Rovan Ravenhill, Intrigant Scribe

Biographical information

Birthplace Grayshore Born Died Age 31 Home Alliria Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Human Sub-Race Gender Male Height 5,8 Mass Average Hair color Raven black Eye color Pine green Skin color Deathly pale

Political information

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

Out-of-character information

Writer Darkweaver Created on Avatar https://pbg.bgforge.net/iwd2/character/portraits/male01.jpg

Rovan Ravenhill is a scribe who indulges in the finer things in life. He drinks expensive wine, wears fancy rings, slicks his hair and goatee with fine oils and always strives to wear clean, polished shoes.

How does a man acquire all these luxuries on the salary of a humble scribe, you might ask? Well, my friend, you shall find that many activities a clerk engages can get very obscure. A criminal act is more easily caught when the perpetrator is covered in blood or snatches the offending item with their bare hands. But the illicit activities of this gentleman takes on a much subtler form - in paid-for forgeries, misdirected letters of orders, bloated supply requests and many other sleights of hand by a penman's stroke.

He is careful not to leave too much of a trail from these dealings, of course, always ensuring to keep a layer or two between him and those he deals with. Unless he feels particularly frisky, that is, and engages in a personal relationship of crime.

This black robed figure might bring to mind creatures of a relatively short stature who manage, somehow, to elevate themselves in their grandeur, such as the rank, avian posture of a raven in flight or the momentary rise of a snake's glittering head, preparing to strike. But of course, on closer inspection, these animals are as much part of the grit and soil as any other member of the animal kingdom - the raven scavenges for food or trinkets with all the sanctimony of a graverobber, and the snake coils low to the dirt when it has to, sneaking up on its prey.

In much the same manner, Rovan may exude the momentary grandeur that can bamboozle the common-minded, flashing rings of some wealth, speaking in long-syllabic words of erudition (all with the right, posh Allirian accent of course, though it carries a nasal quality), walking with all the grace and exuberance of a nobleman. But many nobles can quickly identify him as, at best, a middle-classed figure, seeking to reach heights beyond his station. His clothes are black as the ink that marks his trade, and he will often hide his hands inside the sleeves of his voluminous robe, the better to shelter his ink-stained fingertips from the scrutiny of his betters.

And much like the aforementioned animals, he tends to slither and slide his way into conversations, subtly eavesdropping and poking his nose into matters not concerning him with all the curiousity of a cat. With the oil in his slicked back hair and rings glinting in the sun, his moon-skinned face reflective, his robe and cloak swallows the rest of the light around him. At night, he melds into the darkness, like a hand into a snug glove, except for his impish smirk and flashing eyebrows.

A caster may notice faint hints of someone who may, at one time or another, having dipped their toe into magic, though they are faint, and he keeps whatever practice he does in his spare time close to his chest.

- Expert calligraphy and writing.
- Speaks, reads and understands multiple languages.
- Has a certain level of surface social expertise, knowing what to say and when to say in various circles.
- Extensive knowledge of heraldry and noble houses (since he seeks to become one).
- A firm grip on court etiquette, style and fashion.
- Weak atheleticism. He couldn't run a marathon if his life depended on it.
- Deft hands and precise strokes.
- Expert forging and identification of writing styles, parchment qualities, suppliers, particular signatures, seals and more.
- A weakness for indulgence.
- An ego the size of a castle (that he hopes to buy one day), with just enough charm to hide it.

Smugness and self-indulgent slyness seem to be trademark faces of Rovan. In the end, he cannot mask his duplicitious nature fully - those with a keen insight into other people might see him straight away for what he is. A social climber and a silver-tongued charlatan. But those who look upon him with more favourable eyes might see a pragmatic negotiator and diplomat, someone who is always willing to seek the peaceful, reasonable and civilised path (which is mostly true). He dislikes dirtying his own hands with sordid work, both of the mundane and criminal kind, preferring rather to use the brute force of others, either through bribery, manipulation or favours.

Perhaps he has let off a subconscious signal to those who might receive it, calling his pet raven "Ego."