[color=purple][h1][center]Robar Storm, [i]the Bastard[/i][/center][/h1][/color][center]
[center][color=purple][i]"Whoever said life was dull?"[/i][/color][/center][hr]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a1/bb/74/a1bb740322d3b5450edf3027da77480b.jpg[/img][/center]

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[color=purple][sub][ ⚔ ]Origin[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]132 AC[/color][/indent]

[color=purple][sub][ ⚔ ]House/Affiliation[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]None but himself[/color][/indent]

[color=purple][sub][ ⚔ ]Reputation[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]-A scoundrel and vagabind of somewhat ill repute
-Called a drunk, adulterer, thief and far worse
-Has travelled extensively through Westeros and farther affield, including Essos and the Free cities
-Has a wide smattering of skills from swordplay and thievery to con-artistry and sailing. Though specialized in nothing, he knows a little bit about quite alot
-Known to be rather lacadaisacal and lazy[/color][/indent]

[color=purple][sub][ ⚔ ]Appearance[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]Robar has a rather... [i]distinctive[/i] appearance. With sandy blonde hair, ruddy weathered skin, and a pair of beautiful violet orbs for eyes. These last, paired with his hair color have done two things for him, as he says himself, "[i]My looks have gotten me two things in this life, women and trouble. I enjoy the women, but the trouble comes a bit too often I think.[/i]" He is completely unaware of his heritage, even if others are quite certain what it is. To anyone who asks he simply shrugs his arms and makes the point, "[i]I never knew my father, never wanted too. Who cares who he was?"[/i], after which he often skips town. 

The attire of Robar is interesting. He often travels armoured in the frequent case of conflict arrising. Wearing a sun-bleached gambeson over a studded leather vest colored a once vibrant yellow now faded with age. He wears thick travelers breeches over which are strapped studded leather cuisse of the same color as the vest. He wears a pair of surprisingly fine leather boots and gloves of deep brown color. His cloak is the same faded yellow of his vest and other bits of armour, but somewhat torn and worse for wear though is still a full cloak, if a bit shorter than some and tattered in the ends. He carries a plain steel sword and scabbard along with a few daggers on his person for emergencies.[/color]

[color=purple][sub][ ⚔ ]Personality[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]Robar goes about his life with a fair amount of adventure, naievete and a healthy amount of relaxation. He is light hearted, charming and generally a happy person. He tries to never work to hard at anything and puts in only the effort he is comortable with, which is often not much. Lacadaisacal and carefree, the vagabond moves at his own pace. He has little care for the law or what others say, for he paves his own way in this world as he has done all his life. But, Robar is loyal to his friends, and willing to help in most any situation as long as you don't push him to hard. After all, friends shouldn't have to make demands should they?[/color][/indent]

[color=purple][sub][ ⚔ ]History[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]His mother was a Stormlands whore. His father? Only the gods know... well and his mother but she never told. All Robar knows is he was born a bastard with purple eyes and pale blonde hair, which was apparently important. His mother had left the village he was born in upon seeing his eyes for reasons Robar never knew. The new town where he grewq up his mother did much the same. She was a whore, and he was her son... although she picked up other jobs has he grew to try and support them. Robar never resented the fact his father left before his birth, mother always said he 'had an important duty' and he couldn't have stayed. One part of that stuck with Robar, his father left because of his 'duty'. Robar decided no such thing would ever force him to do anything. After his thirteenth name day Robar told his mother he'd be leaving to see Westeros. She asked if it was to find his father, but he simply laughed and shook his head. He promised to try and send gold if he could and kissed her goodbye.

For another thirteen years he wandered Westeros and the wider world. He learned many skills as he went. He picked up a smattering of the water dance from a Braavosi sellsword, how to pick pockets from an street urchin in Kings landing, a bit of Westerosi brawling from a talented drunkard. These skills served him well in his travels as he drifted like a leaf in the vicious winds of a storm. But, everywhere he went people seemed to care quite a bit about his eyes, sometimes they'd attack him, some asked to sleep with him, and some asked if he wanted a ride to Kings landing. These always confused him, though he eventually learned that the Targaryen rulers of Westeros like him had purple eyes and blonde hair. He considered it a fluke, he was born uneducated and low how could he know anything about the traits of father to son?

Regardless, he has traveled even to this day from adventure to adventure and place to place. He never stayed anywhere long, and still does not to this day. As he has gotten older he has begun slowly to wonder about his eyes and his father... who he was and what 'Duty' he had to attend to... and maybe he'll find out. Maybe his eyes mean something, maybe not. Either way, he'll be there to find out.[/color][/indent]


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