Taggh Bryarwen

[Angmor]

Name: Taggh Bryarwen.

Age: 20

Race: Human

Appearance:

When it comes to face and build, Taggh is a rather interesting mix of extremes. Having had several major shifts throughout the course of his life, his appearance has been shaped by so many conflicting influences as to confuse anyone trying to pinpoint his background. Standing at about six feet seven inches, Taggh still possesses the rigid, straight-backed posture that was the focus of his training as a soldier, making him stand tall amid most crowds. Also as a part of his training, his rangy frame carries much more muscle than it would have on its own, almost bordering on bulky. However, the hunger and bad weather of the road has slimmed him down somewhat, making him lean and supple as a good bowstring. His face is also sharp and angular, almost elven in shape and bearing, except for his deep-set, hooded brown eyes. A leftover habit from his soldier days, his light brown hair is usually kept as short as possible, sheared almost down to the skull whenever he finds the time to trim it. This is however not terribly often, and he can usually be found with at least a week of beard growth.

In clothing, Taggh is fairly standard among beggars and vagabonds of the road. He carries with him two different changes of tunic and pants that he scrounges to replace whenever his current outfit grows too threadbare and worn to repair, preferring darker shades of green and brown whenever he can get them. As with many on the streets, his hands are usually wrapped against the elements using strands of ragged cloth, covering his palms and upper arms while leaving his fingers free. On his feet, a pair of extremely practical and sturdy leather boots, although usually so caked with dust and mud that is impossible to tell the material at a glance. Over this, especially in the colder months, he wears a long sleeved, knee-length coat. This coat is most definitely his most distinguishing feature, as it has gone through so many owners and has been patched and repaired so many times, there is no coat like it in all of Alagaesia. Having spent so much time adorning the shoulders of vagabonds and other men of the road, the garment is now entirely made up of a mass of patches and bits of material of irregular size and shape, sewn or banded together by a bewildering array of stitches and threads. So much so, in fact, it is totally impossible to tell what bit of material was the original coat, if any. While the majority of the patches are made of various states of leather, there are several different colors and makes of cloth scattered here and there, and even one or two bits of thoroughly rusted chainmail. This lack of a pattern in the sewing allows for a surprising number of hidden pockets throughout its length, so many that Taggh is not even aware of some of them. Despite its motley appearance however, the coat is very sturdy and well-fitting, not restricting of his movements while running or fighting, although it sometimes is known to snag things as the knee-length hem flares out behind him while moving quickly. After acquiring it early on in his travels, Taggh has come to consider it a companion in its own right, constantly being their to keep him warm, protect him from the elements, and keep his valuables hidden from those who would steal them.

Unless he has found a place to stash it away for a while, he can usually be seen laden with a simple leather pack. After living out of this for so long, he has become very good at packing a tremendous amount into this surprisingly small space, somehow managing to pack a change of clothing, waterskin, bits of food, and tinderbox, as well as other odds and ends that he collects and discards along his journeys. In addition, he also carries a small sheet of hammered tin, thin enough to bend and shape into whatever form he needs, from a drinking gourd to an improvised cooking pot.

Even without his ingrained soldier's instincts, knows that only the very most foolish travel the roads without a weapon. This in mind, Taggh constantly carries with him the time-honored combination of sword and dagger.
The only item remaining from his old life save for his signet ring, the sword is one of very few reminders of what he once was. When it came time for him to choose his own weapons for training, Taggh's father instructed him to be brutally pragmatic, and choose a tool that would last, would be easy to maintain, but above all, be well suited to its task of killing other beings. Measuring at sixteen inches from tip to pommel, Taggh's shortsword is completely devoid of any markings or adornments that often festooned the weapons of his fellow students, a viciously practical tool of war rather than a decorative outfit accessory. Forged of plain but high-quality steel, the keenly double-edged blade of weapon flares out slightly just above the grip, tapering fluidly to an unforgiving point. This blade is also somewhat thinner than most, allowing for superior finesse and speed for seeking gaps in armor rather than the weight and mass required for hacking through it. Set beneath the blade, the sword does not actually possess any cross-trees or guard, sacrificing some hand protection for greater dexterity and ease of draw. The weapon is completed by its simple wire-wrapped hilt, long enough to accommodate one or two-handed grip with equality. Beneath this, it is capped with an unadorned oval-shaped metal pommel, providing excellent balance as well as a blunt striking surface.
While shabby and ragged on the outside, the simple leather sheath for this weapon is always well oiled and subtle, protecting the vulnerable blade from the often very adverse conditions that would have had it rust away to nothing without it. Having learned long ago that an expensive sword on the hip of an impoverished wanderer always attracts the wrong kind of attention, the blade is usually belted against his left side, just under the pit of his left arm. From here, it can be easily hidden under the length of his coat, thus avoiding glances and giving him an element of surprise in a fight.

The dagger is of far less lineage than the sword, bought from a passing vendor when his previous blade finally broke. This mediocre appearance however works in his favor in several ways. An apparently unarmed man is after all just as conspicuous as a man with a weapon he obviously can't afford.
Measuring at ten inches from one end to another, the steel blade of the dagger carries a slight curve, sharpened keenly on the downward edge. Beneath this, instead of a crosstree, the frontward guard is formed into a loop, allowing Taggh to place his pointer finger through the loop for both ease of use and hand protection. A very simple hilt with a treated wooden grip completes the weapon, which is usually prominently visible on the left side of his belt, serving to draw attention away from the concealment of his sword. Of the two, this dagger sees far more use than the other, being just as useful for such domestic tasks as cutting food as it is for fighting off attackers in closed spaces.
Throughout the course of his training, Taggh never managed to acquire more than average skill with any weapon, being able to hold his own against most, but is easily beaten by any with real skill. As such, his main skill lies in avoiding a fight, using his ability to gauge moods and emotions to time his getaways before conflict breaks out.

Personality:

Outwardly, Taggh is a solitary sort, preferring to speak as few words as possible, staying in the background of most interactions. By virtue of the sometimes less than savory areas he frequents, he is always very aware of what is going on around him, often making making him appear somewhat distant and nervous. This however is born out of long experience, and the simple streetsmarts behind always having an escape route handy.

Inwardly, the story is different. Despite some appearances, he is not the brooding sort, and is always ready with an easy smile and witty sense of humor. At the core of his personality is a deep-seated concern for those in need of help, a trait that has gotten him constantly in trouble. This care for others allows him the ability to gauge another’s mood and emotions, even behind an impassive face. Despite this, he does not hold many long-term relationships. He is one who gets bored easily, hence his constant urge to wander. He holds all of life with an open hand, maintaining a jovial acceptance of whatever life chooses to throw at him.

History:

Taggh's story actually began some time before his birth. His father was Cavril Bryarwen, a respected general in the king's army known for his ruthlessness on and off the battlefield. Having led a long -if not exactly distinguished- career tracking down potential insurrectionists and robber bands, he was starting to become aware of his advancing years and concerned with acquiring an heir to continue the family line. There was only one problem. Cavril's wife Milu, a girl from a very old family whom he had married to increase his own standing, was barren. If he was to get his heir, it would have to come from another. For this, he devised a plan.

After a month of searching for someone suitable, he approached a young prostitute named Eithel, offering her exorbitant sums of money if she would bear him a son. Eithel was not at all happy with the arrangement, but was desperately in need of money to support her family. Finally she agreed, and a few months later, became pregnant. While the first phase of his plan was in motion, Cavril knew that the delicate sensibilities of Uru-Baen high society would never accept an heir obtained in such a way. This in mind, he devised a way for his wife to be out of the public eye for several months, slipping various kinds of poisons into her food to make her just ill enough to be bedridden. During that time, after being hidden in a discreet location, Eithel gave birth to a strong and healthy baby boy. Overjoyed at the news, Cavril claimed the boy as his son and heir, naming him Taggh Bryarwen.

Of course, there was no way that anyone could ever find out about how his son had come to be. One careless word, and the reputation he had worked so hard to build would be destroyed. So, after paying Eithel and returning her to her home in the slums of Uru-Baen, he had her and her family quietly sold into slavery, never to be seen again.

Over the next sixteen years, Taggh grew up as anyone would expect as the son of an imperial general. In addition to the basics such as reading, writing, figuring, and the propaganda-saturated stories that passed for history for youths growing up within the Empire, he recieved an education into all things soldierly. Swordfighting, riding, archery, marching, squad maneuvering, and hand-to-hand combat all shared equal time in his weekly studies. His father also made sure to instill in him the things that he thought would be necessary for his son to advance beyond the level of a common soldier, teaching him such things as leadership concepts, tricks and techniques for staying one step ahead of enemies both on and off the battlefield, and a cultivated sense of ruthlessness.
While Taggh was a hungry student and absorbed everything his various teachers had to tell him with great enthusiasm, his skill, however, was lacking. He was a slow learner, and he never managed to acquire anything more than an average rating for swordplay and riding, his feet could never keep time, and he was a miserable shot. Even worse were the precepts laid down by his father. He never enjoyed a position of leadership, and always found himself in the place of a follower in his interactions with his few friends. His mind was always too preoccupied with other things to think ahead long enough to outwit his foes among the local bullies. And, the greatest flaw of all in his fathers eyes, he was cursed with a considerate and kind-hearted disposition that kept him from any schemes that his father might suggest to help increase his standing.

His life at home was little better. Try as he might, he could never earn his father's approval in anything he did, only ever recieving scornful remarks on his every failing and admonishments that he had to do better. His mother Milu seemed only to care about parties, dances, and all the other trappings of society. And even in the little time they were forced to spend together, Taggh always got the idea that she viewed him with a kind of distant disdain, as if he was nothing less than a servant. This was always a source of great pain for him, but he could not even begin to fathom the reason why. More and more, he found himself staring off into the distance, wondering what was beyond all the familiar horizons of the Uru-Baen training field and of his upscale home near the center of the city, or losing himself in books filled with grand adventures in far-off lands and heroes that could actually hit a target and lead armies to victory. With ever more increasing frequency, he began to think that he was leading the wrong life.

At last, not long after turning sixteen, the time came for him to take the assessment that would determine whether or not he was fit to begin training to be an officer in the army of the king, the day that his father had been training him for since his birth.
He failed, quite spectacularly, on all counts. After his performance on the various tests, most of the assessors agreed that he would be lucky to make it to corporal. Needless to say, General Bryarwen was positively livid. But even he could see that his son simply did not have what it took to follow in his footsteps and continue on the family tradition.
For Taggh, what followed was the worst few hours of his life. His father blamed him for everything, and that night he had his every fault viciously called upon and scrutinized, being made to feel as if he had earned the disdain of the city, the imperial army, and the gods themselves. That night, Cavril disowned him, calling him a disgrace to the Bryarwen name.
Later that night, Milu found Taggh weeping in a corner, still bereft at his father's words. Overwhelmed with loathing for this whelp that had dared invade her life all those years ago, she decided that it was high time that the boy knew the truth. Out of pure spite, she told Taggh about the true circumstances of his birth, that he was really the son of a prostitute that his father had paid to bear him. She also told him what his father had done to her in gratitude, selling his true mother into slavery to keep her quiet, and using the money to buy him a silk blanket. She told him that he was never meant to be here, and that he was merely the byproduct of a failed experiment.
Although she had meant the words for hurt, the effect they had on Taggh was quiet the opposite. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, everything made sense.
Everything.
That very night, he gathered up his favorite short sword, a single change of clothing, and a golden ring bearing the family crest, and left the Bryarwen home forever.

Of course, it wasn't as easy as he had expected. Although he had set out with the tentative plan of finding his true mother, he obviously had no idea where to begin. His life of training for the army had in no way prepared him for wandering the streets of Uru-Baen with no money, no destination, and no father or servants at his shoulder telling him what do to. It was, however, strangely liberating at the same time. At last, he had something of the freedom that he hadn't even realized that he had wanted. While he had no idea what he was doing yet, he immediately determined that he would figure it out.

Luckily for him, his plans in that direction were accelerated by an outside source. As an obviously well-educated youth, wandering the slums of Uru-Baen while wearing the latest fashion in clothing and a conspicuously expensive weapon at his hip, he could not avoid attracting attention very long. Four days after the start of his new life, as he traversed an alley behind a bakery hoping to find some cast-off bread to fill his empty stomach, when he was suddenly surrounded by a group of scruffy men. Before he could so much as cry out, he was knocked over, bound, and gagged with a filthy rag. A dark bag was slipped over his head, and he was forcefully marched to an unknown building on the very fringes of the city. When his eyes were uncovered, he found himself in what looked like an old warehouse, surrounded by even more scruffy men and a few women and youths. One man in particular, quite obviously the leader, stood up and politely introduced himself as Cov. He went ont to explain to Taggh that he had been kidnapped, and would soon be held for ransom.

Now, while this wasn't the most surprising news Taggh had heard within the past few days, it was certainly some of the most awkward. Very carefully, he explained that he was no longer worth anything to anyone, as he had been disowned by his family not even a week before. The story took some time to relate, and by the end, Cov and his band unsurprisingly didn't believe a word. However, Cov did admit that the story would explain why Taggh had been wandering the lower city, and so agreed to investigate the claim, in the mean time keeping Taggh under close supervision. The next day, as he was passing a window by pure chance, he spotted a suspicious young man outside, watching the warehouse carefully. With his lifelong training, Taggh knew that he was looking at an imperial spotter. And if there was a spotter outside then imperial soldiers would not be far behind. At that moment, he was faced with a choice. He could either say nothing, and allow this place to be raided and get his captors arrested, or he could warn them, well and truly severing all ties with his old life. In the end, he found, it was not a very difficult decision after all. He realized that the Empire really held nothing for him anymore, and that his best chance would lie with the group of brigands and thieves that he had so fortuitously stumbled upon. And the best way to get into Cov's good graces was to make sure he stayed out of an imperial holding cell.
At first, Cov was understandably skeptical. How could this snot-nosed kid, who he'd kidnapped no less, possibly know about an imperial raid? However, something in Taggh's voice or face soon convinced the leader of thieves, and the entire band was able to make it out of the warehouse just ahead of the soldiers that came bursting through the door. Later that day, hiding out in another abandoned building in the lower city, the men Cov had sent out returned, confirming Taggh's story. While Cov would never admit it out loud, he did have something of a soft spot for people with nowhere to go. That, coupled with the fact that it would be helpful to have an Empire-trained operator on the team, made the decision easy. Right then and there, Cov made Taggh a member of the group.

The next year was one of the best he'd ever known. Using a very intensive learn-on-the-job regimen, he participated in every illicit and illegal activity he could imagine, from robbery to con game, even using his knowledge of the Empire's surveillance protocols to stage the successful kidnap and ransom of a high-ranking servant in a noble's household. He enjoyed this kind of learning much more than his previous education, and threw himself into the work with enthusiasm. In addition to his army training, He also found discovered that he had a particular ability to read the feelings of others, especially in gauging the mood of a crowd as for the best time to run a job, or in sensing a certain foreboding that signaled the need for a quick exit. Very soon, he found himself warmly accepted by every member of the group, fitting in as he had never done before.
Even so, this too started to pale in Taggh's eyes. After a year had passed, he felt like he was again stagnating, having done everything that he was going to do there. One night, without a word to anyone, he gathered up what little money and few possessions were undoubtedly his, and left the city he had come to know so well to seek new fortunes.

Over the next years, Taggh became something of a professional drifter, roving over the land, never staying one place for longer than a few weeks. As he had imagined he would in his boyhood days, he found his joy in exploring new places and seeking out new horizons, thriving on experiences good and bad. His wanderings have carried him through most of the cities of the Empire and some places in Surda, and even as far afield as the Spine and the Hadarac desert. Every place he has visited, he has learned hard lessons that served him in good stead in his travels. He has grown to be very skilled in the art of living on whatever he can scrounge, steal, or improvise, loving every minute of it. Even now, he continues to travel, content to go wherever life, chance or fancy take him.

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[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

I LOVE it!!!

-noms profile and poofs it to the Accepted board-