I know what y'all are thinking: "Oh great. He has another character."

This is just an incomplete something that I made for fun a while back when I was thinking of joining one of Dervish's games if it ever opened (spoilers: it didn't), which is why the format is a little different from this one. I almost used him for this one, but decided against it. I'm just sharing it publicly for funsies and so I could waste everyone's time. Try to enjoy!

[hider=Calen Mirthwood]

[center][color=89cff0][h3]Calen Mirthwood[/h3]
[sub]Male Nord | 23 | The Lover | Solitude, Skyrim

[url=https://open.spotify.com/user/1231214188/playlist/6PzFTHMNsRezeC3M0bI1DN](Listen to some bardly music to accompany you on this journey!)[/url][/sub][/color]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/236x/d6/cb/7d/d6cb7d7fc62fe76dbbd3b6761f10aa86.jpg[/img][/center]
[color=89cff0][u][b] Appearance                    [/b][/u][/color]

[indent] [/indent]

[color=89cff0][u][b] Equipment                    [/b][/u][/color]

[indent][url=https://img1.etsystatic.com/117/1/11886902/il_570xN.920866273_s3su.jpg]A wooden cudgel[/url] that is carved with traditional Nordic decorations, and is only slightly stained with a little bit of blood. It hangs at his side by a loop from his belt.

An enchanted Amulet of Dibella that fortifies his Speechcraft, making him even more likable than before!

A simple set of durable and warm clothes that actually don't look too shabby on him. A fur-lined leather broad belt is the best he has for means of protection, and even then, it's probably better used as a belly warmer.

A gut hooked skinning knife is sheathed right where his tail-bone is at, where his back meets his ass, but he's more likely to use it as his primary eating utensil than anything else that's practical beyond that.[/indent]

[color=89cff0][u][b] Misc. Possessions                    [/b][/u][/color]

[indent]A pouch of 270 septims.

A key to the trunk in his wagon.

While not on his person, per se, he [i]is[/i] in possession of a reasonable carriage wagon and a driving pony to pull it along the road. It contains most of his belongings that he can't afford to hold onto his person, and while neither the wagon nor pony is large enough to carry an entire party, it fulfills its purpose in carrying just himself and a few other people. What it can do is at least lift some of the burden off of a traveling company. Within the wagon lies a trunk where most his belongings reside:

[indent]A weathered-looking lute that has seen its fair share of use, but still has plenty of songs left in its lifespan.

A small drum that one could easily carry under their arm without getting tired.

A violin that's nearly as aged as the lute, adorned with decorations similar to what's on his cudgel, and a bow to play it with. 

A personal, leather-bound scrapbook recounting of almost all the people he has come across in his travels. Just pages and pages devoted to their sketched faces, their names, and what kind of impact they've left of him. Of course he couldn't get all of them - but he certainly got all of his customers. Most importantly though, what this journal [i]does[/i] manage to get all of are each and every single one of his lovers and love interests throughout his life. Their faces are drawn with meticulous detail and are accompanied by passages which recounts their finest qualities and the experiences he's shared with them.

Two tall bottles of spiced wine, home-brewed back in Solitude. One of them is already halfway finished.

A sack of preserved or readily available foods, such as stag jerky, cheese, snowberries, and edible roots.

A small brown medicine bottle that is filled with delightfully pungent herbal oils with a hint of sweetness to its aroma. It is labeled as "Khenarthi's Breath".

A small tent that is simple in it's construction. Calen typically just pitches it to all four corners of his wagon and sleeps where he works. It comes with a thick, woolen blanket that keeps him warm at night.

Soap made from flowers and horker fat.

Spare clothes that are similar to one another in their style and design.

A collection of books, many of which are related to history in one way or another, about art and poetry, foreign culture, and what looks to be a religious tome that tells you everything you'd like to know about Dibella's doctrines.[/indent][/indent]

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img][/center]

[color=89cff0][u][b] Family and Associations                    [/b][/u][/color]

[indent]Gungir Mirthwood, Father; Alive

Mira Mirthwood, Mother; Alive

Bard's College, Organization; Member in good standing.

Temple of Dibella, Organization; Patron[/indent]

[color=89cff0][u][b] Favored Skills                    [/b][/u][/color]

[indent][u]Highly Proficient: Speechcraft[/u] – [i](He's a picker. He's a grinner. He's a lover and he's a sinner. You thought you had it going on back in school? Well, Calen went to the Bard's College in Solitude, and that place taught him everything he knows from history and languages to singing and performing. Ladies, don't let his age fool you - what he makes up for experience? Raw talent and endless energy. Bastard could charm the loincloth off of a giant with his silver tongue... because, you know... he's good at Speechcraft.)[/i]

[u]Moderately Proficient: Mercantile[/u] – [i](There's not much difference between making love and the art of the deal besides the fact you're trying to make money while you're at it, so there's only a little bit more lying than normal. But you know what? Calen got pretty good at it. He has a pretty good gig going on with his carriage business, so he had to get good at it.)[/i]

[u]Moderately Proficient: Acrobatics[/u] – [i](Working with horses for most of his life has made him a rather able-bodied equestrian. See, it's all about keeping your balance, and if you fall then you try to fall as painlessly as possible. Pain (or the threat of pain) is a great motivator, just take it from Calen.)[/i]

[u]Moderately Proficient: Athletics[/u] – [i](For bolting in the opposite direction when everything has gotten abso-fucking-lutely haywire. Years of hard farm labor, being on the road, and running from dangerous fathers (and a variety of other folk) has made Calen one hell of a speedy son-of-a-bitch. His cardio was worked out enough that he can run quickly across distances without being winded, which has done wonders for helping him to keep his asthma under control despite the issues it has caused for him to get to that point.)[/i]

[u]Somewhat Proficient: One-Handed (Blunt)[/u] - [i](Calen carries a cudgel with him everywhere just in case his next customer is the kind that gets a little too handsy (like an orc trying to wrap their hands around his throat), or if his wagon comes across some vagabonds along the way to his destination. With a girly yelp and a shriek for help, he takes it and smacks it right across his assailant's kisser. And I'll tell you what: he's become quite accustomed to that entire routine. He's gotten pretty good at it.)[/i]

[u]Somewhat Proficient: Restoration[/u] – [i](A priestess of Dibella showed Calen additional generosity on top of her usual services by teaching him a bit of restoration magic that can help him deal with his asthma. His hands start glowing with a radiant light, he cups them around his face, and he takes a huge breath in. One can even see the light running through his neck. Coincidentally, that was only one of the two lessons he received that night.)[/i]

[u]Somewhat Proficient: Illusion[/u] – [i](He learned a bit of magic from some other bards at the college, as every bard needs to know how to escape a particularly tough crowd. For those occasions when he quickly needs to be somewhere, like, yesterday.)[/i] [/indent]

[color=89cff0][b][u] Spells                    [/u][/b][/color]

[u]Somewhat Proficient: Restoraton[/u]
[indent][b]Healing:[/b] He can heal himself at a steady rate as long as he concentrates - good for asthma too. Fond memories come to mind every time.

[b]Healing Hands:[/b] As it happens, the healing that Calen uses for his asthma can be used to help others too, as long as he concentrates. Whether or not people want his healing hands after they learn where he got 'em from is up to them.

[b]Fortify Luck:[/b] After a fool's prayer and a kiss on his necklace, Calen jumps into action with the highest of hopes that he doesn't freaking die. His prayer as it goes: "Under her skirt and into the bum, watch out Nirn, here I come."[/indent]

[u]Somewhat Proficient: Illusion[/u]
[indent][b]Clairvoyance:[/b] For as long as Calen concentrates on his destination, he has intuitive sense of direction and cannot lose his way. What? You think he ran his carriage business on his [i]survival skills?[/i] Oh honey, bless your heart.

[b]Muffle:[/b] For as long as Calen concentrates, he doesn't make any noise. Which is something a lot of people probably wished he did more often, but he'd rather use it to get his ass out of danger.

[b]Calm:[/b] Calen can touch somebody and reduce their aggression for a short period of 30 seconds. Of course he knows this spell. Why wouldn't he? With the number of angry fathers he's had running after him, this spell has probably saved his life more times than he can count.

[b]Courage:[/b] Calen can touch somebody and make them braver and steel their resolve for a short period of 30 seconds. Read again: somebody else. Not him, heavens no. He's going the other way.[/indent]

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img][/center]

[color=89cff0][u][b] History                    [/b][/u][/color]

[indent]Are you looking for a sob story, my friend? A grand ole tale o' tragedy, a misty-eyed epic of redemption and a hero hurling themselves at impossible obstacles? An Iliad recounting the moral quandary of man?

You poor son of a bitch.

Nothing personal intended, I actually find the lady to be quite delightful, but I am getting ahead of myself. Year 4E185 - a beautiful baby boy was born in Skyrim. The boy didn't know of the great things in store for him as he was still at his mother's breast, but his humble beginnings would serve him well in the future. Born and raised to two ranchers who worked and lived at a stable house just south of Solitude, raising and selling horses. His mother was indisputably much better at it, since Mira was a tried and tested rancher like her father before her. His dad, Gungir, was a farmer. He was better at making potatoes and onions grow than he was breaking in and taking care of a horse (but guess what makes more money). 

Calen would learn how to help his family complete their chores and fulfill their responsibilities whether it was shoveling shit or breaking in the horses for the next buyer that was too much of a pansy ass to do the work themselves. Then he also had to deal with all manner of nasty critters going bump in the night that liked to prey on the foals, likes wolves and coyotes. Usually waving a torch around was enough to scare 'em off, but if that didn't work, a good old club to the snout always got the message across.

It was also moments like that which seemed to present a huge problem with Calen's health. Aside from not being the bravest fellow you've ever layed your eyes on (read: he's pretty cowardly), it presented an issue with his asthma. Now his parents were good-natured folk, if a bit rustic in their ways. They believed that what didn't kill you made you stronger, so when the first asthma attack came around and didn't take him out right from the get-go, that looked to them like a sure sign that Calen was gonna survive the ones that came after, too. Despite their philosophy, the boy was awfully fond of being able to breathe. They only found a solution to the problem after a khajiit caravan passed through, and one of the merchants was able to recognize the symptoms. He presented Calen with a traditional medicine to alleviate his symptoms, made of a moon sugar solution that was heavily diluted with lavender and blue mountain flower oils. Dabbing the solution just inside his nostrils and taking a deep breath allowed the fumes to work inside his windpipe and lungs and relaxed the muscles, clearing his airways.

His parents always tried to steer him right. You work and live honest, and things would typically treat you in kind. As long as you weren't ashamed of hard and dirty labor, there was very little keeping you from getting what you wanted. It usually held true for people as well. As long as you do no wrong by your neighbor, your neighbor will have no reason to do wrong by you. His mama always told him, "Don't go around treating women like trash. Treat 'em with respect. Treat a lady like a queen and you ain't ever gonna lose her."

Momma wasn't gonna raise no heart breaker.

It's easy to see how he became to be an able equestrian, as he not only had to learn how to ride, but how to teach horses how to be ridden. They were basically giant dumb dogs who had to learn what the cues were, except dogs didn't weigh nearly a ton or have deadly clubs attached to the ends of their feet. Calen's favorite of them all must have been their working horse, a massive draught named Edna, if for not other reason than her sweet temperament and didn't get spooked [i]by a thrice-damned LEAF[/i] rolling across the cobblestone (we're looking at you, Danish). Danish was a prime example of why ponies are the [i]worst[/i] of animals: spooked by everything, dumb as bricks, and was only good as a towing beast of burden or carrying children on his back - and that was if you didn't care if the kid got bucked off.

Of his responsibilities to his family's stable, he'd much prefer having to walk up the hill to Solitude and carry back heavy sacks of grain. As much of a pain in the ass the labor was, it meant that Calen got to see the city and its sights, listen to the hustle and bustle of the market, smell and try the delicious fruits, and listen to a bard make sweet, sweet music. Music was a wonderful thing, it was heaven against his ears. He'd toss a coin into the bard's hat laying on the ground before him, thank him for the tunes, and get on with carrying heavy sacks of grain to the wagon just outside the gate. If he was lucky, Danish wouldn't spook at the sound of the gates opening and closing and run all the way back to the stable and make [i]him[/i] carry the grain back.

To be fair, it was only a matter of time that Calen decided that he was getting tired of shoveling shit, hard labor, and training horses was like herding cats. He made a heartfelt plea to his family to help him go to Solitude and learn at the Bard's College. At first they laughed. A child running off from life to become a bard was almost [i]stereotypical[/i], as if strumming a lute, beating a drum, or singing songs was ever going to get him anywhere. Then they realized that Calen was dead serious and they fixed their tone right up. So they scrounged up what they could, setting some money aside when they could, and on Calen's sweet 16, they surprised him by sending him on his way to learn the bard's craft.

When he arrived, he was greeted by a motley crew of bards and students from all walks of life, a variety of pungent smells where not all were good, and a cascade of music - where some of the chords being played were shrill and agonizing to the ears. It was at that point he realized: oh yeah. People come here to learn. Still, he'd suffer through these few and minor grievances if it meant following his heart and getting to live in the lovely city of Solitude every day, and was only a short jog away from visiting home. That was the same year when Ulfric Stormcloak came to Solitude, killed the High King of Skyrim, and dragons returned to the world. Honestly, shit started looking pretty bleak straight from the beginning.

The chaos and paranoia that followed afterward was almost suffocating. People have never been so afraid, Jarl Elisif was virtually incompetent, and Calen nearly found himself swept up in the confusion and anger had it not been for the Headmaster of the Bard's College, Viarmo. He reminded everyone to keep a level head. He said, [i]"It is times like these where we are most needed. When the world appears to be on a sinking ship, we're there to remind them that we are close to shore. Though the waters are cold, the sand is warm and the timber is strong. We build a new ship and we keep on sailing with the wind at our backs... because that is what we do. That is what we have always done, and that won't end tomorrow."[/i]

Viarmo has proven his ability to lead, and he made sure to remind others to not involve themselves in politics too much. He often says, almost as if it was scripted, that "good tales deal with the issues of the day, but a wise bard remains a neutral observer." It was a lesson that Calen took to heart, and he had begun to learn that being a bard meant much more than just singing and playing instruments. By joining the College, he learned that it meant he was also a chronicler and a scholar. It turned people into leaders and historians without them even realizing it by presenting these subjects within a whimsical framework, which was really quite ingenious, and Calen found himself loving the College even more.

Activities within the College has done much and brought him to more places than he could ever imagine. Some of the bards knew a little bit of magic, mostly in the school of Illusion as it brought a bit of flare to their performances, but everyone knew that sometimes there's was always that one heckler that proved to be too much. Calen learned about that part of a bard's life after a rough night in the local tavern. So on top of the vocal lessons, learning the lute, drum, violin, art, and history, he decided that learning a little bit of Illusion magic wasn't such a bad idea if he wanted to avoid his next black eye.

During his time in the College has also made him rather cheeky and self-assured, and somehow developed the habit of falling in love at first sight with most of the women he met.. This acquired panache curried favor with many of local girls his age, and some women even older, but less so with the favor of these ladies' fathers who just as frequently chased him down the streets with every intention of wringing the boy's neck. Despite his newfound reputation as a shameless womanizer, he always stuck by his mother's advice. Every lady that has come his way, he has treated with the upmost respect, dignity, and (for the most part) honesty. Well, emotional honesty shall we say. He wasn't above spinning a few tall tales to try impressing a girl that he had his eye on, but every lover and paramour on his life he has treated as though he had found a pile of treasure and nothing less. As long as he remained emotionally honest and upfront with his interests, and didn't take any shame in his polyamory. If a love interest didn't reciprocate or wasn't comfortable with it, he backed off and didn't press the matter - valuing their friendship just as much as he would have their love. He made sure to never forget their names.

Over the course of 6 years studying the bard's arts with the College, Calen finally graduated at the age of 21. Countless songs had been song, tales spun, and epic poems told about the Dragonborn who had stopped the coming of dragons and ended the Civil War. Despite the legendary tales of yesterday and their extraordinary accomplishments, they were already recorded and Calen had already learned them all. His years of study and practice taught him that there was history being made out there, [i]right now.[/i] He knew he belonged out there, witnessing history and enjoying life along the way. He also knew that if he wanted to survive, he wasn't going to just walk on the roads by foot and rely on the charity of strangers. No, he had a different idea in mind.

Calen returned home to proud and happy parents, pleased at how grown up and handsome their son has become, who loved to listen to him play and sing. He wanted to ask them for one more favor: he wanted to borrow Edna. Explaining why, he said that he wanted to start a carriage business so that he could see more of Skyrim, more of its people, and still make enough money in the process to support himself. While they normally would've been more than happy to oblige, the only problem was that Edna was their only work horse left, and couldn't afford to spare her.

"Well then, any of the riding horses would do." Calen said.

"We have our own business to run." His mom said. "You're an adult now conducting adult business, right? if I just give you a horse for free, that would put your father and I thousands of septims in the hole between the time and resources it takes to raise and train them."

Calen knew that he couldn't afford any of the horses his parents worked with, even at discount. He sighed in frustration and said, "Fine, fine, I get it. What [i]can[/i] you spare, then?"

Both his mother and his father, wordlessly, turned and stared toward one small corner in the stable. Calen followed their stare right into the stupid little eyes of the daedra spawn himself - [i]Danish.[/i]

"No." Calen immediately refused. "No, you can't be serious. [i]That[/i] stupid pony?"

"You asked." His mother replied. 

"Danish has gotten older too, but he's still plenty strong enough to pull a wagon full of wheat and hay bales." His father pitched in. "14 hands, decent weight - you could still sit on his back if you wanted. Still a little spooky, though not nearly as much a handful as he once was."

Calen looked into Danish's eyes and Danish stared right back. There was no skeever's chance in Oblivion this was gonna end in anyhting other than a total disaster.

But because Danish is a pony determined to make an embarrassment of everything that Calen believed in, the young bard ended up eating his words as this line of work seemed to be quite compatible with him. They ended up building a short wagon that was low to the ground and had great, large wheels so that the wagon wasn't too heavy and it had a lot of traction on the ground. The front of the wagon had a tall, flat-topped chest that Calen could keep his belongings and use as his seat where he can drive Danish, while along sides had benches that were basically rectangular logs bolted to the bottom and connected to the framework of the wagon. 

For the next two years following that moment, the young bard hit the open road and familiarized himself with the sights and sounds of Skyrim's landscape, picking up travelers along the way for a bit of coin. There was an additional, minute fee upon request if anyone wanted him to sing or perform during their travels. The number of interesting people he has come across in this time were countless, and almost every one of them he has had time to chit-chat and converse with as they traveled across the far-reaching landscapes. He learned their stories, what these people did, who they were related to; the longer he ran this business, the more he seemed to understand how connected everyone was. Granted, not everyone he came across were the polite sort. The number of times he was forced to whip Danish into high gear or to resort to a good old fashioned [i]surprise bludgeoning[/i] was enough to make him rather cautious, but on the other hand, now he knows which routes to avoid. Some valleys are practically [i]begging[/i] you to get yourself killed.

Some people were rarities, those who came through once and were never heard from again, and those people usually had the most interesting stories. On the rarest of occasions, he would meet people or witness events that he'd make sure to write down and immortalize their deeds in song. One such example was a dunmer who Calen was taking from Riften to Windhelm after Morrowind was taken by the Argonians. The dunmer only said that he was going there so that he can protect what was left of his friends and family. The passenger turned out to be a former Ordinator, a fact that was only revealed after they were ambushed by group of bandits who all must've thought the wagon would be an easy target, and the passenger expertly dispatched the entire raiding party with minimal effort - and then tipped Calen some extra septims for the inconvenience.

To the bard's credit, he did manage to get a lick in with his cudgel. Right on the old dome piece, which got to dazing the bandit long enough for the Ordinator to finish the job.

But one of his most memorable patrons was one of his earliest. He took a ravishing Priestess of Dibella - Illia was her name - from Dragon Bridge and returned her home to Markarth. With this being his first time to Markarth, he decided to shift his pony into park and walk in through the front gates with his customer and had her show him her temple. If any of you know of what Dibella is the goddess of and what her priestesses do, then you know he was in for a [i]very[/i] important lesson. And... well... it was quite easy to tell that he [i]enjoyed[/i] the lesson, because then his asthma started acting up. [i]Badly.[/i] Really badly. Right in the middle of their... um, [i]session,[/i] and he was in a bit of a pickle because his dumb ass left his medicine in the trunk of his carriage back by the stables outside the gates. In that brief moment of panic, Illia cupped her hands around his face as they began to glow and calmly told him to take a deep breath. Calen followed her directions to the letter, and within moments, he felt his airways opening up again. Wanting to show the fullest extent of his gratitude, he eagerly jumped back into his lesson.

When dawn broke the next day, Calen lingered a little longer than he normally would've. He didn't want to cheapen the priestess' favor with only a night of pleasantries, and wished to show his gratitude by asking one more favor: to teach him just enough Restoration magic, not only so that he can take care of himself better in the future, so that there was something from Illia that he could carry with him and remember her by. The priestess just smiled sweetly and kissed him on the cheek. She said to him, "Restoration magic is something that I believe everyone should know anyway. If you want a memento, I can think of something much better."

Anyways, she obliged to his request and spent the remainder of that day showing him the fundamentals of basic Restoration magic. She proved to be an exceptional teacher in more ways than one, as her knowledge of this particular school of magic was such that she could explain it in the simplest of terms that made it easily digestible for Calen. It was nearly midnight, a full day of what felt like non-stop practice, but by the end of it he was able to summon the same warm glow around his hands as Illia. Well maybe not the same. Hers was much brighter, but that was to be expected. 

Before Calen left, the priestess presented to him a parting gift: a beaded amulet of Dibella with leaf-like accessories along the necklace until they met at the flowery centerpiece of Dibella's symbol.

"[i]This[/i] is something that you can remember me by." She said before sharing a farewell kiss with the bard, then pushing him out the door. The cold Skyrim air did little to disturb his awed trance as he kept staring at the amulet. Never before has any of his previous flings had such magnitude - just like that, Illia was able to turn Calen into a holy man overnight. After a few moments of mere silence, his expression broke into a boyish smile. He kissed the amulet in his hand and said with glee, "Under her skirt and into the bum, watch out Nirn, here I come."

From that point on, he was never seen without his amulet. He wore it for the largest majority of his time running his carriage. He read the books, learned the texts, her verses and commandments, and what it meant to follow the Blessed Lady to find that her teachings on beauty and love fell in line with his own beliefs. Perhaps Illia was able to see that. He also got a lot of mileage out of the Restoration magic that she taught him, because after all, on top of all the bandits and highwaymen just looking for easy pickings on the open road, Skyrim's dangerous wilderness can just be downright frightening sometimes.

Things recently hasn't changed much from how they were before. Calen is more experienced than he was before, has been running this gig for about two years now, so he's gotten pretty familiar with his country by now. He has something of a cult following when compared to other carriages, even if his cart is a little small, not covered, and only pulled by a pony 14 hands high. But he's got a very recognizable face and has a unique business gimmick in also being a bard that makes otherwise long, boring trips a lot more pleasurable. He also makes a point in getting to know each of his passengers on a personal level, so he's a lot more likable. His latest passenger was a lady looking for a ride back home to Falkreath, and Calen was smitten by her. Long, wavy brown hair, piercing green eyes, a soft and sweet expression - and she was making it [i]difficult[/i] for him! Toying and teasing with him, even! Wouldn't even tell her his name. So as he was rolling into Falkreath, he had to take it to the next level.

"There [i]I[/i] was, between the biggest all-Nordic, Talos-loving bastard you've never seen and this Thalmor inquisitor, trying my best to calm the situation. Big guy is losing it, but I'm holding it steady as she goes. I face the Thalmor and I speak to him in perfect Altmeri about how the other guy is my uncle Gungir, and how he survived a cannonball to the head and was never the same since. Thalmor guy is so impressed by my Altmeri that he just left without any further trouble."

"[i]Wow...[/i]" Bemused the girl, trying to process what Calen just told her. She decided to roll with it, "I didn't know you could speak [i]perfect[/i] Altmeri."

"Yeah, well, you know..." Calen started, trying to play it off like nothing. "Like any other elven language, it's practically derivative of Ayleidoon."

[i]Was it Ayleid? Or was it Aldmeri?[/i]

"Oh? Ayleid?"

"Oh [i]yeah.[/i] It especially came in handy when I went delving into this deep dwemer ruin and had to decipher the ancient texts to procure a centurion... [i]dynamic[/i] core."

"You don't say?" She replied. "You wouldn't happen to have it with you, would you?"

"Oh Gods, no. Something [i]that[/i] valuable is safe and sound back home!" Calen proclaimed as the wagon rolled to a stop. The lady hopped out the back and flashed Calen a smile.

"Well, if you happen to go back and decide to bring it with you, you know where to find me in case you'd like to prove it. The name's Freya."

Calen dipped his head toward her and gave her his most charming smile as he watched her saunter home. As soon as she closed the door behind, the bard scrambled out of the wagon and hurried into the tavern that was just only next door. As soon as he was in, he leaned against the bar table and was practically whispering to the innkeep who was trying to be busy polishing his mugs.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to know of any dwemer ruins nearby, would you?"

"Well as it happens, there's this rumor of this imperial woman running a dig over west. Rhea Valerius, was it? Might be worth checking out. Though you don't look like the type to be--"

"Thank you sir, it means a lot!"

Slapping down ten or so septim coins on the table, Calen rushed back out the door, hopped onto his wagon and started heading westward.

[/indent]

[color=89cff0][u][b] Personality                    [/b][/u][/color]

[indent]Had it not been apparent by this point, Calen is a creature of impulse, whimsy, and ardor, and the bitterest pessimist's worst and most vexacious enemy. His casual, optimistic, cheerful disposition and lust for life is typically the first thing people notice about him if it isn't his lust for other people. He embodies the bardic spirit, wishing to experience what life has to offer him, to explore the world, to witness history first-hand, and somehow find a silver lining in every nook and cranny that he can. He truly believes that the world is a good place, or at least it [i]can[/i] be, just as long as everyone put an effort into making it so.. and the first step in that is to stop and observe the beauty that already exists. How the pearl-like clouds migrate across the ocean-blue skies, the trees and flowers sinking their roots into the soil and bathing beneath the sunlight, or even the awesome stampede of storm clouds and how their rumbling and roaring thunder cracks as lightning whips Nirn in a divine flash of primal energy. How beauty is present even in the mundane, such as a wagon wheel, where mathematics and art can come together to create a tool which is as wondrous as it is taken for granted.

Perhaps it's easy to look past Calen's wonder and conviviality once people realize that that he's a shameless hedonist who's not afraid to admit it (he's more likely to correct you that hedonism encompasses [i]all[/i] earthly pleasures, not just sex), and he's not the type to try to change other people's minds once they're explicitly set on something anyways. After all, his womanizing could easily be the most defining trait of his reputation and his impulsiveness only cements the image of him in others' minds as a fool who falls in and out of love as easily as a fish drinks water. It's just as easy to forget to give him credit where credit is due, for as far as he's concerned, monogamy and faithfulness are not mutually exclusive. Each and every lover or love-interest he treats and thinks back on with only the fondest and sweetest form of respect, and one relationship with one person doesn't necessarily means it overrides a relationship with another. The mere idea of putting a limit on [i]love[/i] of all things seems to him to be one of the most oppressive forces on Nirn, which also happens to be a reflection of his Dibellan faith.

That doesn't mean he parted with every one of his previous partners on the best of terms though, even if Calen refuses to speak ill of them. He has a few cardinal rules, and one of them is to not take advantage of anyone's affection or trust. While he tries to be as upfront with his intentions as possible, occasionally even going as far as turning down the pursuit of a particular partner should they not feel comfortable with polyamory, they either don't always get across in translation or be made clear enough. This caused one or two heartbreaks in his time, much to the breaking of Calen's own heart, who never wished to make anyone feel hurt or as though they've been betrayed. More than just people who are dear to him, they're also reminders that he is still a foolish young man who is still lacking in wisdom and is too quick to get caught up in the heat of the moment.

Though forgetful at times, there are certain areas of his mind that are like iron-clad traps. Despite the stupidity of yesteryear, all of his past relationships are precious memories of his and that is where the opprobrium of his critics fall short. He remembers their names and their faces vividly because each one of them has contributed something special to his life, so he will continue to love them and their memory long into the future. Neither were all of his relationships romantic or sexual in nature; he treats his friendships with the same amount of ginger and intimate care as he does his romantic entanglements. One of Dibella's doctrines is that love knows no boundaries. He sees love in two friends sharing a bottle of mead just as much as he sees it in sex, so the medium to him doesn't matter. The form in which love takes - whether it's platonic or otherwise - has no bearing on that love's value.

This left-field perspective might make Calen appear as either a sanctimonious dog attempting to rationalize his lecherous behavior (which could be just as likely) or make him out to be wise beyond his years, and make no mistake, he's [i]not[/i]. He's a bona fide [i]fool.[/i] He went to school and studied a lot, so sure, he's intelligent and can be a diligent study - but he's a fool. He doesn't [i]think[/i] before he [i]acts[/i], and he's not considered cunning because the answers don't always come to him very quickly. He's [i]lucky to be alive,[/i] if anything. He hasn't survived the wilderness because of his resourcefulness or because of his martial and magical skill, so the only answer left is that the Divines apparently favor fools. Maybe it's because it's amusing to watch the bewilderment of all the [i]capable[/i] adventurers who were the skin of their fingertips away from certain death.

Which goes to say that the bard isn't without his flaws. One that might've been driven home by now is that he's short-sighted and doesn't always think through his decisions, possibly leaving him in embarrassing or life-threatening situations. He also isn't much of a fighter for two reasons: firstly, he isn't necessarily pacifistic, but he would [i]reaaaally[/i] rather avoid hurting others if he can help it. Ugly beasties? Sure, easily. A bandit that just tried to slit his throat? He'd bonk him on the head with his cudgel and ask if he was alright afterwards. Secondly, he's as cowardly as they come and is prone to panic whenever things go wrong. He'll do what he can to avoid a conflict in favor of carefully worded diplomacy, or if that doesn't work, delivering a witty jab or snide comeback since he has zero confidence in his ability to hold his own in a scrap, officially making him the worst Nord in Skyrim. 

The only possible exception to this rule is if a loved one of his is in imminent danger, which puts his impulsive nature front and center in the position to have him do something incredibly reckless and stupid to try protecting them. Even if everyone would be better off if he doesn't butt in, because apparently his brain is hard-wired to his asshole, and he can't seem to stop trying to impress women even if he's digging a deeper hole for himself. His honesty seems to end with his emotions, since he seems to have no problem with spinning tall tales, exaggerating his skills and talents, or fabricating cockamamie farces for the very purpose of impressing love interests; though that could just as likely be derived from his inherent bardic desire to captivate and entertain, less so than to manipulate. Whether or not he realizes that's what it looks like he's doing is anybody's guess!

On the other hand, he can be quite easy to fool or manipulate himself, given his penchant to believe in the best of people.

Despite many of his shortcomings (and there are many), he still remains an incredibly friendly and kindhearted individual whose intentions are in the best of places even if they fall short in execution. He's as sharp as a tack, cultured, silver tongued, has a practiced singing voice, and is learned in history and in the practice of many different musical instruments and art forms, making him a creative force of nature. If you need someone to do the talking for you or to make friends in high places, Calen is the guy for the job. As a man who has lived with a foot in both worlds, he is capable of talking down nobles and peasantry alike and he has an inexplicable way with being a neutral voice in any sort of disagreement whether its in politics or religion.


[/indent]
[/hider]