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PATRIGAN LLOYE
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PATRIGAN LLOYE
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“Darkness is just something you shine a torch on. The greater mystery that we've to unravel.”
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“Darkness is just something you shine a torch on. The greater mystery that we've to unravel.”
THE BASICS
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
CHARACTER CONCEPT
- human
- male
- eighteen-years-old
- 48, winter, 495 AV
- born in Ravok
- fluent in Common
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Patrigan is five-feet-nine-inches of lean muscle and toned skin, belied by a slight slouch that looks a little lanky. High cheekbones and dazzling blue eyes behind long lashes make him look almost effeminate, but his voice has almost achieved the deep, soothing drawl of a man. Though he tries to hide it, puberty left him with a long-standing need for perpetual grooming, and he’s usually seen absent-mindedly raking a hand through his tufts of hazel-coloured hair, or sweeping a thumb over his lower lip; his physical demeanour is not unlike a boy uncertainly trying on his father’s clothes, three sizes too big for him.
CHARACTER CONCEPT
Patrigan’s life goal is to ask questions, to find answers, to seek knowledge. Knowledge is power — any kind of knowledge, about anything. He finds himself constantly questioning the reality around him, and it only takes one simple question before it turns into something that consumes him from the inside out. To him, that means breaking the shackles that bind him to Ravok and seeing the world, to go on a life-long quest to search for his meaning in life, to emblazon his mark onto Mizaharian history. If one has the uncanny ability to find things, he owes it to the world to look.
However, under the merry mask he slips on when he walks out the door and into that unknown, he is embittered and weary, largely because he was born and bred in Ravok and its dark, dark romance. He is quick to judge, quick to narrow his eyes at what looks like a hand-out, because it could potentially end with a knife in your back, and so he has learned to rely on himself and only himself. He has seen what Ravok is capable of, and hates it; because of it, he has come to the conclusion that people are inherently evil, and is slow to trust.
However, under the merry mask he slips on when he walks out the door and into that unknown, he is embittered and weary, largely because he was born and bred in Ravok and its dark, dark romance. He is quick to judge, quick to narrow his eyes at what looks like a hand-out, because it could potentially end with a knife in your back, and so he has learned to rely on himself and only himself. He has seen what Ravok is capable of, and hates it; because of it, he has come to the conclusion that people are inherently evil, and is slow to trust.
HISTORY * PRE-CREATION
Patrigan has lived in Ravok his entire life. It’s the only world he knows — a fact that never ceases to plague him, the fact that his entire existence is caged within the walls of one city that he grows tired of by each setting sun. He finds he cares less and less for the religion that many a neighbor has built their entire lives around, and realizes with each day the danger this poses to the life he lives.
He was brought up around the religion of Ravok, around the importance of Rhysol, the one and only (although he has heard stories of other gods, from outsiders whose lives were cut short, or vain gossip spread by foolish children). His mother, a fierce but loving woman who ran an apothecary, was never a firm follower of Rhysol, though she would go to great lengths to hide her irreverence from her child. The older he got, however, the more his mother seemed odd. Not outright strange, but different from the other people he's known since he could walk without feeling the urge to slip over a ledge and into Ravokian water.
Patrigan had always been a boy geared towards jumping over canals and exploring Ravok, seeking for the sake of seeking, ripping stitches and prying answers from the seams. He would wander the entire day without a solid goal formed inside his head, asking questions, looking for answers (although he does not quite know when he stopped talking freely with strangers), and at the end of the day, he would always find himself sitting on the docks, feet dangling over the edge, watching the sun set on horizons unknown to him. It made his stomach do a little dance every time. After the Syna had long gone, he would retreat back to home and his mother’s bosom.
It took a long time and an accumulation of courage and boldness for him to accept what he wanted, and it was more than the sum of what he'd seen and what he'd wanted, but there was one thing he was certain he wanted to do by the time he turned eighteen: to leave Ravok.
He was brought up around the religion of Ravok, around the importance of Rhysol, the one and only (although he has heard stories of other gods, from outsiders whose lives were cut short, or vain gossip spread by foolish children). His mother, a fierce but loving woman who ran an apothecary, was never a firm follower of Rhysol, though she would go to great lengths to hide her irreverence from her child. The older he got, however, the more his mother seemed odd. Not outright strange, but different from the other people he's known since he could walk without feeling the urge to slip over a ledge and into Ravokian water.
Patrigan had always been a boy geared towards jumping over canals and exploring Ravok, seeking for the sake of seeking, ripping stitches and prying answers from the seams. He would wander the entire day without a solid goal formed inside his head, asking questions, looking for answers (although he does not quite know when he stopped talking freely with strangers), and at the end of the day, he would always find himself sitting on the docks, feet dangling over the edge, watching the sun set on horizons unknown to him. It made his stomach do a little dance every time. After the Syna had long gone, he would retreat back to home and his mother’s bosom.
It took a long time and an accumulation of courage and boldness for him to accept what he wanted, and it was more than the sum of what he'd seen and what he'd wanted, but there was one thing he was certain he wanted to do by the time he turned eighteen: to leave Ravok.
