[b]Name[/b]: Ibiza ([i]nom de plume[/i]) 

[b]Age[/b]: 28

[b]Gender[/b]: Male 

[b]Race[/b]: Human 

[b]Appearance[/b]: Ibiza has rich umber locks which extend nearly to his shoulders. Similarly chestnut eyes crown a somewhat angular face, with a prominent nose, pert lips, and tight jaw, all illuminated by a complexion of warm olive. Though somewhat crude, it has proven in the past to be an object of enchantment. He is slender, but not lanky, for he does not exceed six feet, and his shoulders are broad. He goes about in general clean shaven, though has been known to sport a pair of mustaches, well waxed, when it catches his fancy. Overall, he has been known to be called handsome, though not overly so, for upon opening his mouth an unfortunate gap in the teeth, not explicit yet still noticeable, manifests itself. One indulgence he will allow himself upon the occasion that he has coin in his purse is the procurement of very fine clothes, particularly in bold blues or elegant whites. 
[hider=Image][IMG]http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e384/nervelanguage/ibiza_zps1bf55bad.png[/IMG] (grainy quality whatever)[/hider]

[b]Profession[/b]: Ibiza is somewhat of a jack-of-all-trades, though he prides himself as being a writer, particularly of poetry and theater, and an actor. He resides in the Dream District, where he is in the employ of the Carail Company of Players. Though his acting is good, it is rare that he receives leading roles, for he is mostly passed over for the veterans (though he did play the role of Umberto's brother, Scipio, in Carail's lesser known tragedy [i]Umberto's Last Sigh[/i]; and, a widely lauded performance as The Squire in Berevaigne's [i]The Damsel of the Hyacinth[/i]). Rather, he spends his time at his writing desk, working on a number of inchoate "future opuses". In truth, though he's begun a great many pieces, he's never finished a single one, giving him the reputation of being somewhat of a failure in the writing circles. 

[b]Personality[/b]: Ibiza is bright, easygoing, warm, and rather talkative, though some have disdained of him for being prone to pretension. He is popular with the ladies for his wit and coquetry, but one could not say he is a womanizer, for his endeavors suffer untimely endings. "Besides," he would say, perhaps somewhat downcast, "my work is more important than any youthful dalliance." 

[b]Equipment/Weapons[/b]: Very little. Ibiza's forte has never been the martial arts, though his father, who had once been an infantryman, did show him some tricks with the blade when he still lived. Otherwise, Ibiza knows little of weaponry. He keeps a set of fine pistols which he has never fired locked away in his flat in the case of an emergency.

[b]Abilities[/b]: Beyond what was mentioned above, very little. Perhaps some basic magical abilities. 

[b]Brief Backstory[/b]: Not much is known of Ibiza's history, beyond what he's related. He was born to a salt merchant who had been a soldier in his youth and the daughter of a provincial governor. They lived well, though not sumptuously. In his youth, he often traveled with his father on his many business ventures, passing many times through Karstberg. One of his father's many indulgences was in the theater, especially comic plays and bawdies, and thus often brought his young son along with him. Ibiza would later express his never-ending gratitude to his father for introducing him to the dramatic arts, which would become his life's chiefest passion. Later, his younger brother Guillermo would take the mantle of the family business, for Ibiza had little interest in pursuing it. What were ledgers and tables and figures and coin to him? His eyes were set upon a higher ideal. On his eighteenth birthday, his father passed on, which, as Ibiza would later wryly recollect, "Doured the whole occasion." After a suitable period of mourning, Ibiza, electing to set down his desired path, informed his mother that he would be leaving home to make his fortune. Following a tear-filled farewell and many promises of correspondence, Ibiza roamed much of Almara, intermittently employing himself in troupes of players, as a mage's scribe, or as a writer of love-letters (a period in his life which induces nausea in recollection). Eventually, however, in a lightning flash of insight, he remembered the pomp of the Carail Theater in Karstberg, and immediately set off for that city. He has remained there ever since, trying his best to make a living, and intoxicated with the bustle and the spirit of the city which he now calls home.