grape juice from the Andaris Vineyards. He didn’t even eat a quarter of the sandwich before he discarded the sandwich by tossing it into the trash, roaming around the school yard’s borders, afraid of contact. Not because of that he ignored the waterskin, though, which he drank whole. Grape juice had an unfortunate consequence – it took very little before he felt the need to urinate, and with this new urgency he headed towards the restrooms.

After emptying his bladder and washing his hands, Peake encountered Bobas, the boy that had been mocking him for quite some time, busy peeing with his back turned. Just like that, the uncontrollable fury took a hold of Peake, for no reason other than seeing the boy he loathed exposed and vulnerable. These sudden anger issues were becoming more and more common in Peake, and although everyone would say they were a bad trait, Peake didn’t think so. They made him feel powerful and unchained, they gave him a strange sensation of freedom that felt truly satisfied. As he stared onto the back of Bobas, Peake knew what he had to do. Turning around, he took a hold of a bucket full of murky water that stood in the corner, surely used to clean the latrines at the end of the school day. Standing behind Bobas, whom was still busy urinating with bad aim into the latrine, Peake hurled the water from the bucket onto Bobas’s back without warning. The boy exploded into curses, yet not before losing his balance due to the sudden surprise, falling forward awkwardly before trying to stand up and find answers as to what had happened.

Peake did not allow him too. While the other boy was busy trying to recover his stance, Peake approached from behind, and taking a hold of the bucket with two hands, he smashed it against the boy’s head. The hit felt weak, as Peake’s strength was something that was borderline inexistent, and so Peake struck him again. And again. Bobas’ curses turned into cries of pain, at last turning around to face Peake, horror in his expression as if he was seeing his last nightmare. His arms came forward to try to defend himself, yet they retreated as soon as the wooden bucket struck them. Soon he was curling into a ball, the blood pouring from him just as the murky water did, and Peake kept striking, eyes wide, teeth showing and a feral growl escaping his throat with every hit. He truly felt freedom with every hit, finding release the more he hurt the boy, the more his own hands bled due to the impact of the improvised weapon. Bobas said something, surely begging for mercy, perhaps calling Peake’s name, yet Peake heard nothing. Just like in class, he had heard it all before, and at this point it was nothing but noise.

Eventually, the source of released stopped, and Peake halted his motions once he understood that, no matter how much more he struck Bobas, he wouldn’t find that sensation again. The badly beaten boy, Bobas, was curled into a ball, bleeding here and there, and holding on to an obviously bent arm that was badly broken. Peake’s hands were bleeding and they ached, sweat ran down his face, having torn his shirt in various places as it was fitted for appearances, not for actual exercise. Letting go of the bucket and wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve, Peake turned towards the door and left. He wouldn’t return to class, at least not today. He just wanted to go home to his mother. Not because he felt regret, but because only she understood him.
word count: 1495
User avatar
Peake
Approved Character
Posts: 333
Joined: Mon Apr 18, 2016 2:17 am
Race: Human
Profession: A**hole
Renown: -60
Character Sheet
Plot Notes
Partner
Personal Journal
Templates
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Contribution

Milestones

RP Medals

Miscellaneous

Events

Crude

Image
11th Break
Peake wandered the streets on his own. His lanky feet were fast, hurried, driving him forward with the haste that was usual in him. There weren’t many occasions in which he was allowed to be on his own, and this time was no different. His father always worried about him being alone, afraid that someone would capture his son, his heir and his pride, and that he’d lose all the progress and gold invested in the kid. There was always someone around him, be it the driver, a guard, or his family. Peake was still three years away from being forced to join the Iron Hand as a squire, a decision that was obviously his father’s choice and one that Peake himself had no input on the matter. It was this strict lifestyle what had somewhat snuffed him, believed Peake. There was always something pending, some responsibility that stood in the way of what he really wanted. It had been going on for such a long time that now Peake truly didn’t know what he really wanted. His deepest desire was to stop being his father’s son.

The populace was as crude as his father had described, ‘commoners’ or ‘peasants’ as he called them. Men and women, young and old, moving with fast steps, with weary faces and wounded hands, straining to work and work as there was nothing else for them in this world. Few smiled, and when they did, they did not smile to Peake. In fact, they frowned when they saw him, a lanky, small boy, with torn velvet clothing, with blood wiped on his pants. Some tried to stop him, to call him out, to ask him if he was okay, but Peake ignored them as, just like his father said, ‘they were up to no good’. Nonetheless, he felt joy despite being lost in a city he had never been alone in. His eyes captured the sight of a building that called for attention, and others that tried to be as invisible as possible. The cobblestone below his feet told a story by each scrap, stain, or scratch on its surface, and Peake tried to imagine the story for the most peculiar ones. A wagon that had traveled through the Kingdom, a man that searched for something, for a woman, for his mother. He had spent his life traveling to see her, and here he’d found her.

There was nothing more precious in this world than a mother. A father can be anyone, and it would make no difference. One could have hundreds of fathers, and even then there could still be doubt as to whom the real father was, but there was only one mother. Peake knew this, and he believed in it. The connection between his mother and him was something unique, something powerful. It was more than just arcs they had spent together, or the blood that bound them. His mother, the beautiful Goddess that she was, the perfect mother and the perfect human, held all of Peake’s love. There was no life without her, not for him, which is why he defended her with such fervor. She didn’t deserve pain, nor disappointment, but only love and praise. He tried to do everything he could to make her proud, to protect her, to not let anyone else have her even if he had to be selfish about her. Many times Peake had done it, in truth.

Many times he had done something wrong, like stealing jewelry, breaking plates, tearing up rooms and burning paintings. He then pinned the crime to someone else, to a guard that got fired, to a servant that got beaten, to a slave that was sold. To his brothers, who were then punished. Anything he could, he would do, only to hoard his mother’s love, all for himself. Nobody else deserved her, in truth. Not his father, not his brothers, nor anyone else. Only he, only Peake. He was the one that knew her secret, after all. He knew what his father had done to her, what he had done to hurt her and that drove him mad. Peake had stood up to his father even if he was terrified of him, all because of his mother. Thinking about his mother only brought more tears to his eyes, Peake wiping them with his sleeve as he refused to humiliate himself. Shoving those thoughts aside, Peake finally returned to reality, and the reality was that he was lost. Following the widest streets, believing they would take him to his home safely, he didn’t realize that the city was as enormous as it was, and so his sojourn turned into an expedition into the unknown.
word count: 804
User avatar
Peake
Approved Character
Posts: 333
Joined: Mon Apr 18, 2016 2:17 am
Race: Human
Profession: A**hole
Renown: -60
Character Sheet
Plot Notes
Partner
Personal Journal
Templates
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Contribution

Milestones

RP Medals

Miscellaneous

Events

Crude

Image
14th Break
Peake arrived at the Andaris Manor at last, having to wander through the entire city on his own and eventually even ask directions. Of course, he didn’t ask specifically for the Andaris Manor, as that would reveal his origin and perhaps cause some trouble for him. Instead, he asked some of the Knights to point him out to some place nearby, like that apothecary that he always saw through the windows of his carriage, a shop that he had never been in yet always caught his eye whenever he traveled. From there, he could navigate towards his home. The Andaris Manor was as big as its name made know – huge courtyard, huge house, and huge security. Peake wasn’t a saint, and so he knew how to bypass most of those security measures, entering the manor by the service entrance that was in the kitchen. Some of the servants he knew, but he was looking for one in particular. An old woman, preferred chef of his mother, which immediately helped Peake. She too knew how to keep a secret, washing and cleaning the wounded hands, and sneaking in some of his clothing to get changed.

With that, Peake was as presentable as he was in the morning. Thanking that woman whose name he was ignorant about, Peake proceeded to one of the many halls in which he was to meet his parents. Door after door, corridor after corridor, and Peake found himself in the entrance of the somewhat smallish room compared to the rest of the houses’, in which both his mother and father sat in a table. Despite their origin, his parents were somewhat simpler about lunch, preferring to do it on a rather smallish table with the family, while dinner was made in the big dining hall with the rest of the family. That way, those family secrets could be kept in private for at least one of the meals of the day. His mother immediately stood up, rushing towards Peake. “Peake, where have you been?” Peake looked down after glancing towards the table, where he was met by his father’s eyes. “Where’s Quincy and Leeson?” He asked, his two brothers missing from the table. His sister was also missing, which was strange. Had he arrived late? “They are sleeping. Sit down and eat something.” His mother accompanied him to his seat, right next to her, at the end of the table. His father was, unfortunately, also beside him.

Peake glanced at his meal, a soup made of vegetables and beef, the entry dish to yet another grandiose meal. Taking a hold of his spoon, a first sip revealed the obviously astonishing flavor of the soup. Another sip, and his lunch was interrupted. “Where have you been?” His father Benji’s voice came forth, a faked softness to it that made Peake’s skin crawl. “What do you mean where I’ve been?” Peake’s voice came, meekly raising his head and looking towards the features of his father. The boy’s voice was, of course, lower when he spoke to that man. “Yes. Don’t play dumb with me, Maxos. I’m not one of your friends. You’ve understood what I said. Where have you been?” Peake blinked, his heart already starting to beat harder in his chest. “I was in school. Where else would I be?” Taking another spoonful of soup, despite not being hungry anymore, his father asked again, the faked softness in his voice being almost disgustful.

Looking up, as innocent as he was whenever he looked over at Benji, Peake pressed on with his lie. “In school, I told you alrea—“

“That’s a lie!” Without a warning, Benji’s hand came forth and slapped his son’s face. It wasn’t necessarily a hard hit, yet not for that reason it didn’t hurt. The damage was psychological rather than physical, and Peake’s eyes already started tearing up, catching on his throat that was straining to maintain them hidden. Looking down at his plate of soup, frozen in place, a tense silence washed over the table. It took him more than a bit for his words to be made up, and Peake spoke them as soon as he was able to. “…it’s not a lie, I was in school.”

“And why weren’t you there when the driver and I went to pick you up?” Again, his father’s calm voice claimed superiority, one step ahead of Peake. Another couple of bits of silence. “I’m asking you a question.”

“I didn’t go to the last class.” Again, that strain in his throat was numbing his voice, making it tremble, strain and hurt, the guilt and anxiety taking a hold of the boy whom stared at the surface of his soup.

“You didn’t go to the last class?” Benji repeated his son’s words, still calm, still in control. Mary didn’t say a thing, as if she wasn’t present. “And why didn’t you go to the last class?” Silence, again. Peake needed more time to gather the strength to speak. “Did you go deaf? Answer me.”

Peake didn’t answer yet again, which made his father shift, perhaps in frustration, before his hand came forth once again, slapping Peake behind the head. “I told you to answer me!” A yell, which only scared Peake even further.
Mary, his mother, spoke at last, despite her intervention being brief. “Benji, don’t hit him anymore, plea—“

Benji looked over at her, and quickly interrupted her. “You shut your mouth and don’t get involved in this.” Again, Peake felt the stare from his father drilling through his skull, which only made him froze even further. “I’m waiting. Didn’t you hear me?”

“I didn’t want to be there.” Peake answered at last, mostly to break the silence that was perhaps the worst of it all.

“Oh yeah? And why didn’t you want to be there?”
Benji spoke quickly after, shooting his questions with haste just to further corner the prey that was his son.

“I don’t know.” There was nothing else but the lie for Peake. He couldn’t tell the truth, not if he could avoid the punishment he’d be given.

“You don’t know? Are you lying to me again?” Peake swallowed, aware that his lie was slowly crumbling into nothing but ashes. “Do you want me to tell you why you weren’t there? Are you going to tell me or do I have to tell you?”

Having had enough, Peake jolsted up from his seat with the intention to leave the table, to leave his father behind and escape the tension, to go somewhere and cry without giving his father that satisfaction. However, his father was faster, his hands stopping him and pushing him back down onto the seat. “Where do you think you’re going? Did I tell you to go?” Now standing behind him, as Peake looked down at his bowl of soup, he felt his father’s hand clutching behind his neck, pressing with force. Never a hand had felt so similar to a collar. “Next time you do something like what you’ve done to that kid I’ll rip your head off, do you understand? I’ll rip your head off!”

Mary stood up at last, her loving arms going forward in attempts of breaking them apart, but Benji quickly barked at her as he pointed towards her chair. “Sit down there!” She obeyed, she too tearing up. Her heart was too pure to hold any grudges, be it against Benji’s strictness with Peake, for with Peake himself with the erratic behavior that had spawned within him these arcs. Benji shifted the situation into what it was, oppressive and harsh, and pointed all those emotions towards Peake himself to just psychologically crush him.

Pressing on the back of his neck, as if he was to stomp Peake’s head against the bowl, he barked with every budge. “You hear me? Answer me! Answer me! Answer me, you little shit!”

“…yes!” Peake moaned out his reply, at last, his father’s tone growing more and more angry, louder by the bit, and so there was nothing else to be done.

“…what did you say?”
Again that soft tone that scared Peake to the bones. It was so scary that no answer came from the boy. Benji had to press on his son’s neck again and bark again. “Answer me!”

“Yes!” The tears broke free, giving up already on his attempts of holding them down. Running down his cheeks, they fell onto the bowl of soup. His father, however, was not done, despite Peake being humiliated already, defeated at last. He kept pressing, tempting to smash him against the table, doing so every time he spoke a word. “Louder! Louder, you little shit! Louder!”

Peake didn’t answer again, and instead stood up quickly, surprising his father, breaking his neck free and turning to face the somewhat confused features of Benji. The anger and rage felt this morning had returned, and despite Peake not being even remotely capable of facing his father, he was angry enough to do so. “Son of a bitch, I hope you die.” Just to see the shock in his father’s eyes was worth it all, Peake even spitting on his father’s face after pushing past him and storming off to his room. “You disgust me!” He said before his walk turned into a run, exiting the room and quickly moving to his room as he wiped his tears with his sleeves.
word count: 1628
User avatar
Peake
Approved Character
Posts: 333
Joined: Mon Apr 18, 2016 2:17 am
Race: Human
Profession: A**hole
Renown: -60
Character Sheet
Plot Notes
Partner
Personal Journal
Templates
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Contribution

Milestones

RP Medals

Miscellaneous

Events

Crude

Image
A strange kind of calm washed over Peake despite having made a run towards his room and slammed the door behind him. His breathing was accelerated, yes, but his tears had stopped flowing as they no longer had a reason to. Standing up for oneself truly had an effect on a person, no matter how young or old that person is. Peake was a prime example of it, feeling calm despite also feeling stressed. There was nothing to be done about that strain in his stomach, that nagging sensation, the foreshadowing of something bad to come. The feeling was always with him when at home, for Benji Andaris, the baron, was the ruler of the house. Of course, he wasn’t the Duke, whom also lived in the Andaris Manor, but even the Duke couldn’t compete with Baron in the eyes of Peake. His father Benji hadn’t always been like this – he had been worse. The title of Baron came many arcs back, and the stress of the job had somewhat pushed the man into undesirable habits. His family suffered for him. Peake would never break free from his father, not until he was completely subdued to Benji’s will.

There was noise on the other side of the door, a commotion that gained volume and closed distance in the hallway. The boy knew what was going to happen, already anxious, nervous and scared as he distinguished the loud tone of his father which once again tried to speak in that soft voice filled with rage. His mother Mary was also there, apparently trying to slow down the man, trying to make him desist or even trying to stop him, surely in vain as usual. Mary was a kind heart, which is exactly the reason why she would never be capable of stopping him. “…please I beg you, don’t hurt him.” Her voice filtered into the room, which was replied by Benji. “I told you not to touch me, woman!” They were getting closer and closer, and Peake could only stare at the door, hypnotized, waiting for what was inevitable. Soon enough, his father opened the door, revealing his mother struggling to try and drag the man away with no success. “…let go of me!” Benji turned around and pushed his wife aside, whom horrified at her failure quickly ran somewhere down the hallway. Benji instead entered the room, eyes fixed on Peake.

“You dare spit your father, you little shit?”
Peake couldn’t move, Benji coming close, a hand coming forward to take him by the nose, the other one coming forth with uncontained harshness, smacking Peake with such strength the lanky boy fell backwards onto his back. “Are you going to spit me now?” Peake looked up, tears once again flowing down his cheeks, yet his hands did not raise to swipe them off but instead to defend himself. Benji stood up above him, leaning down as his hands tried to reach Peake’s, to teach him some respect. Peake’s feet rose, trying to push away his father’s body or at least serve as obstacles, which proved successful – at first. Benji quickly realized this, and instead of trying to use his hands, he used his foot to kick into Peake’s torso, the boy squirming and complaining yet still prevailing with his defense. The second kick did break the young boy’s defense. “Spit me now, you son of a whore. Stand up and spit your father!” Peake turned on his belly and tried to crawl away, only to find his leg captured by his father.

Jerking him to the side, Benji aligned the boy perpendicularly to his position so that his attacks could be unhindered by the boy’s defense. Peake, on the other hand, was torn between trying to escape and trying to defend himself, the indecision basically leaving him with nothing but his groans and complaints, listened by nobody. Benji’s kick quickly reached Peake’s face, the boy’s mind drifting away as he fell into a state of shock mostly due to the unexpected hit. Turning into a ball to defend the most he could, that only inspired Benji’s rage. “Come here, you little shit.” After the next hit, Benji once again tried to lean down and use his own hands to hurt his son, moment in which Peake, like a rat, began crawling away between wails. He found cover for his head and part of his torso beneath one of the ornate drawers, which once again inspired the rage of his father, whom took a hold of his leg in attempts of pulling him out. Peake held on to the legs, refusing to let go, as he screamed. “Get out of there! Get out and stand up and try to spit me again, son of a bitch…!”

Benji began kicking again, mostly in Peake’s abdomen, every hit waning his strength more and more. At last, Mary came through the door, pushing a servant before her and sending him to halt Benji. The servant quickly took a hold of Benji and pushed him away, Peake still pulling his own leg away from Benji. “Calm down, my Lord! Let him go!” At last, Benji calmed down, not before warning his son once again. “Try to spit me again, little shit…” Peake crawled away, just in case his father’s rage came again, dragging himself back to a corner, looking back between cries, looking at the face of the man he loathed. Soon enough, his mother was there to comfort him.

-----------------------
Almost a break had passed after the incident. Peake’s wounds were already treated, or at least the physical ones were. Now, in the sole company of his mother, whom Peake had been hugging for an unspecified amount of time. He had cried on her shoulder for a long time, then simply remained quiet, enjoying her company. Her warmth was unique, special. The bound between him and his mother was very strong, reason why he refused to ever let go of her, why he remained quiet about her secret, and why he did all he did. In truth, Peake’s whole life did not revolve around his father, as everyone, including Benji himself, believed. All he did and all Peake went through was only for his mother, to make her proud and make her smile. Only a son could understand the pain of seeing a mother sad, of seeing that one woman’s smile fade away for some reason.

It was unjust. It was very unjust for her, the most loving woman in this world, to be bound to a bastard like Peake’s father. “I’m sorry, Mother.” It was Peake the one who spoke, the one who apologized and brought comfort to his mother instead of the other way around. He was strong, or at least for her, and so he’d defend her happiness with such fervor and determination the world itself would believe he was an animal. That didn’t bother him. Nothing bothered him compared to his mother. “I’m sorry for what I did in school today. I won’t do it again, I promise you, Mother.” Peake’s pressed his arms against his mother’s back, so much that Mary herself felt a bit awkward. She too knew that Peake was somewhat obsessed with her, that a boy of his age should already begin showing signs of growing more independent. For Peake, it was the contrary. Every arc that passed, Peake became more and more aggressive, and soon enough there were no options as to how to try to deal with the boy’s issues. Even more, he blamed it all on her husband, which only caused more difficulty in the relationships of the family.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise Mother. I still keep your secret, and I will until the day I die.” Peake’s eyes teared up, completely vulnerable in the presence of his mother. He didn’t need to lie to her, nor try to hide his feelings around her. She understood him like no one else could. “I won’t let him hurt you. Never, ever, ever…” Peake buried his chest in his mother’s bosom, crying in the warmth of her mother’s chest, fueled by that heart of hers that burned inside her. Her arms came around Peake as well, pressing him against her, as she shushed him as if she was shushing a baby.



She too cried over his son, for every arc that passed and every incident that occurred, the more she truly believed Benji’s words: Peake was sick in the head.
word count: 1460
User avatar
Griffin
Prophet of Old
Posts: 158
Joined: Fri May 06, 2016 9:30 am
Race: Mer
Renown: 0
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Featured

Contribution

RP Medals

Crude

Image
Peake


Skills
Observation: 2
Endurance: 5
Melee Combat: 1
Navigation: 1
Running: 1
Stealth: 1
Rhetoric: 2

Basic Knowledge
Melee: Improvised weapons
Mother: Mary
Father: Benji
Brothers: Undeserving of love
Deception: Tell convincing lies

Specialized Knowledge
School: You're on the outside looking
Father: Short temper
Father: Resolves problems with violence
Mother: Comfort
Mother: Perfect protector
► Show Spoiler
word count: 269
Locked Request an XP Review Claim Wealth Thread

Return to “Andaris”