[hider=Praesius "Finch" Vindicari][INDENT][INDENT][CENTER][h1][b][i]" F I N C H "[/i][/b][/h1][hr][sub][i]"There are worse things I could be than a beggar."[/i][/sub][/CENTER]
[table][row][/row][row][cell][center][sub][b]══════ C H A R A C T E R   P O R T R A I T ══════[/b][/sub]
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[suP][b]═══════ C H A R A C T E R   S U M M A R Y ══════[/b][/suP]
[sub]Praesius "Finch" Vindicari
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24   [b]|[/b]   ♂   [b]|[/b]   Imperial
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Sneak-Thief[/sub][/center]
[indent][sub][b]▼   P H Y S I C A L  T R A I T S[/b][/SUB]
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	► [b]Build[/b] - Lithe and skinny.
	► [b]Skin Color[/b] - Olive and Mediterranean 
	► [b]Hair Color[/b] - Black and oily.
	► [b]Eye Color[/b] - Amber.
	► [b]Other[/b] - [/SUP]

[SUB][b]▼   D O S S I E R[/b][/sub]
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	► [b]Birthplace[/b] - Bravil, Cyrodiil.
	► [b]Birthsign[/b] - The Thief
	► [b]Biggest Regret[/b] - Casting the first stone.
	► [b]Finch's Goal[/b] - Stay alive. Find someone who can tutor him in magic. Save his first kill for whomever killed his parents.[/SUP][/indent]
[indent][sub][b]▼   F A V O R E D   A T T R I B U T E S[/b][/sub]
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	► [abbr=Nimbleness is a Finch's strength, ducking and weaving through the boughs.][b]Agility[/b][/abbr]
	► [abbr=A cloud of dust is his calling card.][b]Speed[/b][/abbr][/sup]
	
[SUB][b]▼   S K I L L S[/b][/sub]
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	► [b]Unarmored[/b] - [abbr=After many years of stealing, getting into trouble, and running away, Finch has become incredibly slippery and difficult to catch. In the words of Emsi Ham-Mer, you can't touch this.]Expert[/abbr]
	► [b]Stealth[/b] - [abbr='We’ve a talented sneak-thief capable of pinching a crate of wine amidst a dozen guards, imagine the secrets he’d unearth given two nights.' -- Faruq, redguard knight]Adept[/abbr]
	► [b]Legerdemain (Pickpocket)[/b] - [abbr=A skill picked up during childhood in Bravil, and later practiced in his teen years. Can pull a rabbit out of your hat.]Adept[/abbr]
	► [b]Athletics[/b] - [abbr=Kicking up dust and slapping the pavement isn't all hes good at. He's also good at climbing and scaling vertical distances as well.]Adept[/abbr]
	► [b]Acrobatics[/b] - [abbr=Exceptional balance, and can jump to conclusions in a single bound.]Adept[/abbr]
	► [b]One-Handed (Blade)[/b] - [abbr=The pointy end goes forward, and you stick it into the other guy.]Novice[/abbr][/SUP]

[SUB][b]▼   S P E L L S[/b][/sub]
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	► N/A[/sup]

[SUB][b]▼   E Q U I P M E N T[/b][/sub]
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	► [b]Weapons[/b] - A steel shortsword; looks old and its edges are slightly chipped and weathered by sea spray, but yet remains to be stained by blood.
	► [b]Armor[/b] - N/A
	► [b]Containers[/b] - A 32 oz. waterskin.
	► [b]Food, Drink, Potions[/b] - Whatever's in his hands.
	► [b]Miscellaneous[/b] -  Probably dirt or sand.[/sup][/indent][hr]
[/cell][cell][center][b][sub]══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════[/sub][/b][/center]
	A stringy physique doesn't serve Finch very well to deter anyone who would seek to harm him, and standing at 5'7", most warriors would stand taller than him and weigh nearly twice as much. Years of impoverished living and begging on the streets of the Imperial City left him a malnourished childhood that affected his metabolism later in life. Work as hard as he may, there is only so much muscle this skinny man can pack onto his frame. Even the years of sailing, which contributed to many a scar to his hands and knees, did little more than tone his body and condition his muscular endurance. Maybe soaking wet and after a large meal could he weigh enough to give you trouble picking him up -- but having light feet has its applications, and the young man makes good use of this with his skittish disposition. He always looks ready to disappear from sight at the drop of a hat or swipe something from under your nose, and fox-trotting is as easy and natural to him as walking. His mousy, scampering steps are as silent as a cat's, even if they are deprived of all confidence.

	Finch's Nibenese skin is dark olive, akin to that of Mediterranean sailors, and as a sailor himself he matches this profile perfectly. Perhaps the only thing keeping him from being mistaken as a redguard is his skin being a few shades too light and ashy, his Roman nose, and his black, greasy shoulder-length hair being too straight. One would think that the hardships of his life would prematurely age a boy into looking older than he is, but on the contrary, Finch looks younger than he really is. Perhaps the smudges of dirt and unshaven and thin, uneven growth of stubble on his lower face might convince others he's long entered his adulthood, instead of the boy he appears to be. In fact, everything about him seems unkempt. His aforementioned greasy hair is rarely brushed, and for the longest time he simply relied on lake water, rain, or sea-spray to wash it for him. When bored, he may occasionally braid a few stray sections of hair into skinny braids, but beyond that there is very little that is impressive about his appearance. Notably devoid of any sort of jewelry or accessories, he's become accustomed to living with very little. Even his dark-brown eyes seem unremarkable, which are as fidgety as his fingers, constantly scanning whichever room he's in and occasionally caught a thousand-yard stare.

	His clothes, which once were rags and patches, have been replaced by "newer" garments (truly, used hand-me-downs) that are slightly ill-fitting and very much attributive to that of sailors, dockworkers, and commoners. He makes no effort to disguise himself as anything more than that; with no delusions of grandeur or re-obtaining lost prestige or glamour, he finds its easier to remain unnoticed and inconspicuous. In his experience, those who make a point of making themselves appear important in any capacity put a target on their backs (whether that's to be killed or robbed from). A breezy white linen shirt that's a size or two too big on him is tucked lazily into brown breeches secured by a leather belt. His brown leather boots are worn and weathered from years of service and salty water, but no holes have appeared yet and the seams are only slightly loose. Having spent many years under the hot sun, and being a Nibenese Imperial more prone to tanning than burning, has come to appreciate the cool touch of the breeze against his skin and prefers to wear his collar untied.

[center][b][sub]═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════[/sub][/b][/center]
	A rather complex fellow as one might imagine. Being orphaned and forced to beg can do a lot for a man's perspective -- to say nothing of the irreparable damage to a child's psyche, he has formed a very detached and anti-materialistic view of the world and of living. What's the difference between a silver dinner plate and a rock or stick? Virtually none; dignity doesn't come before eating. Being forced to beg and steal from a young age, he has lots of pessimism to go around, but he keeps it contained and tries to direct that energy towards his goals. He uses that spite as a sort of motivation to stay alive and spit in the face of the stars. He tries to face the trials of everyday life with a smile, even if it's only a meager thing. At his core, Finch is well-meaning, but the unforgiving nature of the world has made him distant to strangers. He wants to make friends, but doesn’t, and he generally paints all people with the same brush until a personal relationship is formed and the old Finch starts to shine through.

	After then, Finch is naturally generous and honest and he would share what little has with you without further consideration. If you have a favor, he’ll do it without asking too many questions. He'll give you the shirt off his back, or steal something from the market without a second thought (which speaks to his relationship with the law as a whole). Perhaps it might have something to do with naivety, since normal life as he knew it stopped before his teen years and any semblance of normalcy might cause him to fall back on what he knows. This doesn't help in making him appear any older. Another reason is that he’s just so desperate for a meaningful relationship he'll just pour all of his emotions into a listening ear. Finch has had a hard life over the past decade and while he keeps a strong face, there is no doubt he’s suffering because of it.[/cell][/row][/table][/indent][/indent]	Part of that suffering is the bottled up rage he's kept over the years. There's a hidden bloodthirsty side to him that he doesn't necessarily indulge. Rather, he intends to save it for if he should ever find someone responsible for the death of his parents. First blood notwithstanding, he does channel that bloodthirstiness as a tolerance for the suffering of his enemies. This is to say that he rationalizes his hatred and dehumanization of those he deems unworthy of his kindness with the excuse that they had it coming. It's as spiteful as his approach to surviving life, but at least he's consistent. He can be secretive, bitter, and resentful, and his anger is a quiet, simmering beast he keeps behind passive aggression, biting remarks, and sardonic humor.

	In some regards he feels that fate had cheated him of a future. He had promise and ambition, capable of being so many things. Finch is actually an intelligent person, and he uses that cunning to solve his problem opposed to brute force. He had a natural acuity for learning and education, and he could foster those gifts into politics or magic if given the chance. Instead, he uses his brains to read situations, calculate risks, and work his own kind of magic on people -- whether that means distracting them or trying to squirm his way out of trouble depends entirely on the situation. As for fighting? Well... he plans on saving the actual shanking for those he resolved to save his murderginity for, so tends to avoid conflict as a rule. But he's not above tripping, pushing, and pulling to impede or cripple his assailants. Non-lethal stabs and throwing sand or racks also remain on the table, as does any other method of dirty fighting. However, not being a fighter and having always been smaller than the enemy, he can be easily cowed by larger and more intimidating threats.

	At his best, Finch can be generous, loyal, and clever. At his worst, he can be spiteful, naive, and cowardly.

[center][b][sub]═══════ B A C K G R O U N D ══════[/sub][/b][/center]

	The Daughter of the Niben was a host to all kinds of citizens of the Empire from all walks of life, whether they were merchants, soldiers, politicians, or criminals. The people of Bravil are a resilient and resourceful folk; one had to be given the city's notorious reputation, ripe with filth (in both the literal and metaphorical kind). Even a young and innocent looking child would cut a hole in your pockets when you weren't looking, and that still held true even for a young Finch. One would think he knew better, given the parents he had. They were both soldiers. His mother, Alessia Fortulius, was the daughter of a fisherman who helped her father by selling their product and divvying up the earnings fairly. She had a keen eye for counting coin. Sharp as a tack, she crunched numbers without ever picking up a quill. An all around upstanding lass with a good head on her shoulders, and when she got older, she signed up with Bravil's city guard. Attican Vindicari was the boy's father. By Oblivion, that man was as Colovian a chap as they came, straight from the Gold Coast with the humble beginnings as a sailor. Attican had come a long way since then, as he now stands tall and proud as a soldier of the Imperial Empire. Both of them contributed to the Great War in varying capacities, and thus, have a less than flattering view of elves. The two met post-war; Alessia had already returned home and Attican was on his way to his. The ship he was serving on rolled through the Niben Bay and docked at Bravil while en route to the Imperial City.

	Anyways, one would think Finch would know better than to cut holes in travelers' pockets and pouches, but it was something that was virtually part of the culture of living in Bravil. Boys in the city being dared to pull on girls' pigtails or knocking on a door and running away before someone could answer it. Among the street urchins of Bravil, what passed for childish pranks and games pretty much amounted to petty theft. The big fish ate the little fish, and Finch had no intention of being eaten, so he played along. He took after his mother far more than he ever did his father, both in body and mind; he was a smart and sly little rascal, and he would rather formulate plots to get his tail out of a tight place than to brute force his way through obstacles. He was better suited to buttering up the bigger kids who normally wouldn't think twice about slugging him in the face. 

	That didn't make his relationship with his dad any poorer, though. He lived in a very loving unit and he admired him both. Alessia was comfortable where she was, having lived in Bravil all her life, but Attican was constantly fussing over his son's safety. For the most part, they both led the lives they did so that Finch wouldn't have to, but to put the dad's mind at ease, they showed Finch how to properly hold a dagger and how to defend himself with it (as swords were far too heavy for the scrawny kid at the time), and he always said to him during those talks: "Don't you ever go off and die on the account of your pride. The only pride in death is when it's for your loved ones." He also talked at length about one day leaving this shit hole of a city and taking his family with him to the Imperial City. Finch never thought he'd really do it, until one dawn he awoke to the sounds of a horse being hooked up to a carriage outside their house.

	The young boy, barely even ten yet, wasn't quite sure how to feel about leaving his home. Granted, there was very little for him to look back on in Bravil.

	The Vindicari family went on to live in the Imperial City, find their new home in a humble abode within the Elven Gardens District. His father climbed the ranks of the Imperial armies while his mother followed him into the military, already having a track record with her service to Bravil and to the Empire during the war. All the while, Finch's schooling became enriched by the city's greater access to educational resources and his parents' growing income. It was a very surreal time in the boy's life, where the literary trope of rags to riches really seemed to be a tangible concept. The opportunities this presented to him were the best that either of his parents could ever hope for, his father especially. Attican only ever wanted his son safe and sound, and to have a successful and fruitful future. Now here his family was, away from the crime and filth of Bravil. His son was thriving, healthy, and learning. He was so relieved that when Finch finished his primary schooling, he wanted to continue and pursue higher education at the Arcane University.

	The university provided more than just magical learning, it was also a center of education for a few privileged folk. Finch was all too eager to follow along the road of Imperial politics. He was always the type to be interested in people, so learned about the mind -- how it thinks and behaves and how it can be fooled or resist being fooled. These sciences were the foundation upon which the school of Illusion magic could be built upon, so if he wanted to eventually learn magic, the background would enable him to do so. In addition to the sciences of the mind, Finch learned the sciences of the natural world, which in turn could lead him toward the school of Alteration. First, though, he began to learn about Imperial law, history, and diplomatic theory, which also covered Imperial relations with the neighboring countries and territories.

	As he pursued his studies and his life progressed, so did the lives of his parents. Meanwhile his parents' regiment would both be sent toward northern Tamriel to help guard the Empire's remaining provinces, High Rock and Western Skyrim, and were expected to be away for some time. Still, with the company of Finch's books and colleagues, his parents had hopes that he would barely notice that they was ever gone. Of course he would, but he was determined to show them how much he will have grown and all that he has learned by the time they come back. He was going to make them proud.

	Finch's time within the University was positively enriching. He was surrounded by fellow students who were eager to learn and he made close friends. Things were going smoothly, but only for the next year, until two caskets were delivered home. His mother and father were slain in a skirmish with a Stormcloak scouting party outside of Markarth. Word was that they had actually won, but some Forsworn moved in to pick off whoever was left. Some say bandits. Others said it was Stormcloak reinforcements. It didn't matter who did it, because Finch was without a family now. Due to his family's service he was offered care by the city, but the death of his parents shook him. He stopped studying, he very rarely ate, and his personality disappeared behind the haze of depression. Eventually, it was voted that the city couldn't afford to support a child with a deadbeat attitude and the fancy house he lived in, so it was eventually repossessed and Finch was relocated to the Waterfront District where he'd be living with a nanny and a few other kids in a shack that was the size of his old bedroom.

	He essentially lived in squalor for the next few years. He was underfed, had maybe two sets of clothes he was allowed to bring with him, and was without any sort of luxuries or amenities except for the will that was left to him but unable to claim until he was of age. If he wanted anything else, he either had to work or beg for it -- and since nobody wanted a dirty orphan to work for them, and those who might've didn't want a scrawny runt to work for them, he had to resort to begging. As we should know by now, it boded as well for him as it did for any other beggar. 

	There was the occasional busybody who wanted to be seen tossing the child a coin, but ordinarily people were afraid of catching something. Then there were those who didn't want their nice districts be sullied by the unseemly impoverished littering the streets. The guard would shoo him away or escort him back to the Waterfront, and even remove him from the Elven Gardens district where he once lived. With these new and awful experiences under his belt, Finch realized the only way he'd get what he and the other kids needed was by stealing. In a way, being responsible for someone other than himself had brought him out of his depressed funk. So, taking what he learned from Bravil, he honed the craft of stealing and hiding and applied it to the Imperial City. 

	He'd bring home food he lifted from the markets to share with the Waterfront kids and other beggars before heading back out to cut open someone's pockets. If someone caught him trying to steal, he'd scamper and hide. He was small, slippery, and quick. Even if someone grabbed hold of him, he was able to pull himself free and would be gone like the wind. Much like his namesake, like a Finch, he could even evade the city guard chasing after him. The people living in the Waterfront, knowing Finch and what he did for himself and the other kids, always did what they could to keep him hidden and safe from pursuers. They'd become like his second family.

	Life had been like this for years. The year Finch turned fourteen, however, the guard came down upon the Waterfront for tax collection. It was an unprecedented occurrence -- usually they just sent an agent, but now they were strong-arming the impoverished with a show of force. So naturally, the people of the Waterfront got together and protested. Finch joined them. Except by now, Finch was filled with so much rage over the years, from the death of his family, from being torn to his home, to the humiliation of begging, the treatment by the guard, the treatment of the Waterfront, and finally this. So, he picked up a rock from off the ground and, from the midst of the crowd, chucked it into the line of guards, gashing open his cheek. He threw the first stone, and soon after, the rest of the protesters followed his lead.

	The guard captain order the perimeter to move up, but instead, the one who Finch struck retaliated. Before long, the riot became a blood bath. Finch ran and hid himself away from the violence, horrified and wracked with guilt by what his actions had triggered. He waited for the clamor to calm down and the Waterfront wasn't as hot, lying low for a few days. He learned that the guard captain, Caius Speculatus, was jailed for what happened and his family was evicted from their home. Word was that someone saw the son leave the sewer one time. His chest swelled with guilt. So the next week, he gathered what coin he could to afford a few lockpicks and neatly folded them up in a nice cloth and left it just by the sewer grates. When he found them missing, he decided to repeat this gesture every other week or so when he could.

	Then life proceeded as normal for the next few years after that. Begging and stealing, leaving lockpicks, and basically just trying to survive and waiting to come of age for his inheritance. Due to his youthful looks, he was about twenty years old when they finally believed him that he was old enough to dip into his father's will. Unfortunately, the interest that was charged for keeping the account active left far less than what Finch expected over the years, but it was enough to at least get Finch cleaned up, some clothes that actually fit him, and a decent meal. It was enough to charter a way out of the Imperial City. There were too many nasty memories here.

	So, he got on board the next ship: the Roserunner Charter, a privateering vessel named after the pinkish hue of the cherry lumber the hull was made from. On such short notice, he was a few coins short but offered to work on board the ship to make up for the difference and the captain agreed. His first voyage, it was discovered he had natural sea-legs that allowed him to work on board without stumbling, and it was on this same trip did he finally receive his nickname. The ship was unable to outrun a storm that caught it out in the middle of the ocean, with high winds that ripped away some of the rigging of the mainsail, which took control away from the captain manning the wheel. With the main clewline whipping dangerously through the air, no one could safely grab it. 

	So a young Praesius scurried up ratlines and climbed across the yard until he was able to grab the corner of the sail and secure the clewline. However, as he tried to ride the line back down to deck, the billowing sail did cause him to fly over the ship and narrowly miss striking the mast. In the the end, though, the crew was able to grab him and help him tie down the mainline. Given recent exploits, the captain found it hard to deny the boy a place on the ship and gave him his money back. The crew took to calling him Finch ever since and the Finch found his place in the Roserunner's nest. As dangerous as it was, nobody on board was as sure-footed or could climb the ratlines as quickly as him.

	He served on board for a few years after that. The captain was a Colovian named Vintus Aedificarum who had mostly Redguards and Imperials on board his vessel, with the stray Breton or two. As a privater, he was essentially a seafaring mercenary who took what jobs he could as long as they didn't needlessly endanger his crew. This meant mostly being a charter ship or a trading vessel, and occasionally an escort to other trading ships. Only rarely would he accept jobs that meant scouting enemy territory or actual naval combat. In such cases, Finch was as poor a fighter as ever, but his penchant for being slippery meant he could duck and weave through combat without a scratch so he could arm a ballista. He also found that there was a hidden bloodthirsty side to him, over the years of repressing his anger over the death of his parents and being attacked made for a good excuse to rationalize the hate for his enemy. He was also the eyes and ears of the crew whenever the ship made port, since he could easily go unnoticed.

	Eventually, though, the captain chose to retire. He gave his crew the option of either returning to the Imperial City with him, or being dropped off anywhere around Tamriel they chose. Not wishing to return to the Imperial City, Finch chose to stay put at their last stop: in Wayrest. He's been somewhat directionless for the past few years, just taking whatever life can give him. He would want revenge on behalf of his parents, except that he understands that the enemy who took his parents were nameless and unspecific, and far be it from him to exact revenge on people entirely. He's suffered many injustices on the Waterfront and while he might challenge systems of inequalities where he finds them, it's much too large-scale for him to tackle. So, he'll just do what his father asked of him many years ago: stay alive. Perhaps he could also learn magic, as a way to honor his parents' final wishes for him. Surely the Bretons of Wayrest have something in store for him. Maybe he could eventually make his way to the Reach to find out for sure who killed his parents.

[hr][center][sub][i]"I could be dead."[/i][/sub][/center][hr]
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