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FL PC Trerlyn Sovaryn - CCed by Seanchan


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Bio for: Trerlyn Sovaryn


Age: 25


Group: Freelanders


From: Caemlyn


Height: 5’ 10â€


Weight: 161lbs





Born of traders and knowing the freedom of the open road, Trerlyn had always had a liking for the great outdoors. Knowing the names of every herb and leaf, or every fork in the road in the surroundings to his home city of Caemlyn was just a part of his early education when he accompanied his father on those preliminary excursions. He seldom remained at home with his mother when there was the opportunity to go travelling around the countryside on trips that would take less than a day or so to complete, not when there was the chance to sleep under the sky, or rolled up in a blanket under the wagon if it rained. Trerlyn loved it. The smells of the forests and the sharp contrasts to those city smells he had grown up with, and it retained a childish wonder at every new lesson learnt. His father, Arald, and his mother Toulan, had known of his love of nature and had pressed a book of plain paper and some charcoal pencils to him when he was five years old, and encouraged a love of drawing from the first scribbled stick figures to the carefully and highly detailed works of art depicting sunsets and waterfalls, autumn leaves and wild animals, so good by the time Trerlyn was fifteen years old that his father, Arald, sold them when he went from town to town.


Trerlyn continued to accompany his father wherever the journeys were not too arduous for a young man to cope, and whenever he was unable to do so, Trerlyn remained at home with his mother learning his letters and numbers in order to help maintain the ledger and the family accounts. Toulan found little twiddles on the corners of each page that made decorative scrolls and arty embellishments like vines or flowers. It was a welcome change to the normal page after page of figures, and on his fifteenth birthday she broached a different topic with her husband on a rare visit home. People paid good money for tattoos, and they could open the front of their small house and turn it into a shop, if Trerlyn was amenable to the suggestion. His father had agreed, knowing the talent of his son’s hand already and had dug out a set of inks and needles from the wagon that someone who did not know the value of it had traded him.


To his mother’s surprise, Trerlyn readily accepted, and she made the overtures to a local tattoo artist in a tavern nearby to apprentice him to until he knew his trade. The tattooist, a big bluff man by the name of Sid, took Trerlyn under his wing and taught how to lightly pad the needles with the ink before tapping it into the skin to create the indelible images as the patron wanted. All the tricks of the trade, right down to how to make the coloured inks last longer when supplies were nearly running out, and how to stop the inks from drying up. For his twentieth birthday he was presented with his own room at his parent’s house, converted into a salon to set up on his own, but the pull of the outdoors was calling to him again. Plans began to form in his mind to find someone with a wagon like his father’s that would let him use it for a mobile salon, but that would take a vast amount of money. Saving what he could from rent and overheads, Trerlyn put away a tidy sum for the lucky person that saw the initiative in his idea, knowing that there would be opportunities both in the countryside and the cities. He had seen a fair few people refuse to have a tattoo done because they had had time to think about it, and if he could go to them it would mean a lot less rejections. Yes. He definitely thought it had potential to find a mobile base for his artwork. For a few years he saved all he could and improved the quality of his work and experience, and then set to looking for someone to make his dreams of combining his wanderlust with his art come true.

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