Miles Rhodrik Le'Metayer

Biographical information

Birthplace Abelein Born Died Age 33 at time of rest, plus about 60 at discovery Home The Vale? Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Half-Human? Skeleton Sub-Race Gender Dem Bones (He/They) Height 5'7"/170cm, add an inch in the flesh Mass 22lbs/10kg Hair color None Eye color Glowing evergreen wisps, shape and size shifting with emotion Skin color If any is even left, it is ash-grey and dessicated

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Skald and adventurer, former seaman Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Blackbeltkitten Created on 7/15/2022 Avatar Made by me on Heroforge

Rattle do those bones, so old, held Soul in limbo while physicality wanes. Rattle as though they yet Breathe.

Miles, once a vibrant-cheeked young adventurer, found himself turned about in the Vale, and at camp fell into deep magical slumber. It has been sixty-some years since then. His body asunder and blown away by breezes, leaving behind sunbleached skaldswear and arid, solid bones.

A weatherwhipped but complete skeleton, clad in sunbleached but relatively sound fineries. His once-black coat's fur trimmings turned orange, his crimson sash and kneebands bleached rosy, his hat purpled and feather paled. His buttons and medallion are tarnished and rusted, shoes worn but solid, stockings nearly gone. His gourd bottle and mandolin are cracked and dusty. The things undamaged of his kit are his gilded knife and pinky ring, kept protected by his worn bag and their very material alike. Upon awakening, his eyesockets wisp with pale evergreen points of light that shift and shimmer with life and feeling.

Close Quarters
Miles is competent enough with blades to defend himself against road bandits, however his shortsword seems to have gone missing.

Ranged
While capable enough with a bow to target for fun and hunt with good success, Miles certainly isn't a career archer. He doesn't particularly enjoy polearms, but is capable of using them.

Magickal
Miles once used the smallest fragments of magick to cast minor illusions that would evoke feeling while he spoke and sung tales. Who knows what his reawakened life will elicit from him.

Survival
Miles was more than capable of surviving in city and wilderness alike. Hunting, skinning, and cleaning animals, preparing food, making salves, reading maps, understanding cardinal positioning via the sun and stars, repair most of his own belongings, and whatever else required for land life. He also knows competent shipman's terminology, seacraft anatomy and rigging, bosun's commands, and whatever is required for merchant ship life.

Creative
Being a skald, Miles can sing, write and recite poetry, and play his gourd mandolin. He once could blast the hunting horn melodically and play the copper whistle, but he'll have to find out if he still can when he awakes. He can also sketch with decent- but occasionally eye-of-the-beholder - beauty, and has made his own pipe of clay and wood.

In the flesh, Miles was a delightfully friendly lad to be around, especially in good spirits. His boisterous attitude and his tendency to break into song or flyt for the simple fact that it was fun to hear the whoops of delight or groans of irritation a hallmark of his character. Though just as easily his mood could be soured by those around him in ill spirits, falling onto crass words he may regret and dogged expressions that hurt his teeth. Neither rain nor sleet nor hail would bring him down to such low, dark places, but a bad sport could.

It remains to be seen what sixty or more years of dreams have done to his very beinghood.