[CENTER][h1][color=slategray][b]"LUCKY"[/b][/color][/h1][hr][h3][sup][sup][color=silver]Alvar Lucious [color=slategray]◼[/color] September  11th (19) [color=slategray]◼[/color]   Male  [color=slategray]◼[/color]  Streets Of Vassidia [/color][/sup][/sup][/h3]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/gsDJ27e.png[/img]

[sup][color=silver]"The Lost Sons of Vassidia? Yeah. Lost in it's back alleys and gutters."[/color][/sup][/CENTER]

[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ A P P E A R A N C E:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[CENTER][sup][color=silver]"I do pretty well for myself."[/color][/sup][/CENTER]

[indent][indent][i]Alvar is a rough looking young man. He's dirty, covered in mud, wearing tattered clothes and usually got a stain or two of dried blood on him. The dirt stains his olive skin, darkening his features. His hair is a light brown, and his eyes match. Sharp features, yet not so much that one could call him 'boyishly handsome'. He's got a rugged feel to him but he seems to be all edge on the outside. The scars, the scowl and the burning fire inside of his eyes. He moves with a swagger and determination only the young have, convinced that he could change the world if he wanted to. That, or burn it all down. 

He wears simple clothes, tattered and often passed down from his many big brothers in the gang. If he's wearing a piece of paraphernalia that used to belong to one of his brothers, he has a little extra pride in his step, for he knows he's carrying their legacy with him. 

Alvar's voice booms, it isn't particularly deep, but he speaks from the gut, projecting beyond his 5'9 size and 110 pound stature, his lean figure can appear a lot more menacing with an iron pipe in his hand or a knife pulled from his pocket. Alvar's, by all accounts, a thug. And that's well displayed when he barks orders like a commander in the middle of a battle at his boys.

The boy is a pragmatist, and a fighter at that. And everyone around him can tell everything there is to know about him as soon as he walks into the room. A good for nothing thug.

 [/i][/indent][/indent]


[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ B I O G R A P H Y:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[CENTER][sup][color=silver]"Grew up mean."[/color][/sup][/CENTER]

[indent][indent][i]Alvars parents were truly, inconsequential to his life. Who they were would come to bear no meaning to him, for, see, the only thing they ever truly did for him was die. His father died two weeks after Alvar was born. Picked a fight while drunk, assaulted the guards and got a crossbow bolt through his chest for his troubles. Two people came to his funeral besides Alvar and his mother, Beatrice. They were there to collect Jacques gambling debts. Beatrice had nothing, but what little she had, she gave to Alvar. She was a good mother, too young to mother anyone, barely out of childhood herself. But the streets demand sacrifice and she was willing to do anything to protect her son as mothers do.

That's what got her killed. She wasn't murdered, taken capture or anything of the kind. She simple died from not taking care of herself. Her heart gave out one morning when Alvar was six years old. He found her, cold as the night. And since, he thought he would always be alone. The one person he had known was dead, and that's not an easy thing to wrap your head around as a human. Even less when you're a child.

He was an orphan. On the streets of Vassidia's slums. Sure, there were orphanages, but they were packed to capacity, mostly only taking in little girls, leaving the boys to fend for themselves. Inner-city crime was at an all time high and robberies and murders was a massive problem for the poorest in the capital. He somehow survived, on his own, for almost an entire year. He stole bread, he drank dirty water and he got really fast at running. Till one day, he got into trouble with a gang of older kids. They were hitting him, four on one. Kicking him on the ground and as he was gonna pass out and surely die, he was saved by a kid the same size as the older kids, maybe 14 years old. He came swinging at them with an iron pipe, knocking one of the kids teeth out. He saved Alvar, his name was Yoseth. He would become Alvar's first friend, and the one who introduced him to the Lost Sons Of Vassidia, the gang of orphans who had created a brotherhood, a safe-haven for lost kids like them. Those who had no one. For under the roof of the run down chapel that was their spot, they had a home.

And in the chapel, they were brothers.

Over the years, the Lost Sons would grow in rank, 20 or so kids. Alvar ended up somewhere in the middle of the age group, he had little brothers and big brothers, and soon they would come to look to Yoseth as the de facto leader, he was the biggest, strongest, smartest and bravest of them. He'd lead them into brawls with the other gangs. He'd help them raise their little brothers, Yoseth would teach all of the brothers how to stitch clothes, wounds and change diapers on the few babies that were around.

He was truly a great man, and four years ago, like most great men do. He died.

He was killed. In a fight, something as stupid as a rock, to the side of the head. A one in a billion freak-toss. It was the perhaps that final concussion he needed to shutdown. But Yoseth died, and Alvar and all of the brothers cried. His younger brothers looked to Alvar for leadership, and ever since, he's lead the Lost Sons Of Vassidia. They're 14 men strong, and a band of outlaws doing everything from cons to serving as hired muscle. They collect debts and they fight every other gang in the city - and there's a lot of them.

Of course, the stone blight would restructure their ability to exist. It's even taken a couple of their brothers. Alvar was caught by the city guards, and brought to the Royal Warlock Aborran. That wasn't usually what happened to urchin thugs who got caught by the guards. They usually got beaten up and sent back into the street after a few nights of no food and barely any water in the jail.

After his meeting with Aborran, Alvar decides to join the hunt for a cure to the blight. He bids his brothers farewell for the time being, and promises them that when he returns, they'll be kings.  [/i][/indent][/indent]

[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ C H A R A C T E R  G O A L S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[CENTER][sup][color=silver]"I didn't just get roof over my head. I found a family. A home."[/color][/sup][/CENTER]

[indent][indent][i]While Alvar knows the inner city streets like the back of his hand, he's never set foot outside of the capital. He knows nothing of the world, and he's definitely there to explore it. The adventure is appealing to him, but he's got a greater goal in pure monetary compensation. Becoming a legendary hero who saves the country from the curse that turns people into statutes would come with perks. Perks like being able to elevate the Lost Sons into kings. He wants to provide for his family, in the only way he knows how. By doing something really, really stupid.[/i][/indent][/indent]

[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ S K I L L S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr]
[CENTER][sup][color=silver]"My foot wanted to meet your ass, and I'm about to give them a crossbow wedding!"[/color][/sup][/CENTER]

[/COLOR][indent][b][color=CADETBLUE]//SKILLS AND ABILITIES:[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Street Fighting |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Alvar's a brawler by heart. He's got no martial training, he's not an exceedingly large young man, and carries no extraordinary strength or skills to speak off. But the guy makes do with what he has. He's passable with a sword and a crossbow, but really exceeds in makeshift weaponry. Pipes, sticks and other 'junk' are his weapons of choice. He's certainly not opposed to punching someone in the face, either.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Thievery |[/COLOR][/B] [i]He learnt how to steal, how to pick a pocket and other sleight of hand tricks since he was a child. He's also grown into quite the con man, spinning tall tales when fists just won't cut it. The kid's extraordinarily nimble and an excellent climber. Able to climb and maneuver places that many would consider impossible to traverse. [/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Survival |[/COLOR][/B] [i]As the leader of the Lost Sons of Vassidia, Alvar's developed excellent leadership skills. He's able to access situations from his gangs capabilities, understanding who should do what in any given situation, able to make fast decisions and sometimes rash ones. Saving his own and the life of his brothers at any given turn. He's picked up basic first aid, sewing and other necessary skills over the years. Though, he'd much rather pick scabs than stitch wounds. [/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Untapped Magical Potential |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Aborran insists that he could sense immense magical potential in the young Alvar. That it manifests itself in Alvar being incredibly lucky, a constant fluctuation of probability, skewing the odds in Alvar's favor. Certainly not a unheard of thing for people to possess, but it definitely pissed the young boy off to learn. [/i][/indent]

[b][color=CADETBLUE]//FEARS AND WEAKNESSES:[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Animals |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Specifically bigger animals. Alvar's a big city guy. If it's bigger than a dog, he's gonna be sacred of it. That includes completely non-hostile animals. He sees a deer, and he's gonna be very, very worried about it eating him.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Temper |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Like all young men, Alvar's greatest enemy is himself. His temper gets the best of him at times and he leaves his head behind. Coming out swinging isn't always the best approach, something he's got plenty of scars to show for.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Religious fundamentalists |[/COLOR][/B] [i]True believers in a god? Creepy.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Luck |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Alvar's been told he's incredibly lucky. He's deeply worried that one day, his luck's gonna run out and things are gonna get even worse than they are.[/i][/indent][/indent]

[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ N O T E S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][indent]
[b][color=CADETBLUE]//PARAPHERNALIA[/color][/b]
[CENTER][sup][color=silver]"What do you mean 'I don't look like I belong here'. You wanna fight me?!"[/color][/sup][/CENTER]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Broadsword |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Basic broadsword stolen from the city guards a long time ago.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Backpack |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Carries the necessities. Plus a light snack, a drink and needle and thread. For qounds or patching clothes.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Leather Armor |[/COLOR][/B] [i]A hardened leather jacket and bracers. Protects him from glancing blows from swords and arrows alike.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Deck of cards|[/COLOR][/B] [i]Trick deck that's got marked cards.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Dagger |[/COLOR][/B] [i]He carries a small, serrated dagger on his person at all times. Either in his boot or in his sleeve. [/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Head of a bolt |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Perhaps a reminder, or a warning. The metal head of a crossbow bolt hangs around his neck.[/i][/indent][/indent]