Crismento Miren

[Crismento Miren]

Crismento Miren Basic Information Race: Human Birthday & Age : Autumn of 487, 24 Gender: Male Physical Description “Oh, I really appreciate the compliment, but I must say that I am rather amused, too, since I don’t believe that you are being truly honest, or that what you say is true.” Cris is a lean man standing at 6’3”. His smooth, usually clean shaven face often equips a warm smile that plays in tandem with his confidence emitting blue eyes. Brown hair that are never in a mess if the man can help it along with the help of the most elegant clothing that he can get his hands on present an image far more beautiful than his conscience. Character Concept ”Please, don’t let the outpour of my words overwhelm you. All I wanted is to express how deeply I am concerned for you and the situation that you find yourself in. I beg you to carry on your story and share your burden with me. I am sure we will be able to find a proper solution that will help us to deal with the problem you are having.” Cris talks a lot. But he listens even more. He is very interested in what you have to say, because what you say can be very interesting. When Cris speaks, he unleashes many words and what he says is beautiful. His voice, his eyes, his hands, movements and expressions – they all dance together until you can’t help but feel that you can trust this man and wish him to be the one who hears what you have to say. And if you don’t, you will. The vulnerable and the gullible are wounded deer, and as a hungry pack of wolves in the woods, Cris is always nearby for them. He is the man to comfort and amaze them and they are the people to reward him. It is the perfect relationship, an ideal bond that is fated to be cut just at the right moment. Consequences is not an entirely alien concept, but it usually exists so far away in Crismento’s life that it is a rare occasion that such matters require his immediate and focused attention, just like that fly which landed on a wall in the next room and did not move for bells. Pondering on what effects his games have on others is nothing more than a daydream on a particularly slow and boring afternoon about what might have happened so long ago. Words, confident act and his art are his weapons of choice and only defences, as Cris is neither physically strong, nor has skills in fighting. Situations that call for physical confrontation and threaten with the possibility of harm are best to be avoided in any manner possible, and “any” is a word that covers a wide array of methods. Cris has witnessed the madness and insanity that overgiving can push a man into, but fear is a weak opponent to temptation that, not unlike an addiction, lures one who lacks willpower into the world of limitless possibilities, accessible with the right thought and only for a price of one piece of his soul at a time. His art is his gift and his curse for he is its master and its slave. Character History ”My story? Ah, it’s neither long, nor terribly interesting. I was brought up by my loving and caring parents, who provided me with a safe home and warm food. Yet I was young, rebellious and foolish, longing for breathtaking adventures and amazing experiences. So I ran away from all the good things that so many of us crave for in this dangerous world, to see new cities, meet new people… And by following this misguided path I ran into the friend of yours – or should I say ours? – and was directed towards you. So here I sit in the noisy tavern, the house of ale and amusement, telling you a short and uneventful tale of my life.” Pop’s been a smuggler entrepreneur, which was a fact not advertised very loudly, lest the larger crooks got upset about the competition and decided to break its legs or remove it entirely. Sunberth was dangerous enough as it was, no need inviting more trouble your way. It was something that the Miren children learned fairly early and they always carried the lesson close to their heart. They were a smart bunch of kids in general, raised mostly by their mother, whom they all loved dearly, for she was the nicest woman in the city if not the whole Mizahar. Objections to the that claim were best kept quiet, since the two eldest boys would have been quick to break your jaw unless you were a man big enough to stand your own or carried a steel blade on your person. Fourth child out of five, Cris was the youngest boy in the family, though as many were keen to point out, he fitted in better with his sisters. Skinny lad with a pretty as a girl’s face was definitely not meant to become another thug on the streets, nor did he want such destiny. Even at a small age the little bastard was a fairly cunning one and even though not sharp enough to outsmart a fox or a sober adult, the boy found a way to earn a coin or two gathering and spreading rumours or even an occasional true bit of information. Lyin’ Cris, as a few nicknamed the talky brat, worked for some experienced and a few up-and-coming information brokers, since not every one of them could keep their throats unslit for many days in a row. Sometime after the kid turned fourteen he met an old soul in a tavern nursing not his first drink alone in the corner. A foreigner to the lawless lands, no doubt, he caught Crismento’s eyes and for whatever reason the youngster approached the man for a chat. Later the boy could find many good explanations for his decision, but there were none in his mind at the time. The old chap hailed from Zeltiva, or at least that was how Cris recalled, since the name, Zel Wadash was easier to remember that way. There was nothing of interest in the slow, depressed and convoluted speech of the elder man, but Cris remained at the table. The charm of the Zeltivan was there, though it was tough to spot where exactly it was hiding. It was not the words, and it was not the fragile, poorly aged body, nor the wrinkled, tired face. And yet the young lad was hooked and captivated. In fact, Crismento returned to speak to Zel again the next day. And then they met yet again. And again. Many such meetings followed during the season. The old bloke was probably the first man that the boy listened speak for more than ten sentences without having something to say of his own in return. The talks of some mysterious art and legacy made no sense in boy’s mind, but somehow deep down he understood something that did not translate into thoughts. There was only one friend left that he needed in life and only one job worth doing. Such choice paid well, and that was probably the reason why the family, aside for the elder sister, didn’t seem to mind too much Cris being at home only for dinner and bed for the night. Days were spent running errands for the old man, writing down long and incomprehensible speeches, lectures and recollections that Zel dictated presumably for his own personal collection, using words Crismento’s ears had never heard and jumping from one topic to the next in such way that at the end of the day the boy could not retell anyone what he had written down even under the most torturing interrogation. It was less than two years after the two met when Cris moved in with Zel, who had become his mentor. The sixteen year old lad was not sure what he was learning from the man exactly, but the heavy burden of responsibility was very clear to him, if not to anyone else: he was the keeper of the legacy to the greatness of the art that must survive, thrive and prevail. His family was worried now, not that they should have been surprised. For seasons Crismento has ceased to be the cheery, chatty boy, but they would not notice his alienation until he broke away from the entirely. Long pleadings and tears of his sisters could not persuade him, neither could a few strong words of his father, who was fast to accept that the boy had to move on sometime to his own life and make his own mistakes. But they couldn’t see, could they? Zel was the one, who was most important. To them he was just and old, unsettling man who claimed their boy, but Cris knew better. He saw, he felt, he understood – Zel knew the art and the art was the priority. Zel was the life, and the art was the way. It was so clear, so painfully clear. The perception and knowledge so pure and unobscured. And yet so many fools were blind and ignorant. It was right for them to be punished by his mentor, it was a small price that they paid. He only exploited their stupidity, something everybody possessed in large quantities. It was so obvious. Mindless monkeys just waiting to be told what to do, pushed in the direction they would go without questions. Zel told them to sit and they sat, Zel told them to bark and they barked. Zel knew the art and the art was the way. This intangible treasure was becoming less and less of a mystery to Cris. Zel provided him a new light in which his sight could not remain the same. He followed the footsteps of his mentor and the secrets became lessons, lessons turned to knowledge and knowledge was crafted into a tool. But the further down the road he went, the less bright and dazzling shadows were left. Eventually Cris realized that he too was a mindless monkey that danced as instructed with the rest of the fools and idiots. The revelation hurt, but this sting could not defeat the admiration to the man that brought him to a whole different level of life. He was gifted insight into the art and that could not be overlooked. Crismento was special. He was chosen. He was the keeper of the legacy. He was the keeper of the art. And the art was the way. But his shaken love for Zel was challenged anew before it could fully recover. It seemed his mentor did not love him back as much anymore. The old man would sometimes check if Cris actually did what he had been asked to, more and more often he would not allow the lad to have his meal at the same time, there was less this great artist wished to reveal and parchments went days without having a single word scribbled on them, much less the long winded speeches full of insight and truth that they used to be treated to. There were also times when the errands he had been sent on turned out to be plain meaningless. But most insulting and cutting were the glances Crismento would catch and partly whispered words he would hear. Did his mentor no longer trust him? Was he not worth to be the keeper of the art anymore? The answers didn’t take too long to arrive and when they did it was terrifying. Cris was called a traitor, a thief, a murderer and much worse. Zel claimed he knew the young man’s plans and intentions. His beloved mentor accused poor lad of conspiring to murder him and steal the rights to the glory of the art. A backstabbing leech was one last label Crismento heard before his own mind betrayed him. The visions he saw and voices he heard would haunt him for years in nightmares. He lost the control of his emotions, finding himself in the utter confusion only to be eventually overwhelmed with panic. He was soon to die, every muscle in his body knew that, but he didn’t want to. And so he ran. Cris would not remember how he escaped, where did he go or whose company he joined. It was all a messy spot as big as a whole season in a painted picture that was his life. The parts that were clear again begun in Zeltiva. Now a twenty-year old man, he spent seasons recovering from the world shattering betrayal before reforming himself. Zel may have been gone and he may have taken a lot away, but Crismento still had the same unobscured sight remaining and he knew enough of the art to make it into his own way. Zel’s vision of it was not perfect; it drove the old man mad. The former apprentice trusted he was smarter and stronger. He could be careful and handle it perfectly. After all, if he found things turning bad, he could always abandon the art. Cris didn’t need it. It was just convenient to have it. Simple and easy like that. After adjusting to his new life he started his new career. Experiences from his childhood and lessons of the art and Zel’s way allowed Cris punish the gullible for their fault all on his own. His tales and promises were appealing to some carefully targeted audiences, and at the same time quite expensive once they were captivated. The con artist was not left to be alone in his line of work for long, as he unexpectedly found a Konti collaborator with whom he ran some scams together. Eventually, however, the risks of his job caught up to him as a stunt pulled back in the past came back to bite, beat and possibly even kill him. Cris realised that he had overstayed his welcome in Zeltiva and was once again forced to flee a city.

[Crismento Miren]

Training (Skills, Arcana, Gnosis, Lore) ”Please, just calm down, look at me and listen to what I have to say.”   The Con Artist Rhetoric 25 (Novice) 15@RB, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3 Acting 20 (Novice) 7@SP, 3, 2, 2, 3, 3 Interrogation 16 (Novice) 10@SP, 1, 4, 1 Persuasion 12 (Novice) 7@SP, 2, 2, 1 Observation 6 (Novice) 2, 2, 2 Manipulation 3 (Novice) 3 Investigation 2 (Novice) 2 Seduction 1 (Novice) 1 Deception 1 (Novice) 1 Larceny 1 (Novice) 1 Disguise 1 (Novice) 1   The Art Hypnotism 37 (Competent) 26@SP, 3, 3, 2, 3   Misc Philosophy 5 (Novice) 5 Socialization 2 (Novice) 2 Economics 1 (Novice) 1 Weapon: Shortsword 1 (Novice) 1   Languages Common Fluent Fratava Basic Kontinese Poor Lore: Being Hypnotized Lore: Overgiving drives one mad False Name, Zeltiva - Samiir Jafa Lying like Breathing Resisting One's Urges Knowingly Ingesting Poison Forcing oneself to Vomit Given a Choice that isn't really a Choice First Kill The Pain of killing another Rising Dawn (Basic) Ebonstryfe Handler: Korin Lore: Rising Dawn Leadership (Poor) Piecing together the Puzzle Doing it for the Money A Final Task Putting someone into a Trance Overgiving Sharing in the Pain of Another Keep Your Lies Consistent Outmatched Man Crush Overshare Life of a Grifter Working Together Silver-tongued Ari (Collaborator) Probationary Citizen of Ravok Picking the Wrong Tour Guide Basic Layout of Ravok Magic is a Slippery Thing Giving in to the Whispers Encountering a Mind Reader A Favor Gained Equipment and Possessions ”Oh, my humble possessions pale in front of your riches. However, I might have something less tangible to offer you.” 1 Set of Clothing Dark grey wool cloak Dark grey wool hood Black velvet pants Brown velvet shirt Black wool jerkin Black leather shoes Leather belt 1 Golden pendant (Family heirloom) 1 Waterskin 3 Pouches 2 Pouches acquired with payment 1 Backpack 1 Set of Toiletries (comb, brush, razor, soap) Food for a week 1 eating knife Flint & Steel Ravok Citizenship Papers Ledger ”My biggest advice to you, my friend, is: don’t let be blinded by the glitter of gold and trust me when I tell you that it could serve a much greater purpose than merely resting in your pouch.” 100 gm Starting package 500 gm “Cashed in” shelter (-1) gm Pouch (-8) cm Wool hood (-24) gm Tarsin's Boarding House (Poor; Spring) (-135) gm Living expenses (Spring, 511 AV) 40 gm Ebonstryfe's payment 20 gm Ebonstryfe's payment (-24) gm Tarsin's Boarding House (Poor; Summer) (-135) gm Living expenses (Summer, 511 AV) (-24) gm Tarsin's Boarding House (Poor; Winter) (-135) gm Living expenses (Winter, 511 AV) 181 gm 9 sm 2 cm Total Thread List ”As a matter of fact, I’ve had a similar experience but a couple of seasons ago. If I remember correctly…” Flashbacks 508 AV, 52nd Summer - [Flashback] What a Wonderful Day 509 AV, 57th Spring - [Flashback] A Brew Best Served Salty... 509 AV, 12th Summer - [Flashback] A Liar and a Thief 509 AV, 15th Summer - [Flashback] To Fool a Dishonest Man 510 AV, 24th Fall - [Flashback] Escaping Karma 511 AV, Spring 22nd Spring - [Ravok Quest] Havoc in Ravok 511 AV, Summer 12th Summer - Toxic Business 17th Summer - Another One 39th Summer - [Silver Sliver] Blackhand & The Hypnotist 75th Summer - [Silver Sliver] Spy vs. Spy 511 AV, Winter 3rd-6th Winter - The Syliran Prisoner I 12th Winter - Of Weak Hearts and Twisted Minds 31st Winter - Citizen Registration 70th Winter - Caught In the Middle 512 AV, Fall 41st Fall - The Rising Dawn