Gaby
Lord of Altera
Viktor Sylvain
KEY INFORMATION:
Age: mid-twenties
Gender: male
Race: Human
Social Status: Noble-born vagabond
Sexuality: bisexual
Height: tall
Weight: light
Homeland: Carpaccia
PHYSIOLOGY:
Build: really lanky
Hair: a black as his soul
Eyes: icy blue
Skin: very pale
Identifying Marks: the greasiest hair known to man, a brooding demeanor, a very unique beard
Appearance: narrow, piercing eyes with a slightly hooked nose, thin lips, and a longish face. he has a deathly pale complexion, and his lanky body seems unfitting for a human.
Clothing:a dashing purple-and-silver number, reminiscent of the most extravagant of costumes, complete with an intimidatingly large cape that drapes from his shoulders. save for the cape, he still has these clothes in his inventory, though he's stripped off the vest and much of the extravagance, so now it is simply a purple tunic and boots.
Weaponry: a ridiculously fancy dagger that he keeps strapped to the inside of his boot, a normal dagger he keeps strapped to his belt.
Prized Possessions: TBA
Hygiene: meticulously clean, with a thick beard, and long scraggly hair. his unusual eyes hold a piercing quality, and stuff.
Voice: Megabyte from the CGI cartoon ReBoot (Im actually serious is the scary part) (its the closest match I have) (his voice actor also did Shere Khan and Frollo)
QUALITIES AND FLAWS:
Strengths: he's genuinely nice to people, and a bit of a charmer. He has a fiercely analytic and mathematical mind.
Fears: horses
Weaknesses: he doesn't know how to carry a sword, his luck is abysmal, and he has no useful trade skills except for accounting and sailing
Intelligence: he's read a great deal of books, but is still young and full of mistakes.
Languages: common
Profession: househusband, unemployed and seeking employment
ETHICS AND MOTIVATIONS:
Personality: he is a generally distant and brutally honest bastard of a man. slimy is a good word to describe his character. he is obsessive yet apathetic at the same time. everything must be in place, everything must be clean and perfect. he has no time for anything less. he will tell stories of horrific troubles without blinking an eye, and cannot hope to relate to the common man. but yet, he hopes.
his passions lie in mathematics and in sailing. numbers make sense to him. numbers are perfect, rational, expected. they cannot lie to you. you cannot lie to them. they simply are. to sail a sea is to place your life in the hands of the endless nothing. it is liberating, to relinquish control to the whims of nature.
he is confident in his abilities, and he is confident in his absolute horridness. in the same breath that he brags about his grand life as heir to the glorious House Sylvain, he also calls himself the bastard Drakyuul saw fit to take in, a filthy dog in a long line of filthy dogs. he knows he's a terrible person. he revels in it.
Yet, there is redemption. His own pride extends to his loved ones, but without any of the self-deprecation. He is protective, almost heroically so.
Religion or Cults: "the gods of the world are inconsistent at best. while I am happy to offer them tribute when necessary, I would offer my allegiances to a simpler being."
Alignment: Sybaritic
TRIVIA:
Favourite...
Place: the Sea
Pasttime: sailing
Food: fine tender steak, cooked rare
Drink: wine, rum, champagne
Colour: purple
Animal: dogs, especially the big ones. and cats. and falcons.
Least Favourite...
Place: dirty hovels.
Pastime: being poor
Food: gruel
Drink: carrot juice
Colour: yellow
Animal: horses.
BACKSTORY:
Inspiration: really rich people, Victor Frankenstein, gothic horror in general
KEY INFORMATION:
Age: mid-twenties
Gender: male
Race: Human
Social Status: Noble-born vagabond
Sexuality: bisexual
Height: tall
Weight: light
Homeland: Carpaccia
PHYSIOLOGY:
Build: really lanky
Hair: a black as his soul
Eyes: icy blue
Skin: very pale
Identifying Marks: the greasiest hair known to man, a brooding demeanor, a very unique beard
Appearance: narrow, piercing eyes with a slightly hooked nose, thin lips, and a longish face. he has a deathly pale complexion, and his lanky body seems unfitting for a human.
Clothing:
Weaponry: a ridiculously fancy dagger that he keeps strapped to the inside of his boot, a normal dagger he keeps strapped to his belt.
Prized Possessions: TBA
Hygiene: meticulously clean, with a thick beard, and long scraggly hair. his unusual eyes hold a piercing quality, and stuff.
Voice: Megabyte from the CGI cartoon ReBoot (Im actually serious is the scary part) (its the closest match I have) (his voice actor also did Shere Khan and Frollo)
QUALITIES AND FLAWS:
Strengths: he's genuinely nice to people, and a bit of a charmer. He has a fiercely analytic and mathematical mind.
Fears: horses
Weaknesses: he doesn't know how to carry a sword, his luck is abysmal, and he has no useful trade skills except for accounting and sailing
Intelligence: he's read a great deal of books, but is still young and full of mistakes.
Languages: common
Profession: househusband, unemployed and seeking employment
ETHICS AND MOTIVATIONS:
Personality: he is a generally distant and brutally honest bastard of a man. slimy is a good word to describe his character. he is obsessive yet apathetic at the same time. everything must be in place, everything must be clean and perfect. he has no time for anything less. he will tell stories of horrific troubles without blinking an eye, and cannot hope to relate to the common man. but yet, he hopes.
his passions lie in mathematics and in sailing. numbers make sense to him. numbers are perfect, rational, expected. they cannot lie to you. you cannot lie to them. they simply are. to sail a sea is to place your life in the hands of the endless nothing. it is liberating, to relinquish control to the whims of nature.
he is confident in his abilities, and he is confident in his absolute horridness. in the same breath that he brags about his grand life as heir to the glorious House Sylvain, he also calls himself the bastard Drakyuul saw fit to take in, a filthy dog in a long line of filthy dogs. he knows he's a terrible person. he revels in it.
Yet, there is redemption. His own pride extends to his loved ones, but without any of the self-deprecation. He is protective, almost heroically so.
Religion or Cults: "the gods of the world are inconsistent at best. while I am happy to offer them tribute when necessary, I would offer my allegiances to a simpler being."
Alignment: Sybaritic
TRIVIA:
Favourite...
Place: the Sea
Pasttime: sailing
Food: fine tender steak, cooked rare
Drink: wine, rum, champagne
Colour: purple
Animal: dogs, especially the big ones. and cats. and falcons.
Least Favourite...
Place: dirty hovels.
Pastime: being poor
Food: gruel
Drink: carrot juice
Colour: yellow
Animal: horses.
BACKSTORY:
Viktor Sylvain was the adopted son of a pathetically powerful nobleman, Drakyuul Sylvain, who took him in after his parents died of a "tragic accident." he soon saw the corrupt nature of the house, what sorts of horrid things his father allowed to happen, all for the sake of politics, and he soon found himself holding a deep mistrust of all nobles. still, his power and money were very useful to... take up a few hobbies.
after a few years of loud parties full of debauchery, scheming, and the occasional unfortunate murder, he was contacted by an assassin's guild. the job was simple: poison his own father's drink.
he was more than happy to do so.
of course, the poison he'd picked out didn't actually work, and instead made his father get a very bad cold for a few weeks, but it's the thought that counts.
still, he feared that his attempt at least would be made known somehow, so without even a letter to his siblings, he fled, traveling to the Northern Kingdoms with no hope in his heart that he could ever return to the land that was, for all its flaws, still his home. he yet sought power, but did so with little drive, and he found himself reviled and hated by all who met him.
months passed, and he could not even keep a job. soon, his wallet had run dry, and he found himself forced to do grunt work to pay for his stays at the Azerport inn.
it was then that word reached him of an expedition to Kavdek. he needed money, and as sailing was one of his only true passions, he quickly asked to board the Rogue Wave...
and he found on that dreaded island horrors beyond imagining. with his own eyes, he witnessed what a wound in the very earth looked like. that image shook his very soul, and he was forever changed from that point on.
he decided to return home...
and he returned to a home in ruins. he could not hope to learn who had sacked the once-great Castle Sylvain, who had burned the houses with men, women, and children still within them, or who had taken all the riches of the house, the armor from the Chevalliers, the silverware and tapestries,
but they had done so. and nothing was left for Viktor, save a few treasures. he took those with him, dragging them back into the wilderness...
thus he lived, and prepared a sacrifice to the one last passion he held, the last piece of his old life, the being so horribly ruined that the image of her wound had seared into his mind forevermore.
after a few years of loud parties full of debauchery, scheming, and the occasional unfortunate murder, he was contacted by an assassin's guild. the job was simple: poison his own father's drink.
he was more than happy to do so.
of course, the poison he'd picked out didn't actually work, and instead made his father get a very bad cold for a few weeks, but it's the thought that counts.
still, he feared that his attempt at least would be made known somehow, so without even a letter to his siblings, he fled, traveling to the Northern Kingdoms with no hope in his heart that he could ever return to the land that was, for all its flaws, still his home. he yet sought power, but did so with little drive, and he found himself reviled and hated by all who met him.
months passed, and he could not even keep a job. soon, his wallet had run dry, and he found himself forced to do grunt work to pay for his stays at the Azerport inn.
it was then that word reached him of an expedition to Kavdek. he needed money, and as sailing was one of his only true passions, he quickly asked to board the Rogue Wave...
and he found on that dreaded island horrors beyond imagining. with his own eyes, he witnessed what a wound in the very earth looked like. that image shook his very soul, and he was forever changed from that point on.
he decided to return home...
and he returned to a home in ruins. he could not hope to learn who had sacked the once-great Castle Sylvain, who had burned the houses with men, women, and children still within them, or who had taken all the riches of the house, the armor from the Chevalliers, the silverware and tapestries,
but they had done so. and nothing was left for Viktor, save a few treasures. he took those with him, dragging them back into the wilderness...
thus he lived, and prepared a sacrifice to the one last passion he held, the last piece of his old life, the being so horribly ruined that the image of her wound had seared into his mind forevermore.
Inspiration: really rich people, Victor Frankenstein, gothic horror in general
Last edited:
