(I'm going to do first and ask for forgivness never, this is my first time as a roleplayer here on Snafu so please take into consideration that I am not familiar with the neighborhood)
Standing: Prefers to leave complex standings to those who understand them and the politics to crook nosed beurocrats.
Profession/Role: Mercenary, Sellsword, or Warmonger; which ever you prefer to think of him as, it matters very little to him as long as there is a job to be done and a keep to be earned.
Appearance: A man that could be mistaken for 15 years older then the 32 years he already was for his rugged and sharp deminor, Lothering is a shallow golden gaze that has seen both friend and foe die beside him in his work scheme, but feels no sorrow for either. As a youth in Terrantula, his skin was that of a golden brown paired with his 6 foot and toned body that had worked countless fields with goring labor. In the years after his questionable departure from his homeland he earned many scars not limited to those visible to others that cascade down his cheek through his lip, that often sneers into a wolfish grin, as well as a suit of special hauberk armor sporting an arrangment of trophies ranging from the horns of Orr-kin to gastly things of childhood fairytales. His hair is worn down to his neck, long and unkempt, he sports a pair of well groomed cheek beards that ofter smell of a herbal shampoo.
Weapons/Equipment: Around his waist in a belt of a strange leather, Lothering carries his trophies including a longsword he dubs the Lytherope that is said to have been forged in the molten fires of a Xephamor volcano and a Dagger from Faelee. On his back he carries a worn knapsack, its contents range from a metal mess kit to sleeping bag that most soldier would carry with them, the special items among it are a lighter with an engraving that says, "Only the Rightous shall see the Light", a box of Terrantulian Cigars that are one of the few luxuries that Lothering allows himself, and small leatherbound notebook.
Personality: Often refered to as a ciniving cold-hearted man whose only intrest is that of valuables, there has never been a moment in which he has backed down in the face of even his own death while there is still a spark of hope that he will get to light another cigar for himself and for those that stand with him.
-Warm Showers with a good smelling Shampoo
-A good Cigar
-Sometimes, just sometimes, some company.
-The smell of Ginger
Magick: Magick... There are few who attribute those things to the likes of Lothering, but in the darkest hour when all seems lost, those few who live to tell the tale say that it is he who brings the dawns early light long before its time, purging away darkness with flames erupting from the dark corners of his jet-black heart. But when its said and done... he remebers nothing of the event that had unfolded.
Hobbies: Swordplay is a practise that he will often indulge himself in for long hours at a time till he collapses from exaustion, his smaller querks are braiding, playing cards, and translating an assortment of old tomes he carries around with him in his bag.
History: Most tales of Lothering are peiced together from former colleuges and drunken travern stories, but the common element that exists in everyone of them is his homeage from Terrantula where he was a peasent that worked the fields with his labor. But what made him leave so suddenly is beyond most people, much less what drives him when there are times when he turns down the money owed to him for reasons unexplained. Some say he's slowly giving into that shiveled up soul of his, others say he's just looking for a thrill and possibly some more money... maybe thats why he has business in Meka.
Theme: Children of the Damned - Iron Maiden