Name: Rorbo Fergardis
Workplace: The Trusty Tradepost
Titles: First Merchent of the Eleven Books
A shorter shady character, 165cm/5,4f, and a bit heavier type. He always have a smirk on his face as he sees a possibility of a trade somewhere. A really great beard in grey tones, and the hair has slowly faded grey aswell. As one of the most prominent merchant in the area, known for getting things done regarding sales, black markets and virtually any goods or service. He wears a long coat that is of a dark and sturdy fabric, underneath a fine shirt with long handles with lacings. He has a greater belt, that hold many items such as a round canteen to various pouches.
Personality (traits, flaws, ideals, bonds)
He has a very soft voice that gives out the calm and collected person that he is. He walks and reflects a man of power. This comes of years upon years of trading, which have gotten him both the high and low contacts. A greater flaw is that he cant be without a greater glas of strong alchol now and so often. The loss of both the parents have shown hard to the fact that he is alone, and each passing winter it grows on him even more.
Started up from a family of merchants, so the ways of the trade came easy for him. Learned the ways to trick the clientele and to soften the guards to letting you pass with your goods. Always short on money and always hustling for the gold, he swore to never live like that later in life. So with ambitions to live a life of wealth and as a merchant. The parents are both gone of age and without any siblings he has taken great steps to ensure his wealth. Something that has given him the opportunity to build an small empire as a trader.
Without the parents he feels alone and somewhat left to himself. Both parents have died of age and are buried ages ago. Something he at times remembers and has a hard time to reflect upon, the fact that he never was there when they died. He just got a note from one of his trader partners.
His biggest goal in life have always been to conquer more wealth and more reputation as the greatest merchant that ever lived. His motto have always been ” if you have the coins, I have the means “. For sure; he has gotten far as it is now with his tradings. And there he is, greatly unsure of the next step needed in life. Every morning a new battle of things that elude his mind, the inner demons that haunt him for being alone and no set of new goals.
A very detailed finecrafted rapier.
He do has his own quarters where he takes the clientele that wants to talk serious trading. The room is more an office then anything else, with a great desk with a imposing leather chair for him and a couple of normal oak chairs for his visitors. But at a corner, there is a bed but very easily missed as its almost hidden behind a tall bookcase. The room is filled with diffrent maps, wierd crates, books of navigations and all sorts of trades. Some of it are on the way to be sent and some are just novelties from past journeys.
“A PLACE CALLED EMPTINESS”
Sitting on the ledge of the bed, wondering about whats next in life.. what could go forth from here. The frost in the grass felt like spikes growing deeper from underneath the feets. Each breath makes a small foggy mist, and the cold air fills the lung like a strong beverage. First step.
A pain jolts from the legs, the night have been harsh.
A pain almost washes over him as a bad hangover.
From there to the end of the tent, he can almost hear the the body slowly breaking down. Each muscle screams of ache and wants nothing more then to sleep in, just a little bit more. He shuts the eyes and just breaths in the air, the air of the forrest. Never been more clear, and never been so right. As he opens the tent and walks out, he sees the peaks upon mountains of nothing.. just green and white, a hill that touches over to a greater mountain. In all that greatness, his little own place of peace, a small tent, a fire, a log.. and nothing for miles.
And thats his happy place when all morning starts the same, alone in the bed and alone down the tavern stairs.