Post by Rivaini on Sept 27, 2015 17:05:34 GMT
Full name (+titles, if any): Devereaux Orfèvre, formerly exalted patron of Lord Werner Jauquin
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: Orlesian
Class/Occupation: Archer, Hired arms/Mercenary work
Devereaux grew up in the heartlands of Orlais near Val Foret. The second-born son of a minor noble house, there he lived in relative luxury with his mother and younger sister, Adrienne. At the age of 20 he was sent to the University of Orlais to continue his studies, where he became acquainted, and later strong friends with, one Lord Jauquin. His patronage of the older Lord was long-standing- however the subject of much scandal within scholarly and noble circles. At the height of these rumours, Devereaux withdrew from the university, and Val Royeaux entirely. Unwilling to return to Val Foret, for the grace of his sister, he continued to spend some time in the outlying areas, eventually whittling away his coin in Jader. Neither the heir of his mother’s title nor a scholar, Devereaux continued the life of a drifter, now borne of his own will, rather than shame. Where once he may have been familiar to few as the son of a distant noble family, he now resides in taverns and beds spanning the continent entire.
A mix of a noble upbringing and flair for the roguish- Devereaux is charming, except for when he’s not. Snark is his go-to weapon before reaching for the quiver, but beyond his self-created Robin Hood facade lies a deep love for Orlais and its people. His goals are not always altruistic in intent, and at times his light-hearted, hedonistic personality can delve into the selfish and frankly, annoying. Residing in the streets of Orlais and Ferelden for as long as he has, Devereaux is no stranger to working for, with, and alongside Elves and Dwarves. Qunari, however, remain a mystery and the subject of cautionary bedtime stories for Orlesian children. Mages are a point of disinterest to Devereaux. He is familiar with the disdain shown toward them by the chantry, but has also bared witness to many a high-ranking court-mage in his day. Simply put, he remains (unwillingly) ignorant of their plight.
Tropes that apply to Devereaux
Petit alms? Petit alms!
The crying of the children in Val Royeaux rivaled, and often surpassed, the tolling of the Grand Cathedral's bells.
"Attendez!" Wait! Devereaux half-chuckled the warning, fishing through his pouches for loose silver, depositing them into small, outstretched hands.
Merci! Merci!
It'd felt like years since he found himself in the capital. The sights and sounds of Antiva and Llomerryn were intriguing in their foreignness, but little could compare to the tug at his heart when he gazed at the glistening marble spires of Val Royeaux. Hesitantly, he set off into the back streets, avoiding the occasional low awning or poorly-placed crate. The cloying smell of cloves and Andraste's Grace in the alleys was something distinctly...Orlais in its scent. Much like the nation's people, it masked a more unpleasant odor.
---
The Blind Wyvern was just as classy an establishment as one expected it to be. Which is to say, not even a little. It was the haunt of the city's classes inférieures, and the occasional rebellious noble who left paler than the mask they donned. Devereaux rapped his fingers on the table he sat at to no tune in particular, scanning the room. A figure entered his peripheral- elf? not what he'd been expecting. He'd inferred the contact was human, but at this stage it made little difference.
"Moineau?" he tried, unsure.
The elf sat across from him, and nodded curtly, once. Devereaux never picked up contracts in person, so it seemed this was a matter of importance. Newly apostatized mage? Spiteful servant to some noble lord? He rarely took hit contracts, and the Jennies handled that sort of business in Royeaux, anyway.
Regardless, his contact seemed less than amiable. Time to break the ice. Hopefully the swill in the wyvern was a leg-up from that one awful tavern in the free marches. A contract to remember, to be sure.
Devereaux pat his pockets, remembering.
"Shit. Sorry."
One could always count on Royan children to rob you blind.
His contact shifted, and deposited a pouch on the table with a heavy clang. Devereaux caught sight of the sovereigns immediately. A lot of them. His eyebrows shot up almost comically, unprepared for the coming question.
"You're familiar with Werner Jauquin, yes?"
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IC
This is the permissions list for IC (in-character), activity.
Hugging this character: Yes
Kissing this character: Yes
Flirting with this character: Yes
Fighting with this character: Yes
Injuring this character (include limits and severity): Yes, unless liable to realistically cause death
Killing this character: No
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: Yes
Offensive subjects (things you don’t wish to RP/come across): Anything explicitly against forum rules, and as a broad rule, potentially triggering content for other users (in which-case I'll state this OOC)
