Levy
Details
Full Name: Levy Roriksuhn
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Height: 5’9
Weight: 230
Birthdate:
Birthplace: Daravin
Profession: General Merchant
Housing: A beat up shack in the badlands
Partners: None
Titles: Philanderer
Factions: None
Fluencies: Common, Gentrevese
Conversationals:
Ineptitudes:
Appearance
Hes defined and built rugged paying attention to the details of his anatomy by making sure he’s eating right and working those muscles trying to get that cardio in whenever an opportunity presents itself. He’s not particularly tall but he’s broad from his shoulders, he’d be the type you’d think could throw a scary punch but in reality the only thing he chops is his pillows. He has pale blue eyes that can sweep someone away like the oceans tide, leaving them helplessly adrift lost at sea. To say he’s ridiculously good looking is a bit of an understatement, but he acknowledges it’s his burden to bare in this harsh desolate world. He has scraggly black hair that falls into thick locks of flowing curls and a gruff beard comprised of five o clock shadow.
Personality
His approach to people is smooth but unrefined he’s one of those eccentric types with an inviting personality and an evil gleam in his pale ice blue eyes. But there’s usually an ulterior motive as he plays his hands and climbs the ladder, first and foremost he’s a party in the front business in the back kind of philanderer. Not necessarily a bad guy but he looks out for number one, quick to try and take what he wants and has learned to wield his charisma like a weapon striking down hoes and foes alike.
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History
Levy was an ordinary man once striving to become the very best he could be. He was never much of a fighter and tended to use a cool level head and silver tongue to get him out of tight spots. He likes to think of himself as a merchant prince but things have run dry and what’s worse is he has no real connections in the imperial badlands, at his core he’s a small time hustler that’s oozing with charisma that can make and close a deal talking his way up hill. He’s definitely interested in testing out both his physical and mental limits, he trains his body because he knows first impressions are important and it does help to be able to drink and negotiate when you’re on the move.
Levy likes to look hard with a pistol hanging off the hip, and tends to feel looking rough and tumble can avoid a fight all together. His roots in spycraft is more of how he’s figured out how to glean information in conversation and use these little gems of information as blackmail if it can be backed by evidence or he’s confident his prospective buyer of silence lacks a spine and will fold. He’s interested in coins and power and makes ham fisted attempts to garner such with his wit charm and low cunning. His big emergency that spiraled out into a catastrophe happened in Daravin, he’d made a pass or two at a sorceress that had taken a notice to him and basically made a bunch of promises that he wasn’t keen on keeping for what was supposed to be a quick tumble in the sheets was turned into solemn vows of love as master and apprentice. And for whatever reason Levy simply couldn’t resist it, like somehow things became a blur of emotional manipulation while under Lucretia Meadows. And eventually he was inducted into Mentalism undergoing the rigors of the emotional reveries he was a shrewd survivor having suffered but endured the horrors of the nuerocrux, the more time that had passed the more aware he started becoming about how and why he felt when he felt it as for a time he was a slave shackled by his emotions and Lucretia had no qualms yanking his chains for desired results.
He knew he had to get away, he needed freedom as he managed to liberate himself from her grasp taking an opportunity to flee into the imperial badlands. An awfully funny place to consider his sanctuary as boots kick sand on his travels.
