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Garren Adrian Runor

"This'll make for an interesting ballad..."

0 · 269 views · located in Nallan

a character in “Dead Seasons: The Red Autumn”, originally authored by Shadow44499, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Garren Adrian Runor

Gender: Male
Nickname(s): The Frog, Light-Foot, The Jumper.
Age:20

Appearance: (Will be detailed due to lack of image.) Garren is a young looking male, around 5'11" in height, 145 pounds due to his vocation. His skin is very light, sometimes even considered pale, he is unscarred and actually rather handsome. Well, he needs to be for his line of work. His face is hairless, other than the normal but trimmed eyebrows and eyelashes. The hair atop his head is very light blonde and hangs near his shoulders. His eyes are a dark green with brown edges around the cornea, he has been praised for having the eyes of a gemstone before. Generally he wears his preforming outfit which is very decorative, blue and dark red with gold silk lining and moble tunic, light weight and made for acrobatics, other than that he wears the normal slacks, and gloves of the time. But his boots are also very decorative and practical for his line of work. Upon his back is normally a very expensive dark blue cloak with red edges. And he is normally rather unarmored. Though he carries a silver mace at his side, an heirloom of his family, that he has actually never wielded.

Height: 5'11" Feet.
Weight: 145 lb.
Body build: His body is of an athletic, lithe build more suited for acrobatics and running than fighting.

Personality: Garren has be described as quirky. He is a very happy, go lucky kind of guy. Caring only when needed. He is also a blind optimist, this coming from doing tricks and playing songs he had never practiced before but always coming out right on the mark. He is also "lucky" if you consider it a personality trait. However, he is also brash and can be very stubborn on things, making it hard to get his mind off something. Added onto that he is talkative, comes with Bardhood. But moreso than naught, he has been described as feminine, and is very wary of his looks and surroundings. Also cowardly, much more likely to flee from the undead than fight them.

Likes: Music, talking, stories, art, food, clothes (Yeah really), and traveling.
Dislikes: Dirt, Doctors, violence, silence, and dogs....
Hobbies: Acrobatics, storytelling, lute-craft, harp-playing.
Phobia(s): Blood, Killing, Ghosts.

Skills: Garren is talented musician, singer, storyteller, though the skill he most struts as a Bard are his acrobatics. He is quick and agile, capable of many tricks, jumps, and climbing scenarios. He also has a fantastic memory, can read and write, and knows how to patch minor wounds.

Former Profession: Garren was a Bard and Performer before the curse descending, traveling from town to town doing tricks, singing, playing a lute, or storytelling.

Personal History: Garren was born to too low noble class parents, growing up in a posh home with posh parents. His life was normal, being schooled by a private tutor the works, pretty much. When he turned fourteen years of age he decided to wander out on his own with a lute. Through his time of traveling he passed through many, many towns, acquiring many skills including acrobatics, poetry, singing, all the other skills a bard would need while making his coin.

Other: N/A

So begins...

Garren Adrian Runor's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rodrick "One-Eye" Vheral Character Portrait: Garren Adrian Runor
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Garren was running through the woods, his feet hitting the ground with soft thuds with every step he had took. His lungs heaved in pain and sweat dripped from his brow as he continued, he could taste blood in his mouth from the sheer exertion of breath his lungs took. What had happened? One moment he was playing his Harp with a young female performer form one of the Northern Kingdoms in a small tavern off the side of the road. Suddenly he had felt a sense of dread and about half an hour later something or someone broke down the Tavernkeep's door and began mauling a patron. And soon the room was filled with screams of horror, pain and odd snarls and moans. Garren didn't think twice, he gathered his things and slipped out a window with ease. Then now he was on the run, through the woods as fast as his nimble feet and legs could carry him.

His cloak fluttered behind him as he continued his dash, instruments making noise upon his back as the lute and harp rattled around in their leather bindings. He was terrified, as a man with little nerve that was horrible. The blood, oh the blood! And the screams, the horrible screams! Kept playing through his mind, driving him on further than he would normally go. All that he cared about at this damn moment was escape and hopefully to somewhere safe, guarded by mighty knights! If such a thing existed, though likely his mind was just fooling him in his state of shock and panic. Luckily so far he had come across none of those... Things in the woods. They seemed clear, safe, quite. Silence was heavy upon the area, only causing his nerves to wiggle more under his skin and bone.

Then noise. He suddenly stopped and slid up against a tree as silently as he could, peaking around looking for any of those creatures that had attacked the Blueberry Tavern on the roadside. But instead, it wasn't some deranged man-looking thing. It was an actual man, one limping along and covered in blood, an eye covered as he muttered to himself. Garren could tell he was no knight due the sack-crafted leather armor and the many scars across the person's face. But yet, this was the only chance Garren had and the man had both blade and bow. So he obviously knew a thing or two about the art of combat. With a resigned sigh he slinked out from beside the tree and waved over to the man. "Oi! You there! You must help me!" The bard called and stepped forward nervously, he was hoping the man was a hunter, or woodland dweller, though he was probably going to end up utterly wrong. But then again, it was the only chance of any aid at this point and the man looked hurt. Garren could help him, though not without an exchange for protection.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rodrick "One-Eye" Vheral Character Portrait: Garren Adrian Runor
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A calm wind was steadily sweeping through the forest. Like the soft breath of some goddess it breathed life back into the area. Weaker tree's swayed in an eerie rhythmless dance while leaves shuddered and shook under it like scared children coward at their mother's skirt when the vicious dog next door got loose. Rodrick had craned his head back against the harsh bark of his tree to watch at a great deal of effort and pain. It was a rather peaceful event to just sit and watch, one that filled his head with pointless nonsense he needed to divert himself from his inevitable death. Though he lived every day in the very shadow of death, whether by a guardsman's sword or his best friends dagger. He'd always felt completely prepared to die at a moments notice. Something that was quickly being proved wrong as the pain in his eye reared up again, accented by the warm trail of blood slipping down the next of his shirt.

It was an interesting thing he'd thought. For near half a decade he'd pillaged, plundered, drank, and fucked in this very woodland yet he'd never once stopped to actually look at it. There was never any point to looking at it. Pretty yes, but not useful. It didn't put a coin in your pocket, or a meal in front of you. No warmth of a woman's legs around you on a cold morning and it certainly didn't kill the man in front of you, taking swings at you with some cheap iron bit. As he mused about the philosophical value's of beauty and how relative they were to a man's death he'd managed to detach himself from the scene at hand. Not even noting the little bard until he spoke up. And he'd been such an aware man just the day before..


"Oi! You there! You must help me!" His head snapped down and toward the noise, and act far more painful than he'd expected and it caused the tablecloth to fall off his head, exposing the raw wound of his eye. As soon as he saw the man he issued a low rumbling of a chuckle in between winces. The god's obviously had an ironic sense of humour, and a downright sadistic streak. One the bandit was well aware currently had him in it's sight. "You'll have to excuse me," he coughed as he clutched at his side, fingers tracing over what felt like a broken rib. "I'd stand up to offer you a proper greeting but I'm afraid the blood allocated for m' legs has gone missing rather recently..Might find it around here somewhere."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rodrick "One-Eye" Vheral Character Portrait: Garren Adrian Runor
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Garren soon realized the man was downed and not fighting any time in his current condition, so the bard moved closer until he was standing near the Bandit. He nearly wreched at the raw, gored wound of the man's eye. The leather armor was covered over in blood and he now knew this man was no hunter considering the armor was composed of many different pieces including some guards' armor here and there.

He crouched near the man and began looking over the wounds across his body from a closer angle. Giving a wry smile and a shake of his head. "Like I said, I need help... And so do you... I 'ave bandages and spare water." Garren reached down and grabbed the table cloth that had been wrapped around the man's head and then held the blood stained article out toward him. "I... I believe this belongs to you..." This time he gagged as he felt the blood soak onto his fingers. He detested the feel, smell, taste, and even look of blood, there was something unnatural about it to him. Something that either disgusted or chilled him to the very core. But this was the one time that he had actually ever steeled his nerves. "And.... On that note... 'Ave you seen any monsters around 'ere...?" He uttered and then looked around slowly, checking both of his flanks for any lurching figures similar to those he had seen at the Blueberry Tavern and around it. None, currently atleast, thank the gods. He felt the wind kick up again, bringing a wanted and cooling breeze, it seemed like a clam before a deadly storm. And storms always came sooner than later.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rodrick "One-Eye" Vheral Character Portrait: Micah Cheviot Character Portrait: Garren Adrian Runor
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Micah slowly stood up, his gaze still locked on the thin trickle of blood on the ground. "Dear God, Horse," he whispered, "You don't think this came all the way from the city, do you?" He stood back up and leaned up against the cart.

The screams and shouts continued in the distance. Micah tried to block the sound, closing his eyes as though that could possibly help. After a moment, they shot open again as a new sound reached him. A voice. He couldn't hear the words, but he could tell that the sound was close by.

"Keep quiet," he whispered to Horse. He reached back into the cart and rifled through the cloaks. If whoever, or whatever, had spoken had anything to do with the blood on the ground, he had no desire to face it unarmed. He finally found what he was looking for: a dagger. Its blade wasn't particularly long or sharp, but it was much better than having nothing at all.

He left the cart and slipped through the trees in the direction where he'd heard the voice. The dagger he held out in front of him. Micah realized that the hand holding the weapon was shaking. He shifted his hold on the dagger, trying to get a better grip on the unfamiliar weapon. Real great, Micah, he chided himself, If you meet up with whoever left the blood, you can just shiver him to death. That'll work brilliantly.

Micah had barely left sight of his cart when he spotted someone against the trees. No, not someone. Two someones. One was kneeling beside the other. The former looked to be about Micah's age, and was fairly tall and thin. His clothes made Micah think he resembled more of a court jester than a criminal.

It was the second man that made Micah catch his breath. This man was broad, muscled, and angry-looking, with a face that might have been made of stone were it not for one side bleeding profusely into some fabric. In fact, the man was soaked in blood, but Micah had the sick feeling it didn't all belong to him. The blade of the dagger hanging from this man's belt, at least twice as long as Micah's own, gleaned with a sheen of scarlet. The handle of another weapon, probably a sword, was visible on his other side, and the strap of a quiver cut diagonally across his chest.

Micah glanced down at his own dagger, which looked suddenly much smaller than it had moments ago. If this man, these men, were killers, as he now didn't doubt, he stood no chance at all.

His dagger still shaking in front of him, he slowly began to back away from the two men. He hadn't gone more than a few steps, however, when he felt a dead branch break in two beneath his feet. The first man, the one whom Micah had dubbed the jester, glanced up and met his eyes.

Micah didn't think twice. He turned to run back to his cart before the men could get a second look.