Fraymoer

Biographical information

Birthplace It's complicated Born Died Age Very old Home Wherever there is coin to earn Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Unseelie Fae Sub-Race Gender Better you don't find out Height 6' Mass 183lbs Hair color Moss green Eye color Snakey Skin color Light brown

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Mercenary Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Fray Created on Avatar Link the source of your character's image

Fray likes to think they are "a what you see is what you get" sort of individual, and make no mistake for the most part, they are. But Fray also has a long, winding past littered with skeletons that they do not wish to speak of. At least, not without ample plying of a greedy and indulgent nature. One could say that they are haunted, running from things that will certainly catch up sooner or later. Until then, this deplorable Fae aims to explore every vice, sin, and kink known to man.

Unfortunately such lofty endeavors require coin. And since Fray isn't exactly the diplomatic type, they have found their wagon hitched to a rather crochety and decrepit mortal to see this ambition through.

Everything about Fray can be categorized under three labels: practical, feral, and all of the above. Their hair is closely shorn near the ears, increasing in volume towards the top and back, where a chaotic mop of loose, mossy green curls turn whichever way they please. A glorified mullet, if you will. Their skin is the color of acorns and their eyes a strange, iridescent imitation of venomous snakes.

Fray was built for violence, with impressive biceps and broad shoulders that could cut a wide swath through any crowd. Their canines are too sharp for comfort and their hands more claw-like than fingery. Every inch of them exudes confidence; there is nothing soft or inviting about this wandering Unseelie Fae.

Androgynous seems to suit Fray best. Not too feminine, not too masculine, just somewhere comfortably in between. Their flat, toned muscles and leather armor certainly lend to that effect, leaving everyone guessing and no answers to be readily found. One could, of course, try to share a bed with the likes of Fray to settle the score once and for all, but they have a type, and if you don't qualify and try anyway, you may very well found yourself skewered on the pointy end of their beloved Hildy.

1. Beating/dicing people to a pulp
2. Drinking
3. Eating
4. Wooing bar maids
5. Talking to trees

Fray is good with a sword and better with their fists. In part because drunkenness doesn't mix well with proper swordmanship, but mostly because they just like the feel of bones crunching beneath their knuckles. When sober, they take extra special care of their sword Hildy, which, in spite of its grossly common name, was made with otherworldly craft. The metal is silver in appearance, but beyond that Fray remains fond of their secrets. Safe to say that whatever it's made of steers clear of iron.

Tongue full of venom, temper like acid. Fray is, as their namesake implies, rough around the edges. Not one to mince words—or fists—Fray is the type to punch first and ask questions later. The reasons behind this may vary, ranging from drunkenness to a short fuse to just having rather rotten luck in life, but the outcome is usually the same. Fray rarely stays in one place for long, keeping just a few steps ahead of karmic consequences.

On occasion, Fray might do something to balance the scales. Most of the time, however, they just end up earning endearing nicknames like knave and incorrigible wretch.