Post by Lunar Knite on Jan 18, 2010 0:23:22 GMT -5
Name: Leigh Irving Carraway V
Aliases:The Heartbreaker (given to him by the daughters of the minor nobility for his interest and subsequent disinterest in them)
Hartz (his travelling name; the one he most often goes by; inspired by the previous alias)
Quiver the Hartz (name given to him by the common folk who know him. A more formal name, taken from his relatively impressive archery, though it can be taken for a different meaning)
The Slice of Life (another formal name, given to him by adventurers who know his skill with daggers)
Age: 25
Race: Human, primarily, but he has ancestral ties to Elves, though not even noticeable now.
Gender: Male
Occupation/Class: Travelling Minstrel
Orientation: Heterosexual
Physical Description: Standing at 6’2”, Hartz stands at a comfortable height to see things. On top of his head lies shoulder-length black hair that is usually tied into a pony tail. His mottled green eyes are a wonder that only attracts women towards him. The irises will often change shades depending on mood, weather, and health. His complexion is quite pale despite his years of travelling outside. His face, once nearly flawless, has a multitude of scars, which also ride down along the length of his neck and shoulders, although he is thought to still be quite handsome.
His body is of a medium build, weighing about 160 pounds, strong from years on the road and the fostering his father sent him on. His arms have a long reach which is helpful when playing instruments or when the occasional fight breaks out in a tavern. On the underside of his right wrist, Hartz carries a burn mark in the shape of a hammer about to strike an anvil encompassed by an outline of a triangle. He often wears a thick leather bracelet with the initials K.I.C. sewed into it.
His fingers hold a few rings as well. On his left ring finger is a simple wooden ring hiding the initials, N.O. on the inside. His right small finger holds a heavy set signet ring upon which a hammer and anvil lies, exactly the same as his wrist mark, except for a few minor additions to signify exactly who he was.
(Here’s my rendition of what the burn mark and his ring looks like: Symbol This is the signet ring symbol, while the burn mark only has one mark on each side of the hammer)
Above his left knee are deep scars caused by a bite from a wolf. The leg seems to be a little deformed, as if the bite did not heal correctly. He often wears a basic set of tunic and trews, most often brown or tan in color. Underneath the tunic is a leather vest. He wears a pair of worn, but sturdy brown boots and a black cloak with hidden pockets hiding daggers.
Personality Description: Hartz is generally a kind person. In his current line of work, it doesn’t do well for him to be otherwise; he’d never get any food or coin then. Despite that, he has a strong sense of his own opinion and is incredibly stubborn to a point where it could get him into trouble. It most likely stems from a family trait. When he works, he can come off as cheery and jovial or brooding and scary, depending on the piece he’s performing.
Outside of performances, he maintains a sense of optimism despite his past. He also has a great respect for life and will often go to near extreme ends to help someone who has no other savior. However, he knows his limits and places his own life above most anybody else’s except for those he cares about. Thus when someone he cares about is hurt, he may contradict himself and go after the culprit with a deadly vengeance.
In addition, he has a great appreciation of beauty, in nature, art, and women. He can be quite the flirt, but he knows it is empty and holds no real substance to it. It is just in his nature, though he doubts he’ll find love again. That keeps him callous towards any signs of real affection between him and the opposite sex. In all honesty, he would prefer a life consisting of one-night stands over a chance at love again if it meant his heart would be broken once more.
Alignment: Chaotic Good
History: The Carraways have been a long standing family, dating back a few hundred years. All of the men in the family have been blacksmiths. Although their earliest history has been lost to time, up until Leigh Irving Carraway I’s great-great-grandfather, they resided in the Valley Town, content with the patronage and relative safety of the nearby A.R.U.M.S. Passing along family traditions and secrets of their metalworking down the generations, the Carraways had gained a local reputation of being some of the best blacksmiths in Avalas.
However, during the younger days of Leigh Irving Carraway I’s great-great-grandfather, when the king was Edward II, Märmosia had started another one of its invasions, right after the failed conquest of Écritêtre. Against the wishes of his mother and father, he rode to Mt. Vun, the fortress protecting the border, to lend his aid as a blacksmith and able fighter. During that time he was commissioned to make many a sword. In the family annals it was said that over the course of the year, over one thousand quality blades were forged by him alone.
Despite his work with blades, he was not a very proficient swordsman himself. In one of the last defensive pushes against the Märmosian army, he rode down with a handful of other soldiers to push back an advancing troop. In the battle, he was seriously wounded and if not for an Elven healer that rode with them, he would not have survived.
The details of what happened next are lost to memory but the story goes that throughout the healing, Carraway did not lose consciousness and when he saw an attacker about to run the Elven healer through, he pushed her out of the way, sacrificing his right arm in the process to stick the man in the heart with his sword he picked up with his left.
The Elf and Carraway had grown to love each other during the short months of healing afterwards, though he could not practice his blacksmith trade anymore, as his arm was too badly damaged for the Elf’s healing magic. A year after they had met on the battlefield, they married, having a son soon afterwards. He passed on the blacksmithing legacy to that son which became enhanced by the grace and the magic his mother had. However, it would come to pass that though their children had latent magic inside, they could not wield the magic.
Years later, during Breckor Truat’s reign, the father of Leigh Irving Carraway I, Irving Carraway was born. He, like all the other Carraway men, was a blacksmith, having lived in a village near Mt. Vun, a past decision from his great-grandfather. At the age of 17, after the civil war between Folant and Faen had begun to ravage their home, Irving signed up for the military under Faen. Because of his skills, he became an army blacksmith, commissioned to help mend, repair, and make weapons and armor for the war.
Word of his armors grew, eventually sending him to make a new armor for the commanding general under Faen. The general was ready to make another strike against Folant’s forces, but the armor had taken too much time to make and perfect. So Irving decided to come with the general’s forces in order to give the general the armor once he finished it. The battle started before Irving was able to do so however.
A few days into the battle, the general was gravely injured and it would take some time for his healers to get him to even walk again. It was at that time when Irving finally finished the armor, perfected in his eye. When he was summoned to the general’s tent, he discovered the general was in no shape to lead his men, and they were in danger of being forced back. In an impulsive move, Irving requested that he wear the armor that covered the entire body and act in lieu of the general.
It is said that despite the general’s apprehension to the plan, the look in Irving’s eyes eventually won him over. And so, Irving, in guise of the general wearing a sparkling new armor, led his forces. As the legends in the family annals go, Irving survived hundreds of arrow hits, scores of sword slashes, and dozens of lance strikes, tipping the scales of the battle and leading Faen’s troops towards victory without saying a word.
After the battle, Irving, gave the armor to the general, who then relieved him of his duties so he could go back home. A few years later when the civil war ended, a messenger arrived, delivering a message to Irving. He was summoned to Cressa, the capital. Once there, King Faen, who had been told by the general of Irving’s service in the war, bestowed upon Irving a great honor.
For his exploits, Irving was given the title of “Count” and a sizeable piece of land near the Segalend Sea, about the same distance from Cressa as it was from Mt. Vun. Irving and all his descendents would nobles for as long as they answered the call to arms and helped to protect Avalas from all threats. On a finishing note, Faen gave Irving a handful of servants to help him start a new life in his new lands and to transport the heavy suit of armor that he had made just a few years ago.
Three years later, after the Carraway Manor was built and Irving’s parents and wife moved in, Leigh Irving Carraway was born. Fast forward to 1875 A.U. and Leigh Irving Carraway V was born to Leigh Irving Carraway IV and Crystal Caswell Carraway. He is the second oldest child, his elder sibling being his sister Alyssandra Lyn Carraway, four year his senior.
His other siblings include Jayson Andrew Carraway, two years his junior, and Kiara Isabella Carraway, younger than Leigh by nine years. Being the first son, Hartz, as Leigh Irving Carraway V is called by now, was raised to be the main inheritor of Carraway Manor and all the blacksmith secrets and techniques that his younger brother would not all be privy to.
At the age of 12, Hartz went off to fostering with his grandfather who lived near the capital city of Cressa. During that time, he learned the steps of blacksmithing and how to make weapons and armors. He also learned more about the intricacies of court life. He also took up instrument lessons as a side project after seeing quite a few minstrels passing by on their way to Cressa. Their music and stories inspired him to at least give it a go himself. He stayed there for four years before coming back home.
Once he got home, he father awaited him with a coming-of-age ceremony that all Carraway men have gone through since his ancestors in Sarah’s time. Without any assistance or guidance during the ordeal, Hartz had created a blade, poor at best, knowing that this was not something he could do in his life. His father, disappointed in his work, still sent the weapon to be finished off by the other workers that finished up the sword’s design. Despite it being quite bad, Hartz kept the sword once it was finished.
After that, he was able to court the young women at court. He was attracted to beauty and would dote on his “affection of the month” before he soon got bored of their looks and personality. This led to his name of The Heartbreaker among the noble’s daughters.
Two years later, Leigh Irving Carraway III died, causing great grief for Hartz. On his deathbed, he called to Hartz with his final breaths and said to him: “I know who you are. Just follow your heart for now, and it’ll lead you on the right path, my grandson.”
Soon after his grandfather’s death, Hartz ran away from home taking a leather knapsack and a small flute that he had gotten during his fostering. He had left everything behind and no doubt his father would disown him and his mother would make herself sick with worry. The only thing he left for his family was a private note to Kiara, his favorite of his siblings.
He wished her a good life and that he doubted he’ll come back and see them again. “Father probably wouldn’t allow it even if I did try to come back,” it said in the note. “I’m going off to explore for myself this world. And don’t worry about me, I’ll become a minstrel. You always liked when I played my music for you and sang to you. Kiara, I know you’ll become a beautiful young woman someday. I wish you only the best. Farewell, Your Loving Brother.”
With that, he left Carraway Manor at the age of 18. For two and a half years, Hartz spent his time zigzagging his up the country, hardening his softened noble features and becoming increasingly well-known for his stories and a little less-known for his many attempts on plenty a young woman’s heart.
One night, out in the woods, Hartz slept. He had grown used to sleeping outside, in-between towns, but he felt safer in the forest. He’d much rather take his chances with the animals in the forest than any highway men who might come along. Although he let himself think he was a good fighter with daggers, it wouldn’t matter if they got him while asleep. Several times already he was roughed up and all his coin and food were stolen because of these bandits. He wouldn’t risk that again.
Except that one night, he had slept too close to a wolf’s den. In the middle of the night, Hartz heard the wolf and mistakenly jumped up right away. That caused the wolf to attack, biting his left leg, tearing deeply into his flesh. As he stumbled and fell backwards on his back, the wolf had let go of his leg, deciding instead to pounce on top of him. Hartz was barely fast enough pulling a dagger out to slice its throat, but not before the wolf has raked his claws over his face.
Tired, bleeding from his face and leg, Hartz drifted off into sleep, despite knowing that he wouldn’t have a chance to wake up if his leg kept gushing blood. A day later, Hartz woke up on a bed in a small room feeling no worse for the wear, amazed to even be alive at all. Sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room was an elderly looking man dozing off. Hartz went to stand, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up. With a mild expletive, he collapsed back down on the bed, waking up the old man in the process.
“Oh, you’re awake? Well, don’t be standing up on your own like that. Your leg’s mighty messed up,” he said to Hartz. “There are your clothes behind you. I tried to wash and mend them as best I could. I’ll go get some food for you.”
Hartz simply nodded, unsure of what to say, especially with his thoughts on his leg. In his briefs only, he looked to see his leg. It looked to be healing a little bit; the wound was cleaned and poultice. There was no sign of infection so far, so that made him relieved. Then he remembered to touch his face. Gingerly, his fingers prodded his face, surprised that it did not sting or hurt. However, he felt the raised lines that would no doubt be scars once they healed completely. “The man must be some sort of healer,” he said to himself, before reaching over to grab his clothes and dress himself trying hard not to put pressure on his leg.
A few minutes later, the man came back into the room holding a tray with a hot bowl of soup and a glass of water. Taking the plat and thanking the man, Hartz took a few sips of the soup before deciding to let it cool a little more. “Why are you helping me?” Hartz suddenly asked. After all, he was curious why this man would care for some stranger.
The elder’s blue eyes grew steely cold before turning to sadness and then closed his eyes. After he opened them, they seemed full of compassion. “That wolf you killed was mine.”
Hartz let the silence after his statement spread, saying nothing else as he ate. Once he was finished, he offered to leave as soon as he was able, but the man declined until he was back to full strength. A few more days passed and he grew to enjoy the man’s company, and the opposite was probably true as well. Hartz found out that the man was a healer as well as an expert bowman.
Since all he could able to do was play his flute and tell his stories, the old man offered to teach him a little bit about bows and arrows. Hartz quickly took up the subject, eager to learn so much so that the old man started giving him lessons on making bows and ammunition as well as firing them.
A few weeks passed and Hartz’s leg was as healed as it could get. Hartz had become a good archer in short amount of time, the old man giving him constant tips and secrets in order to be a better archer. When he became ready to leave, the man gave him a short bow that he had been working on for the past who-knows-how-many years. He told Hartz that the bow should not be able to break at all unless sawed. Thanking the man profusely, Hartz almost didn’t accept the gift.
“Take it. You’ve given this old man the gift of companionship that I had long forgotten. See to it a healer takes care of your leg and follow your heart. It’ll bring you to your right path,” the old man said, shaking Hartz up as he said nearly the same exact thing his grandfather did. Hartz, wanting to do something for him, dripped wax on a plain sheet of paper and stamped his signet ring in it. After writing a small note and signing it, he gave the paper to the old man.
“If you ever need anything, please, don’t hesitate to send this along with your request to either Carraway Manor or the King himself. I’m sure they will honor your request given what I told them,” Hartz explained. With that, Hartz parted ways with the old man, taking his time to admire the work of the short bow.
In the next two years, Hartz used his bow at local archery competitions, as well as giving his performances and courting the local girls. During this time, he gained the name “Quiver the Hartz” as well as increasing his name as an excellent bard.
Shortly after Hartz turned 22, he met the most amazing girl while working at a tavern not too far from the border of Avalas and Écritêtre. (Read the RP sample to get an idea of her personality) He spent several months courting her, November Orellana, until she realized her feelings and married Hartz.
Hartz and Nova, happily married, settled down in the town they met. Hartz worked at the taverns in town and in the towns next to them. Nova herself worked in the tavern. Things were as good as it could get in the eyes of Hartz until a small group of raiders ransacked the town and raped their women, leaving behind a red tattered flag as a symbol of their faction.
Hartz, enraged by the tragedy, set off to find the people who did that evil deed. Promising Nova that he would come back soon and not to worry, he left, but not before telling him that she was carrying his child. He would have even more reason to come back swiftly and safely. Gathering a handful of others who joined his cause, they followed the tracks the raiders left, eventually finding them a week later across the border.
With a group of just ten men, Hartz led them into the encampment of the raiders, who were identified as the ones who did ransack the village. There was about a score of raiders, well-armed, settling down for the night in a forested area. Signaling to the motley crew behind him, they struck down a third of the raiders before they even knew what was happening. After the first volley of arrows the group drew the weapons they brought with them and charged the camp after Hartz. Hartz himself found the hearts of four of the raiders with his expert throwing of daggers.
Switching to the short sword he had made back when he was Leigh Irving Carraway V, he dispatched two more raiders who were too slow to prepare for the attack. Getting a warning from behind, Hartz swung around, barely able to swing his sword up to parry the overhead attack. Around him, he heard the screams of men, whether his own or the raiders, he didn’t know. The raider was swiftly gaining the upper hand, so Hartz quickly dropped to the ground, swung his leg to trip the raider and stabbed his through the chest once he fell to the ground.
Taking a moment to survey the skirmish, Hartz saw that about half of the men he brought were on the ground, wounded or dead and that only two raiders were left, the rest succumbing to the anger and fury of the men. Hartz spotted one of the raiders who was wearing down one of his men and threw a dagger burying itself between his shoulder blades. The remaining raider saw that he would stand no chance and ran. Hartz wanted to chase after him, but now he would have to bury those who fell and treat the wounded before returning back home.
Stopping at the first town they came across, about four days’ ride from the village where he lived, Hartz and the surviving men waited it out in an inn, getting properly healed before coming back home, their vengeance satiated.
Just a few candlemarks away from the village, they spotted smoke rising in great volume. When they arrived, they were greeted with the sight of their village, burned completely to the ground, and the red tattered flag waving in the air in the center of town. He ran to his house, throwing away the burnt timbers of his home, trying to find the remains of Nova. He hoped that she had made it out safely, that she and the baby were safe. Under a pile of debris, he found something and gasped, choking back his tears. It was her half of the rings they wore. Clenching it in his fist, he stood up, picking up the leather sack he brought with him, and left the village, hearing as the other men wailed in grief at the loss of their homes and their families.
So, in the two years that led to the present, Hartz was a vigilante, joining groups that were going face raiders, slavers, bandits and their ilk. He became known as The Slice of Life because of his skills with his daggers, and his penchant for slicing the offenders’ throats and penises off when they were dead. He was ruthless to the ruthless and only until he felt like he had his fill of killing did he stop, scarred by what was done to him and what he had done himself.
Likes: Music, women, art, nature, beauty, his younger sister, fruits, especially berries.
Dislikes: Dogs, wolves, any type of canine, cold-blooded killers, raiders, slavers, bandits, etc, seeing people hurt, his father and brother.
Strengths: Hartz is quicker on his feet than expected for being tall. Because of his ability in being a minstrel, the grace he often holds when performing carries over when he’s in the middle of a battle, allowing him to more easily evade and dodge the more heavy-handed of foes. He’s more brains than brawns and will try to use charms to get out of entanglements. Because of his quickness, he has become skilled in what would be more guerilla tactics than head-on fighting.
Outside of fighting, he’s a pretty damn good bard, if he does say so himself. He can also spot the very basic of magical powers, having some minor ability himself. It doesn’t help him too much, but he can tell when he’s being played a fool.
Weaknesses: Physically, Hartz isn’t the strongest human, not even close. Since he relies mainly on his speed in battle, he doesn’t feel the need to be very strong, just strong enough to hold his own in a fight against someone of the same size. So obviously a person bigger than Hartz would have no trouble in overpowering him, though only if he can catch him first. His left leg is also very sensitive. Since the wound did not heal the correct way, it still aches. Although he has grown accustomed to it enough that it doesn’t affect his fighting, it is akin to a big permanent bruise. Thus, if he is hit hard there, more than likely he will be falling to his knees.
Just as attracted as women are to him, beautiful women will have nearly the same effect on Hartz. Although he will come to his senses if his life may be in danger, there have been several times when a beautiful woman stole all of his coins after a long day’s work.
Weapons: Hartz has a finely crafted short bow, simple in appearance but made with a master’s touch. The bow accentuates his skill, helping him to shoot farther and faster than a regular bow of the same size. Hartz doesn’t know whether it is an enchantment or not as the bow is said to not be able to break or burned unless sawed in half with a blade. Unsure of the validity of the statement as he doesn’t want to damage it if proven otherwise, Hartz places this among one of his prized possessions.
Hartz also carries plenty of daggers. At any regular time, he may have anywhere from 5 to 10 daggers at hand to strike or throw at a second’s notice. They are your everyday daggers, but they are useful in fights and for show whenever he needs emphasis during a performance.
Belted to his waist is the first and only sword he made as part of the Carraway family. It is a symbol of his coming-of-age. He had learned from the best, but inexperienced as he was, he was offered no assistance. Thus the blade is of a poor quality, uneven in weight and shape. Although horribly made, he grew to like the weapon. Later, he commissioned a blacksmith in another town to attach a protective hilt to the crossguard. The money on him then could only buy a simple piece of curved metal that covered his hand just barely.
Armor: Hartz primarily wears just a simple vest of leather underneath his clothes. He isn’t prone to fighting very much so he believes he doesn’t need much more protection than that. He wears fingerless gloves to protect his hands but still allow him to play his instruments.
Magic: Hartz can do very little magic, strange because no other in his family, past and present could, but magic nonetheless, as it helps with his performances. He can create a small fire in his hand, heal very minor wounds like thin cuts and scrapes, and can form smoke into basic figures or shapes.
Other: He does not actually like weapons, but he does have an appreciation for the skill and craft needed to make good ones, being from a blacksmith family. He has mediocre skills in blacksmithing himself; however, he had learned several things from a bowyer/fletcher who he briefly met during his travels. That being said, he’s able to mend and repair most of his own weapons with the right equipment, as long as they aren’t incredibly broken.
The symbol on his signet ring is the crest of the Carraway family after they became a noble family. The strike lines to the right of the hammer’s head symbolizes the generation of the holder, while the left represents what place you are in the order of sons birthed to the previous generation.
He doesn’t carry many things with him besides equipment, just a small leather pouch on his belt to hold his coins and a pack to hold miscellaneous items and props for his acts. It also holds a small flute in case the taverns and inns he stays at don’t have any instruments of their own for him to use. Most of his performances come from his excellent memory, whether it is remembering what another storyteller had told him or memorizing one of his own creations.
RP Sample: “And together they lived, happily forever.” After a rousing round of applause from the small crowd of the tavern, Hartz stepped down from the chair, collected the coins from a cup he borrowed, and walked over to the bar. “I’ll take a glass, please,” sliding a silver piece across the table.
The tender shook his head, “Keep it, the first one’s on the house.” Hartz just nodded, taking the mug from the man and wetting his throat after telling that long love epic. He turned around, leaning his elbows on the bar behind with his cup in hand. He sighed as he watched the patrons went back to their seats, went up to their rooms, or left the building. It was a good day’s work; enough to provide for himself for at least a few days. Provide for myself… he thought as his emerald eyes darkened to the color of a forest when raining. His eyes clouded over, remembering a time he sometimes wished he could forget and sometimes wished he would never forget.
His eyes brightened as he spotted a beautiful girl washing a just-emptied table with a dirty old rag. Taking another long drink of ale, he set down the half-empty cup on the bar and walked up to the young woman. “Tell me, why is a pretty lady like you just washing tables? You aren’t in any trouble, are you?” he teased. Hartz waited for a response, but after a few moments and her moving towards another table, he knew there wouldn’t be one. “H-hey, at the very least you could say something if you didn’t want to talk,” Hartz said, following after her as she blatantly ignored him.
“I don’t want to talk.”
Seemingly undeterred by her response, Hartz pushed on. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said a little slower, as to emphasize her meaning.
Taking a chair at the table she was still washing, he turned the chair so he could lean his chin on the back of it while staring up into her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She sighed. “Because I know what you do and I’m not about to become just another plaything for you.”
Hartz leaned back, gasping theatrically, placing his hand on his chest. “A ‘plaything’? For me? Where in Syrunn did you get that idea?”
“Look, I said I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“I think you’re just scared to. How about this? I sit here, you sit down on that chair and we just have a nice, friendly conversation. How does that sound?”
She stopped focusing on washing the table and glared down at Hartz. After several moments where Hartz has feared she’d say no, she let out a puff of air and said, “Fine.”
November Orellana was her name and he had fallen in love with her long before she did. And even when they finally were married and the challenge of chasing her was over, he still enjoyed every single day with her. Nothing between them changed, except they were lovers now, officially. Hartz played with the ring on his left hand—a simple wooden trinket, half of a pair carved by some old geezer selling them. Hers had a symbol of a heart followed by a ‘z’. His had her initials, N.O., which he thought was hilarious. “No” was her most often said word to him. She always disagreed and fought with him, and she always won. He smirked at that. Her voice was the most beautiful sound to his ears. Yet, he’d never hear it again.
Hartz turned around, finished the other half of his ale in one gulp, slightly warmer now, and asked for a room. Giving the owner enough payment, he sluggishly walked up the stairs towards the room he was given a key to. Finding the room took a moment as it was the furthest from the staircase, but once he crossed through the door and locked it behind him, he immediately sat down on the solitary chair in the cramped room. Another night without sleep, he thought.
Although he took off his boots and brought his cloak to lie on top of him, he knew that only when the moon’s story began to end would he be able to fall asleep. And so he stared out of the window, into that clear night sky, hoping that somewhere among the stars, Nova was there watching.
Aliases:The Heartbreaker (given to him by the daughters of the minor nobility for his interest and subsequent disinterest in them)
Hartz (his travelling name; the one he most often goes by; inspired by the previous alias)
Quiver the Hartz (name given to him by the common folk who know him. A more formal name, taken from his relatively impressive archery, though it can be taken for a different meaning)
The Slice of Life (another formal name, given to him by adventurers who know his skill with daggers)
Age: 25
Race: Human, primarily, but he has ancestral ties to Elves, though not even noticeable now.
Gender: Male
Occupation/Class: Travelling Minstrel
Orientation: Heterosexual
Physical Description: Standing at 6’2”, Hartz stands at a comfortable height to see things. On top of his head lies shoulder-length black hair that is usually tied into a pony tail. His mottled green eyes are a wonder that only attracts women towards him. The irises will often change shades depending on mood, weather, and health. His complexion is quite pale despite his years of travelling outside. His face, once nearly flawless, has a multitude of scars, which also ride down along the length of his neck and shoulders, although he is thought to still be quite handsome.
His body is of a medium build, weighing about 160 pounds, strong from years on the road and the fostering his father sent him on. His arms have a long reach which is helpful when playing instruments or when the occasional fight breaks out in a tavern. On the underside of his right wrist, Hartz carries a burn mark in the shape of a hammer about to strike an anvil encompassed by an outline of a triangle. He often wears a thick leather bracelet with the initials K.I.C. sewed into it.
His fingers hold a few rings as well. On his left ring finger is a simple wooden ring hiding the initials, N.O. on the inside. His right small finger holds a heavy set signet ring upon which a hammer and anvil lies, exactly the same as his wrist mark, except for a few minor additions to signify exactly who he was.
(Here’s my rendition of what the burn mark and his ring looks like: Symbol This is the signet ring symbol, while the burn mark only has one mark on each side of the hammer)
Above his left knee are deep scars caused by a bite from a wolf. The leg seems to be a little deformed, as if the bite did not heal correctly. He often wears a basic set of tunic and trews, most often brown or tan in color. Underneath the tunic is a leather vest. He wears a pair of worn, but sturdy brown boots and a black cloak with hidden pockets hiding daggers.
Personality Description: Hartz is generally a kind person. In his current line of work, it doesn’t do well for him to be otherwise; he’d never get any food or coin then. Despite that, he has a strong sense of his own opinion and is incredibly stubborn to a point where it could get him into trouble. It most likely stems from a family trait. When he works, he can come off as cheery and jovial or brooding and scary, depending on the piece he’s performing.
Outside of performances, he maintains a sense of optimism despite his past. He also has a great respect for life and will often go to near extreme ends to help someone who has no other savior. However, he knows his limits and places his own life above most anybody else’s except for those he cares about. Thus when someone he cares about is hurt, he may contradict himself and go after the culprit with a deadly vengeance.
In addition, he has a great appreciation of beauty, in nature, art, and women. He can be quite the flirt, but he knows it is empty and holds no real substance to it. It is just in his nature, though he doubts he’ll find love again. That keeps him callous towards any signs of real affection between him and the opposite sex. In all honesty, he would prefer a life consisting of one-night stands over a chance at love again if it meant his heart would be broken once more.
Alignment: Chaotic Good
History: The Carraways have been a long standing family, dating back a few hundred years. All of the men in the family have been blacksmiths. Although their earliest history has been lost to time, up until Leigh Irving Carraway I’s great-great-grandfather, they resided in the Valley Town, content with the patronage and relative safety of the nearby A.R.U.M.S. Passing along family traditions and secrets of their metalworking down the generations, the Carraways had gained a local reputation of being some of the best blacksmiths in Avalas.
However, during the younger days of Leigh Irving Carraway I’s great-great-grandfather, when the king was Edward II, Märmosia had started another one of its invasions, right after the failed conquest of Écritêtre. Against the wishes of his mother and father, he rode to Mt. Vun, the fortress protecting the border, to lend his aid as a blacksmith and able fighter. During that time he was commissioned to make many a sword. In the family annals it was said that over the course of the year, over one thousand quality blades were forged by him alone.
Despite his work with blades, he was not a very proficient swordsman himself. In one of the last defensive pushes against the Märmosian army, he rode down with a handful of other soldiers to push back an advancing troop. In the battle, he was seriously wounded and if not for an Elven healer that rode with them, he would not have survived.
The details of what happened next are lost to memory but the story goes that throughout the healing, Carraway did not lose consciousness and when he saw an attacker about to run the Elven healer through, he pushed her out of the way, sacrificing his right arm in the process to stick the man in the heart with his sword he picked up with his left.
The Elf and Carraway had grown to love each other during the short months of healing afterwards, though he could not practice his blacksmith trade anymore, as his arm was too badly damaged for the Elf’s healing magic. A year after they had met on the battlefield, they married, having a son soon afterwards. He passed on the blacksmithing legacy to that son which became enhanced by the grace and the magic his mother had. However, it would come to pass that though their children had latent magic inside, they could not wield the magic.
Years later, during Breckor Truat’s reign, the father of Leigh Irving Carraway I, Irving Carraway was born. He, like all the other Carraway men, was a blacksmith, having lived in a village near Mt. Vun, a past decision from his great-grandfather. At the age of 17, after the civil war between Folant and Faen had begun to ravage their home, Irving signed up for the military under Faen. Because of his skills, he became an army blacksmith, commissioned to help mend, repair, and make weapons and armor for the war.
Word of his armors grew, eventually sending him to make a new armor for the commanding general under Faen. The general was ready to make another strike against Folant’s forces, but the armor had taken too much time to make and perfect. So Irving decided to come with the general’s forces in order to give the general the armor once he finished it. The battle started before Irving was able to do so however.
A few days into the battle, the general was gravely injured and it would take some time for his healers to get him to even walk again. It was at that time when Irving finally finished the armor, perfected in his eye. When he was summoned to the general’s tent, he discovered the general was in no shape to lead his men, and they were in danger of being forced back. In an impulsive move, Irving requested that he wear the armor that covered the entire body and act in lieu of the general.
It is said that despite the general’s apprehension to the plan, the look in Irving’s eyes eventually won him over. And so, Irving, in guise of the general wearing a sparkling new armor, led his forces. As the legends in the family annals go, Irving survived hundreds of arrow hits, scores of sword slashes, and dozens of lance strikes, tipping the scales of the battle and leading Faen’s troops towards victory without saying a word.
After the battle, Irving, gave the armor to the general, who then relieved him of his duties so he could go back home. A few years later when the civil war ended, a messenger arrived, delivering a message to Irving. He was summoned to Cressa, the capital. Once there, King Faen, who had been told by the general of Irving’s service in the war, bestowed upon Irving a great honor.
For his exploits, Irving was given the title of “Count” and a sizeable piece of land near the Segalend Sea, about the same distance from Cressa as it was from Mt. Vun. Irving and all his descendents would nobles for as long as they answered the call to arms and helped to protect Avalas from all threats. On a finishing note, Faen gave Irving a handful of servants to help him start a new life in his new lands and to transport the heavy suit of armor that he had made just a few years ago.
Three years later, after the Carraway Manor was built and Irving’s parents and wife moved in, Leigh Irving Carraway was born. Fast forward to 1875 A.U. and Leigh Irving Carraway V was born to Leigh Irving Carraway IV and Crystal Caswell Carraway. He is the second oldest child, his elder sibling being his sister Alyssandra Lyn Carraway, four year his senior.
His other siblings include Jayson Andrew Carraway, two years his junior, and Kiara Isabella Carraway, younger than Leigh by nine years. Being the first son, Hartz, as Leigh Irving Carraway V is called by now, was raised to be the main inheritor of Carraway Manor and all the blacksmith secrets and techniques that his younger brother would not all be privy to.
At the age of 12, Hartz went off to fostering with his grandfather who lived near the capital city of Cressa. During that time, he learned the steps of blacksmithing and how to make weapons and armors. He also learned more about the intricacies of court life. He also took up instrument lessons as a side project after seeing quite a few minstrels passing by on their way to Cressa. Their music and stories inspired him to at least give it a go himself. He stayed there for four years before coming back home.
Once he got home, he father awaited him with a coming-of-age ceremony that all Carraway men have gone through since his ancestors in Sarah’s time. Without any assistance or guidance during the ordeal, Hartz had created a blade, poor at best, knowing that this was not something he could do in his life. His father, disappointed in his work, still sent the weapon to be finished off by the other workers that finished up the sword’s design. Despite it being quite bad, Hartz kept the sword once it was finished.
After that, he was able to court the young women at court. He was attracted to beauty and would dote on his “affection of the month” before he soon got bored of their looks and personality. This led to his name of The Heartbreaker among the noble’s daughters.
Two years later, Leigh Irving Carraway III died, causing great grief for Hartz. On his deathbed, he called to Hartz with his final breaths and said to him: “I know who you are. Just follow your heart for now, and it’ll lead you on the right path, my grandson.”
Soon after his grandfather’s death, Hartz ran away from home taking a leather knapsack and a small flute that he had gotten during his fostering. He had left everything behind and no doubt his father would disown him and his mother would make herself sick with worry. The only thing he left for his family was a private note to Kiara, his favorite of his siblings.
He wished her a good life and that he doubted he’ll come back and see them again. “Father probably wouldn’t allow it even if I did try to come back,” it said in the note. “I’m going off to explore for myself this world. And don’t worry about me, I’ll become a minstrel. You always liked when I played my music for you and sang to you. Kiara, I know you’ll become a beautiful young woman someday. I wish you only the best. Farewell, Your Loving Brother.”
With that, he left Carraway Manor at the age of 18. For two and a half years, Hartz spent his time zigzagging his up the country, hardening his softened noble features and becoming increasingly well-known for his stories and a little less-known for his many attempts on plenty a young woman’s heart.
One night, out in the woods, Hartz slept. He had grown used to sleeping outside, in-between towns, but he felt safer in the forest. He’d much rather take his chances with the animals in the forest than any highway men who might come along. Although he let himself think he was a good fighter with daggers, it wouldn’t matter if they got him while asleep. Several times already he was roughed up and all his coin and food were stolen because of these bandits. He wouldn’t risk that again.
Except that one night, he had slept too close to a wolf’s den. In the middle of the night, Hartz heard the wolf and mistakenly jumped up right away. That caused the wolf to attack, biting his left leg, tearing deeply into his flesh. As he stumbled and fell backwards on his back, the wolf had let go of his leg, deciding instead to pounce on top of him. Hartz was barely fast enough pulling a dagger out to slice its throat, but not before the wolf has raked his claws over his face.
Tired, bleeding from his face and leg, Hartz drifted off into sleep, despite knowing that he wouldn’t have a chance to wake up if his leg kept gushing blood. A day later, Hartz woke up on a bed in a small room feeling no worse for the wear, amazed to even be alive at all. Sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room was an elderly looking man dozing off. Hartz went to stand, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up. With a mild expletive, he collapsed back down on the bed, waking up the old man in the process.
“Oh, you’re awake? Well, don’t be standing up on your own like that. Your leg’s mighty messed up,” he said to Hartz. “There are your clothes behind you. I tried to wash and mend them as best I could. I’ll go get some food for you.”
Hartz simply nodded, unsure of what to say, especially with his thoughts on his leg. In his briefs only, he looked to see his leg. It looked to be healing a little bit; the wound was cleaned and poultice. There was no sign of infection so far, so that made him relieved. Then he remembered to touch his face. Gingerly, his fingers prodded his face, surprised that it did not sting or hurt. However, he felt the raised lines that would no doubt be scars once they healed completely. “The man must be some sort of healer,” he said to himself, before reaching over to grab his clothes and dress himself trying hard not to put pressure on his leg.
A few minutes later, the man came back into the room holding a tray with a hot bowl of soup and a glass of water. Taking the plat and thanking the man, Hartz took a few sips of the soup before deciding to let it cool a little more. “Why are you helping me?” Hartz suddenly asked. After all, he was curious why this man would care for some stranger.
The elder’s blue eyes grew steely cold before turning to sadness and then closed his eyes. After he opened them, they seemed full of compassion. “That wolf you killed was mine.”
Hartz let the silence after his statement spread, saying nothing else as he ate. Once he was finished, he offered to leave as soon as he was able, but the man declined until he was back to full strength. A few more days passed and he grew to enjoy the man’s company, and the opposite was probably true as well. Hartz found out that the man was a healer as well as an expert bowman.
Since all he could able to do was play his flute and tell his stories, the old man offered to teach him a little bit about bows and arrows. Hartz quickly took up the subject, eager to learn so much so that the old man started giving him lessons on making bows and ammunition as well as firing them.
A few weeks passed and Hartz’s leg was as healed as it could get. Hartz had become a good archer in short amount of time, the old man giving him constant tips and secrets in order to be a better archer. When he became ready to leave, the man gave him a short bow that he had been working on for the past who-knows-how-many years. He told Hartz that the bow should not be able to break at all unless sawed. Thanking the man profusely, Hartz almost didn’t accept the gift.
“Take it. You’ve given this old man the gift of companionship that I had long forgotten. See to it a healer takes care of your leg and follow your heart. It’ll bring you to your right path,” the old man said, shaking Hartz up as he said nearly the same exact thing his grandfather did. Hartz, wanting to do something for him, dripped wax on a plain sheet of paper and stamped his signet ring in it. After writing a small note and signing it, he gave the paper to the old man.
“If you ever need anything, please, don’t hesitate to send this along with your request to either Carraway Manor or the King himself. I’m sure they will honor your request given what I told them,” Hartz explained. With that, Hartz parted ways with the old man, taking his time to admire the work of the short bow.
In the next two years, Hartz used his bow at local archery competitions, as well as giving his performances and courting the local girls. During this time, he gained the name “Quiver the Hartz” as well as increasing his name as an excellent bard.
Shortly after Hartz turned 22, he met the most amazing girl while working at a tavern not too far from the border of Avalas and Écritêtre. (Read the RP sample to get an idea of her personality) He spent several months courting her, November Orellana, until she realized her feelings and married Hartz.
Hartz and Nova, happily married, settled down in the town they met. Hartz worked at the taverns in town and in the towns next to them. Nova herself worked in the tavern. Things were as good as it could get in the eyes of Hartz until a small group of raiders ransacked the town and raped their women, leaving behind a red tattered flag as a symbol of their faction.
Hartz, enraged by the tragedy, set off to find the people who did that evil deed. Promising Nova that he would come back soon and not to worry, he left, but not before telling him that she was carrying his child. He would have even more reason to come back swiftly and safely. Gathering a handful of others who joined his cause, they followed the tracks the raiders left, eventually finding them a week later across the border.
With a group of just ten men, Hartz led them into the encampment of the raiders, who were identified as the ones who did ransack the village. There was about a score of raiders, well-armed, settling down for the night in a forested area. Signaling to the motley crew behind him, they struck down a third of the raiders before they even knew what was happening. After the first volley of arrows the group drew the weapons they brought with them and charged the camp after Hartz. Hartz himself found the hearts of four of the raiders with his expert throwing of daggers.
Switching to the short sword he had made back when he was Leigh Irving Carraway V, he dispatched two more raiders who were too slow to prepare for the attack. Getting a warning from behind, Hartz swung around, barely able to swing his sword up to parry the overhead attack. Around him, he heard the screams of men, whether his own or the raiders, he didn’t know. The raider was swiftly gaining the upper hand, so Hartz quickly dropped to the ground, swung his leg to trip the raider and stabbed his through the chest once he fell to the ground.
Taking a moment to survey the skirmish, Hartz saw that about half of the men he brought were on the ground, wounded or dead and that only two raiders were left, the rest succumbing to the anger and fury of the men. Hartz spotted one of the raiders who was wearing down one of his men and threw a dagger burying itself between his shoulder blades. The remaining raider saw that he would stand no chance and ran. Hartz wanted to chase after him, but now he would have to bury those who fell and treat the wounded before returning back home.
Stopping at the first town they came across, about four days’ ride from the village where he lived, Hartz and the surviving men waited it out in an inn, getting properly healed before coming back home, their vengeance satiated.
Just a few candlemarks away from the village, they spotted smoke rising in great volume. When they arrived, they were greeted with the sight of their village, burned completely to the ground, and the red tattered flag waving in the air in the center of town. He ran to his house, throwing away the burnt timbers of his home, trying to find the remains of Nova. He hoped that she had made it out safely, that she and the baby were safe. Under a pile of debris, he found something and gasped, choking back his tears. It was her half of the rings they wore. Clenching it in his fist, he stood up, picking up the leather sack he brought with him, and left the village, hearing as the other men wailed in grief at the loss of their homes and their families.
So, in the two years that led to the present, Hartz was a vigilante, joining groups that were going face raiders, slavers, bandits and their ilk. He became known as The Slice of Life because of his skills with his daggers, and his penchant for slicing the offenders’ throats and penises off when they were dead. He was ruthless to the ruthless and only until he felt like he had his fill of killing did he stop, scarred by what was done to him and what he had done himself.
Likes: Music, women, art, nature, beauty, his younger sister, fruits, especially berries.
Dislikes: Dogs, wolves, any type of canine, cold-blooded killers, raiders, slavers, bandits, etc, seeing people hurt, his father and brother.
Strengths: Hartz is quicker on his feet than expected for being tall. Because of his ability in being a minstrel, the grace he often holds when performing carries over when he’s in the middle of a battle, allowing him to more easily evade and dodge the more heavy-handed of foes. He’s more brains than brawns and will try to use charms to get out of entanglements. Because of his quickness, he has become skilled in what would be more guerilla tactics than head-on fighting.
Outside of fighting, he’s a pretty damn good bard, if he does say so himself. He can also spot the very basic of magical powers, having some minor ability himself. It doesn’t help him too much, but he can tell when he’s being played a fool.
Weaknesses: Physically, Hartz isn’t the strongest human, not even close. Since he relies mainly on his speed in battle, he doesn’t feel the need to be very strong, just strong enough to hold his own in a fight against someone of the same size. So obviously a person bigger than Hartz would have no trouble in overpowering him, though only if he can catch him first. His left leg is also very sensitive. Since the wound did not heal the correct way, it still aches. Although he has grown accustomed to it enough that it doesn’t affect his fighting, it is akin to a big permanent bruise. Thus, if he is hit hard there, more than likely he will be falling to his knees.
Just as attracted as women are to him, beautiful women will have nearly the same effect on Hartz. Although he will come to his senses if his life may be in danger, there have been several times when a beautiful woman stole all of his coins after a long day’s work.
Weapons: Hartz has a finely crafted short bow, simple in appearance but made with a master’s touch. The bow accentuates his skill, helping him to shoot farther and faster than a regular bow of the same size. Hartz doesn’t know whether it is an enchantment or not as the bow is said to not be able to break or burned unless sawed in half with a blade. Unsure of the validity of the statement as he doesn’t want to damage it if proven otherwise, Hartz places this among one of his prized possessions.
Hartz also carries plenty of daggers. At any regular time, he may have anywhere from 5 to 10 daggers at hand to strike or throw at a second’s notice. They are your everyday daggers, but they are useful in fights and for show whenever he needs emphasis during a performance.
Belted to his waist is the first and only sword he made as part of the Carraway family. It is a symbol of his coming-of-age. He had learned from the best, but inexperienced as he was, he was offered no assistance. Thus the blade is of a poor quality, uneven in weight and shape. Although horribly made, he grew to like the weapon. Later, he commissioned a blacksmith in another town to attach a protective hilt to the crossguard. The money on him then could only buy a simple piece of curved metal that covered his hand just barely.
Armor: Hartz primarily wears just a simple vest of leather underneath his clothes. He isn’t prone to fighting very much so he believes he doesn’t need much more protection than that. He wears fingerless gloves to protect his hands but still allow him to play his instruments.
Magic: Hartz can do very little magic, strange because no other in his family, past and present could, but magic nonetheless, as it helps with his performances. He can create a small fire in his hand, heal very minor wounds like thin cuts and scrapes, and can form smoke into basic figures or shapes.
Other: He does not actually like weapons, but he does have an appreciation for the skill and craft needed to make good ones, being from a blacksmith family. He has mediocre skills in blacksmithing himself; however, he had learned several things from a bowyer/fletcher who he briefly met during his travels. That being said, he’s able to mend and repair most of his own weapons with the right equipment, as long as they aren’t incredibly broken.
The symbol on his signet ring is the crest of the Carraway family after they became a noble family. The strike lines to the right of the hammer’s head symbolizes the generation of the holder, while the left represents what place you are in the order of sons birthed to the previous generation.
He doesn’t carry many things with him besides equipment, just a small leather pouch on his belt to hold his coins and a pack to hold miscellaneous items and props for his acts. It also holds a small flute in case the taverns and inns he stays at don’t have any instruments of their own for him to use. Most of his performances come from his excellent memory, whether it is remembering what another storyteller had told him or memorizing one of his own creations.
RP Sample: “And together they lived, happily forever.” After a rousing round of applause from the small crowd of the tavern, Hartz stepped down from the chair, collected the coins from a cup he borrowed, and walked over to the bar. “I’ll take a glass, please,” sliding a silver piece across the table.
The tender shook his head, “Keep it, the first one’s on the house.” Hartz just nodded, taking the mug from the man and wetting his throat after telling that long love epic. He turned around, leaning his elbows on the bar behind with his cup in hand. He sighed as he watched the patrons went back to their seats, went up to their rooms, or left the building. It was a good day’s work; enough to provide for himself for at least a few days. Provide for myself… he thought as his emerald eyes darkened to the color of a forest when raining. His eyes clouded over, remembering a time he sometimes wished he could forget and sometimes wished he would never forget.
His eyes brightened as he spotted a beautiful girl washing a just-emptied table with a dirty old rag. Taking another long drink of ale, he set down the half-empty cup on the bar and walked up to the young woman. “Tell me, why is a pretty lady like you just washing tables? You aren’t in any trouble, are you?” he teased. Hartz waited for a response, but after a few moments and her moving towards another table, he knew there wouldn’t be one. “H-hey, at the very least you could say something if you didn’t want to talk,” Hartz said, following after her as she blatantly ignored him.
“I don’t want to talk.”
Seemingly undeterred by her response, Hartz pushed on. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said a little slower, as to emphasize her meaning.
Taking a chair at the table she was still washing, he turned the chair so he could lean his chin on the back of it while staring up into her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She sighed. “Because I know what you do and I’m not about to become just another plaything for you.”
Hartz leaned back, gasping theatrically, placing his hand on his chest. “A ‘plaything’? For me? Where in Syrunn did you get that idea?”
“Look, I said I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“I think you’re just scared to. How about this? I sit here, you sit down on that chair and we just have a nice, friendly conversation. How does that sound?”
She stopped focusing on washing the table and glared down at Hartz. After several moments where Hartz has feared she’d say no, she let out a puff of air and said, “Fine.”
November Orellana was her name and he had fallen in love with her long before she did. And even when they finally were married and the challenge of chasing her was over, he still enjoyed every single day with her. Nothing between them changed, except they were lovers now, officially. Hartz played with the ring on his left hand—a simple wooden trinket, half of a pair carved by some old geezer selling them. Hers had a symbol of a heart followed by a ‘z’. His had her initials, N.O., which he thought was hilarious. “No” was her most often said word to him. She always disagreed and fought with him, and she always won. He smirked at that. Her voice was the most beautiful sound to his ears. Yet, he’d never hear it again.
Hartz turned around, finished the other half of his ale in one gulp, slightly warmer now, and asked for a room. Giving the owner enough payment, he sluggishly walked up the stairs towards the room he was given a key to. Finding the room took a moment as it was the furthest from the staircase, but once he crossed through the door and locked it behind him, he immediately sat down on the solitary chair in the cramped room. Another night without sleep, he thought.
Although he took off his boots and brought his cloak to lie on top of him, he knew that only when the moon’s story began to end would he be able to fall asleep. And so he stared out of the window, into that clear night sky, hoping that somewhere among the stars, Nova was there watching.
