Erik Larou

by **Erik Larou** on June 7th, 2011, 9:50 am

Erik Larou
The Traveling Fiddler

The Basics

Race: Human
Birthday & Age : 54th day of Fall, 488 A.V (23 Years Old)
Gender: Male

At First Glance

Erik stands at roughly 6'3" and his years of traveling have kept his body in good shape. His arms and legs seem a bit lanky compared to the rest of his body, but not enough to warrant special attention. His short, light brown hair is usually hidden beneath a hat (or cat) of some sort and as a result it is generally unkempt. Eyes like a pair of polished emeralds draw attention from an otherwise unremarkable face. His skin is fair, though a little tanned from being outdoors most of the time.

How I (Mis)Behave

Music is Erik's life and as a result most people will likely never see him without his violin by his side. He is very out-spoken and is never afraid to say whats on his mind, especially if he doesn't agree with something. Unfortunately, this can rub certain people the wrong way. That, combined with his reluctance to back down from a fight, can turn a simple exchanging of insults into an all out brawl. Once the fighting is over however, any animosity leading up to the exchanging of blows can be forgotten almost instantly. To Erik, the best way to settle an argument that words can't quite seem to fix is with a simply to duke it out. By the end of it, most, if not all, of the anger and petty grievances have been vented, allowing for a more open-minded view of the issue. Spending more than a season in the same place can drive him stir-crazy, as his restless spirit drives him to experience all that the world has to offer. He does tend to wear his heart on his sleeve and unless he is actively trying to conceal his emotions he is very easy to read. He is happiest when he is on the road, playing a song, or watching a good storm.

Reminiscing

Erik grew up in the hustle and bustle that is Syliras. Both of his parents were merchants, though while his mother ran a rather successful stall selling various imports in the Great Bazaar, his father traveled from city to city. Until Erik was roughly eight, he saw rarely saw his father, and when he did it was only for a few days at a time. On the days that his father was home however, anytime there was a storm they would sit together by the entrance to the city "Watching nature in it's purest form" as his father would say. The rest of his time was either spent helping his mother run the stall, or running around the city with the other children. After his eighth birthday however, he began to travel with his father.

Erik adapted quickly to life on the move, only staying in one place long enough to sell off goods and load up on more. The two rarely left with the same caravan they had arrived with, with one exception. Years nine through twelve of Erik's life were spent in the company of a rather interesting group. Every night spent sitting around the campfire, one of the other merchants in the group (Erik couldn't remember his name if his life depended on it, only that it started with a K and that he smelled vaguely of spices) would play a fiddle. It seemed that no matter how tired everyone was, as soon as the bow touched the strings, everyone had enough energy to get up and dance (Especially if they had a few brews beforehand).

At first Erik simply watched, studying the way the man played, how he held the bow, and how he made the entire caravan come alive with his songs. Within a week he asked the man to teach him how to play and over the next three years he soaked up whatever knowledge he could. Erik still was no master, but by the time he and his father parted ways with the rest of the caravan, he was able to draw a crowd when he played. Between the money he had earned in tips for his performances and a small loan from his parents, he was able to buy his own violin. For the next seven years, life was routine, still traveling between cities, though this time he was the one who made the caravans dance around the campfires at night and drawing in the crowds when they stopped to peddle their wares. It was a few days after his nineteenth birthday that a small orange ball of energy that would come to be called TJ entered his life.

A cool autumn breeze snaked it's way through the streets of Zeltiva carrying with it the smell of the sea and the sounds of a fiddle. Erik was playing to pass the time, waiting for the caravan they would be leaving with to finish preparing for the trek through the Mirahil Pass. They were near the edge of the city, so the usual loose gathering of people that would stop to hear him play was reduced to the occasional passerby. Halfway through a number he felt something brushing against his leg, and once he stopped playing, he heard what had to be the most pathetic excuse for a meow he had ever heard. Down by his his feet was a small orange kitten, looking up at him hungrily, pawing at his leg and mewling. Erik pulled a wrapped bit of smoked fish he had been saving for later out of his pocket and set it on the ground. Within seconds it disappeared, devoured by an orange blur. Once the feeding frenzy was over, he kneeled down to gather up the wrapper. The kitten brushed against his hand affectionately for a little bit before darting up his arm and burying itself in his breast pocket. By the time Erik looked down, it was already fast asleep, purring contentedly.

Throughout the entire trip home the kitten never strayed more than a few feet away from Erik's side, either trotting alongside him or passed out in his pocket. Erik's mother was the first to start calling the kitten TJ and while Erik wasn't sure what made him look like anything other than a cat, it seemed to respond to the name, so it stuck. After only a few days at home the urge to travel was nagging him. With a few fond farewells and all the drama that normally comes with "leaving the nest", Erik set off with another caravan with TJ right by his side. In the years between then and now there were only a few incidents of note. He picked up the basics of hypnotism from one of the merchants he traveled with who had been using it to her advantage in trade negotiations, as well as a smattering Pavi. Then from the Fall of 509 A.V to the next Spring he was snowed in at Avanthal when his caravan got caught in a blizzard. Out of the twenty or so members of the caravan that they had started with only seven reached the Icewall Gates. (Note that this was due to an argument over which way the group should be going, not necessarily that the other 13 died.) During the time between he picked up a decent understanding of the beautiful language that is Vani. Eventually he was able to join up with a caravan heading back towards warmer climates, though he did grow a bit attached to the city of ice, especially the Sculpture Yard.

Tricks of the Trade

Skills :

Gnosis :

Lore :

Languages :

Tools of the Trade

Clothes :

Heirloom :

Equipment :

Spare Change

387 Gold Mizas, 5 Copper Mizas :

Where I've Been

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Erik Larou

Erik Larou

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