FL Bio for Meecham - CC'd by the BT

[Kura]

Character name: Meecham Delconde

 

Age: 32

 

Place of birth/raising: Shienar

Physical Appearance: Meecham is 5'8 with narrow shoulders for a Shienaran. Unlike the usual style for the men of Shienar he wears his dull brown hair short and without the top-knot. Considered slight in the north Meecham weighs around 135lbs.

 

History: Birthed to a housemaid Meecham grew up attempting to hide from his father. A well muscled man, as should any heavy cavalry squad leader must be. Though with this honor came the added stress of the position. And with the stress came the bottle. Known to fly into drunken rages on long nights he always sought out his son as an outlet for his anger. From these lessons in pain Meecham learned to tread quietly and became quite good at finding hiding places and ways to escape his fathers beatings. After a few years people started noticing changes in the boy. He became more secluded and cut off his top-knot. He also began stealing away for hours at a time. In these long hours Meecham had learned how to vent his own frustrations. Approaching the small rodent he had just stunned with his sling he picked it up and slowly started turning its body and head in opposite directions. As the creatures neck began to pop and break a wonderful sense of peace and security washed over him. Over the next few months he became bolder, sneaking into his neighbors yards and claiming relief and security with their pets as well. Upon the morning of his 18th name day his father rose him and announced that they would spend the day hunting wild boar in celebration of his entrance into manhood. As Meecham entered the small room where the bows were kept he noticed his fathers bowstring was slightly frayed at the bottom knot. As he began to measure out the string needed to repair the bow a thought struck him like a bolt of lightening. Today would be special indeed. Replacing the new string to its storage area he took the thin colorless paste his father used for minor weapons repair and smoothed it over the frayed area. It looked perfect. Even if his father were to inspect the bow he wouldn’t notice the small clear area at the bottom as anything other than wax. Returning to his father they rode to the large forest due east of the town. Almost four hours later the time came. A small boar burst through the underbrush, startled by some sound to their left. Meechams father stepped forward and drew an arrow from over his shoulder. The bow had fired properly the last seven times, the paste proving to truly serve its purpose well. But as he watched his father nock the arrow and begin to draw it back he saw the paste crack and start to give. The line broke causing his fathers hand to continue back into his face arrow still in it. The arrow tilted down with gravity at the loss of support and drove into the older mans stomach, not a killing wound but enough to stun him. As he stood looking at the arrow protruding from his stomach he suddenly noticed the absence of his son and the very closeness of the boar. Meecham stood twelve yards away watching his fathers distress from between two trees that had grown directly beside each other. He watched as his father pulled the knife he carried and as the boar slammed into his mid-section, tusks finishing what the arrow could not. He let the feelings wash over him as the animal continued to gore the man long after he was dead. As he lay there giggling uncontrollably he heard footsteps behind him and jumped to his feet pulling an arrow as he did. There entered his vision a tall man with long black hair and unusually cold eyes, dressed in a weather worn cloak, tunic, and trousers, though small bits of armor shone through from underneath them. But it was the eyes that struck Meecham the most. He had seen those kind of eyes before in the men brave enough to enter the Blight and lucky enough to come out alive. The man approached him and an odd feeling of relaxation seemed to fill the air around them. Meecham lowered his bow and replaced his arrow, surely this man wouldn’t hurt him. The man stopped directly in front of him and pulled out a small piece of paper upon which he wrote something he could not see from that angle. Rising the man the pulled a ring off his finger and proffered it with the paper. Meecham took it and looked back at the man who said, "Go there and speak with the owner when you feel worthy of seeking me out." and with that turned back the way he had come and strode out of site. Looking down at the letter he saw the three words the man had written. Dancing man, Baerlon.

 

 

The real struggle is here, now...Now is being decided whether, in the day of your supreme sorrow or temptation, you shall miserably fail or gloriously conquer. Character cannot be made except by a steady, long continued process.

 

[Jocelyn]

Wow...he sounds like a sweetheart! :p

 

CC'd :)

[CorenYi]

You are welcome. 8)