![[Verified by Luminescence]](./images/checkmark.png "[Verified by Luminescence]")
⭒ Basic Stats
Name: Wrenlo Gravence
Nickname: Wren
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Sexuality: Straight
Age: 28
H/W: 5'11"/160 lbs
Hair: Dirty Blonde
Eyes: Milky Blue
DOB: Fall 57 493 AV
POB: Sunberth, Syrlia
Residence: Sunberth
Profession: Weaponsmith
Fluent: Common
⭒ An Appearance
There’s a lean, rugged definition to Wrenlo’s slender body. His love for forging has progressed his lanky frame into something sculpted and well worn with age. He’s an average 5’11” with a long arms reach of a brawler. Olive toned skin accentuates the milky blue hue of his eyes, and even though they’re dreamy in color they carry a malicious undertone to his contemptuous glares. Off shoulder length waves are a dim dirty blonde and even under mid day sun the blonde never seems to look any more clean. His hair is usually tousled or in a top bun, with a thick ragged beard and a mustache to match.
Deep dark burns and small shallow cuts engrave crisscross scars around some fingers and trace up his knuckles with a few spots on the tops of both hands. All from days working with hot amber metals and a lack of sturdy gloves, as well as testing production of blades while sometimes fumbling with it’s sharpness. There is a long sacrificing scar from old attempts trialing malediction inside the palm of his right hand. The inner thigh of his right leg has a heart shaped burn scar about the size of his hand, collected by forced trauma from his two older cousins with a heated up crescent moon knife.
⭒ The Concept
Reticent or fervent, Wrenlo balances the two traits; One is always facing while the other hidden like the phase of the moon. He’s a man with busy hands, and takes pride and comfort in the skills he’s picked up. A loner by birth, it’s never stopped him from carrying his heart through his craft. He’s got a mood for beauty in the dark, and sometimes disturbing arts. There’s also a very romantic quality about him that he’s hardly ever let out to see the light of day.
By fault he’s numb outwardly. Indifferent to most causes unless it suits his desires or there’s an opportunity to get himself a leg up somewhere some how. He prefers his solitude but that does not mean he dislikes warmth and enjoyment from others. If you where to truly give him your word.. your trust.. your affection, he will give you the world. But because of the chaotic nature he’s grown from, it’s a miserable place to hold your hopes out and find yourself face down dead in a ditch. So the cycle of his internal moon continues.
⭒ Some History
Wrenlo’s memory of his mother has been described to him in small batches from time to time by his Uncle and Gram, but not much more than that. His mother’s death is an odd subject in Wrenlo’s family since her death during his birth, if it’s ever made a conversation at all. He’s seen more as a pity case as well as a laborer to his dwindling family ties in Sunberth. He does not know his father. He has no clue of his first name or being, only a whereabouts of Ravok where his mother was once shipped off as a slave. The only resemblance Wrenlo carries from that side of his family is their last name.
As the story was told to him; his mother Maeve was a clever runaway from her own folks but could never get far out of Sunberth. After so many attempts she was captured in an unguarded moment and shipped off to Ravok for her enslavement. Maeve became the childminder of her master’s kin and spent a good six turnings with the family there, caretaking. Lovestruck with her Master’s brother, by winter of 492 she would surely be expectant with Wrenlo. Whatever the case was, his mother would not detail, she had left her slave home in return to Sunberth rounding one hundred days pregnant, give or take. She came back home a changed woman. Better mannered and content with herself rather the wild and unhinged girl who used to roam the muck of her poor and unruly homeland. She didn’t fit the personality of her family anymore and there was an underlying tone, from what Gram’s intuition checks out, that she might have known her death was coming.
As a child Wrenlo had a hard uphill battle of finding himself. He lacked all parental advisory and learned early on that he only had himself to look after. His Uncle Bjorin took him in from the start. Bjorin already had two girls from different junkie mothers, but raising a male to help with labor around the forge was quite alright in his book. Gram shared the home and took on caretaking the grandkids during their early stages. The older they grew the less she cared really, but there was quite a bit of attachment to her ‘sweet Lo-Lo’ she called him. He took to her fondness of death and dark practices like malediction with auristics as well as her interests in fortune telling with tarot and bone throwing. They each have a very ritualistic personal touch and, well, Wrenlo strives for his own personal growth so the practice seemed to go hand in hand. Granted his childhood was miserable otherwise, Gram gave him a nice pep in his step teaching him the wonders.
His Gram isn’t around anymore, passing in 512 and seven summers later his childhood shitehole was ransacked and his uncle dead floating in the mudway. Wrenlo spotted his cousins once down Slaver’s Row and nevermore after. He still lives in the Sunset Quarters, renting his own run-down shack of an apartment neighboring the aftermath ruins.
Name: Wrenlo Gravence
Nickname: Wren
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Sexuality: Straight
Age: 28
H/W: 5'11"/160 lbs
Hair: Dirty Blonde
Eyes: Milky Blue
DOB: Fall 57 493 AV
POB: Sunberth, Syrlia
Residence: Sunberth
Profession: Weaponsmith
Fluent: Common
___________________________________________________________________________
⭒ An Appearance
There’s a lean, rugged definition to Wrenlo’s slender body. His love for forging has progressed his lanky frame into something sculpted and well worn with age. He’s an average 5’11” with a long arms reach of a brawler. Olive toned skin accentuates the milky blue hue of his eyes, and even though they’re dreamy in color they carry a malicious undertone to his contemptuous glares. Off shoulder length waves are a dim dirty blonde and even under mid day sun the blonde never seems to look any more clean. His hair is usually tousled or in a top bun, with a thick ragged beard and a mustache to match.
Deep dark burns and small shallow cuts engrave crisscross scars around some fingers and trace up his knuckles with a few spots on the tops of both hands. All from days working with hot amber metals and a lack of sturdy gloves, as well as testing production of blades while sometimes fumbling with it’s sharpness. There is a long sacrificing scar from old attempts trialing malediction inside the palm of his right hand. The inner thigh of his right leg has a heart shaped burn scar about the size of his hand, collected by forced trauma from his two older cousins with a heated up crescent moon knife.
___________________________________________________________________________
⭒ The Concept
Reticent or fervent, Wrenlo balances the two traits; One is always facing while the other hidden like the phase of the moon. He’s a man with busy hands, and takes pride and comfort in the skills he’s picked up. A loner by birth, it’s never stopped him from carrying his heart through his craft. He’s got a mood for beauty in the dark, and sometimes disturbing arts. There’s also a very romantic quality about him that he’s hardly ever let out to see the light of day.
By fault he’s numb outwardly. Indifferent to most causes unless it suits his desires or there’s an opportunity to get himself a leg up somewhere some how. He prefers his solitude but that does not mean he dislikes warmth and enjoyment from others. If you where to truly give him your word.. your trust.. your affection, he will give you the world. But because of the chaotic nature he’s grown from, it’s a miserable place to hold your hopes out and find yourself face down dead in a ditch. So the cycle of his internal moon continues.
___________________________________________________________________________
⭒ Some History
Wrenlo’s memory of his mother has been described to him in small batches from time to time by his Uncle and Gram, but not much more than that. His mother’s death is an odd subject in Wrenlo’s family since her death during his birth, if it’s ever made a conversation at all. He’s seen more as a pity case as well as a laborer to his dwindling family ties in Sunberth. He does not know his father. He has no clue of his first name or being, only a whereabouts of Ravok where his mother was once shipped off as a slave. The only resemblance Wrenlo carries from that side of his family is their last name.
As the story was told to him; his mother Maeve was a clever runaway from her own folks but could never get far out of Sunberth. After so many attempts she was captured in an unguarded moment and shipped off to Ravok for her enslavement. Maeve became the childminder of her master’s kin and spent a good six turnings with the family there, caretaking. Lovestruck with her Master’s brother, by winter of 492 she would surely be expectant with Wrenlo. Whatever the case was, his mother would not detail, she had left her slave home in return to Sunberth rounding one hundred days pregnant, give or take. She came back home a changed woman. Better mannered and content with herself rather the wild and unhinged girl who used to roam the muck of her poor and unruly homeland. She didn’t fit the personality of her family anymore and there was an underlying tone, from what Gram’s intuition checks out, that she might have known her death was coming.
As a child Wrenlo had a hard uphill battle of finding himself. He lacked all parental advisory and learned early on that he only had himself to look after. His Uncle Bjorin took him in from the start. Bjorin already had two girls from different junkie mothers, but raising a male to help with labor around the forge was quite alright in his book. Gram shared the home and took on caretaking the grandkids during their early stages. The older they grew the less she cared really, but there was quite a bit of attachment to her ‘sweet Lo-Lo’ she called him. He took to her fondness of death and dark practices like malediction with auristics as well as her interests in fortune telling with tarot and bone throwing. They each have a very ritualistic personal touch and, well, Wrenlo strives for his own personal growth so the practice seemed to go hand in hand. Granted his childhood was miserable otherwise, Gram gave him a nice pep in his step teaching him the wonders.
His Gram isn’t around anymore, passing in 512 and seven summers later his childhood shitehole was ransacked and his uncle dead floating in the mudway. Wrenlo spotted his cousins once down Slaver’s Row and nevermore after. He still lives in the Sunset Quarters, renting his own run-down shack of an apartment neighboring the aftermath ruins.
