[Full Name]Leonid Hector Sylmare
[Alias]Leon
[Affiliation]Cretus
[Starting Class]Noble
[Status](Adopted) heir to House Sylmare
[Crest]Minor Crest of Sylmare
[Age]Seventeen
[Date of Birth]27th of the Hallowed Moon, Divine Year 763
[Appearance Information]Once an unmistakable product of the streets, the past few months have molded Leonid into the epitome of nobility - as far as appearances go, anyhow. Much as he dislikes tight collars, unnecessary gloves and stiff pants, he wears them like he was born in them, both in classrooms and beyond. And with an impeccable posture to match a confident gait, he doesn't seem out of place even in the most prestigious of gatherings. That is, until he's forced to speak. He can't quite pull off formalities like second nature, and seems to often get lost between what he wants to say and what he should say. Amusing to some, jarring to others - and a source of great concern for his new 'family'.
Standing average at 5'9'', Leon is more lean and lithe than muscular, yet fully capable of besting any noble who's never known hard work. He has a very slight tan that makes the scars scattered upon his skin that much more apparent, at least when unclothed. Most are around his arms and back, which formal attire hides quite conveniently. Something good comes outta the stuffy uniform, at least. Whenever given the chance, rare as those instances may be, he likes to slip into more comfortable and loose clothes - not quite the rags he once wore, but clean casual wear befitting nobility.
Leon's eyes are a reddish shade of brown, constantly carrying an observant, even sly look - as if he's always assessing everything around him; the places he goes to, the people he meets and the words they speak. Call it a survival instinct or paranoia, it's all the same to him. He has an expressive face, and though he's learnt to fake a polite smile quite well, his gaze rarely changes. Leon's chestnut brown hair is forcibly combed to some form of submission, but a few loose strands still like to stick out every which way no matter how many hours he spends taming them.
[Personality]First impressions, as is often the case, are quite deceiving when it comes to Leonid. Though he looks refined and may come across as such at first, none of it comes naturally to him. In reality, Leonid couldn't care less for etiquette or manners, and sees them as a necessary evil at best. He's quite against the general view that some people are better than others through birthright alone, be it due to wealth, station or the possession of a crest, and he doesn't really believe in god or fate. As far as he's concerned, everyone should earn their place in the world - which is why he feels undeserving of his new title.
Everything he's experienced has left him bitter and somewhat cynical - both traits that tend to show through the cracks of his noble mask from time to time. Still, it's not as though he's purposefully antagonistic even behind his facade. He does tend to make quick judgments when he first meets people, if only because living on the streets and dealing with shady folk taught him it was a necessity, but he is also willing to change his views if proven wrong. He's alert and observant, and it's difficult to sneak up on him - in fact, it's more likely that he's the one to sneak up on you! Though he makes sure not to go too far and risk consequences from the Sylmares, he doesn't at all mind rattling up nobles, particularly pompous or arrogant ones - be it with his words or actions.
Though he usually appears calm enough, deep down Leonid doesn't have the longest fuse out there. He isn't one to resort to shouting or swinging his fists around, but he does get annoyed somewhat easily in certain circumstances, and that can lead to quite a sharp tongue indeed. He isn't a sore loser, and can even take some insults in a stride - but witnessing injustice or having to listen to nobles spout self-righteous spiels does get under his skin quite fast. Having to pretend to agree with them is even worse. As such, Leonid usually tends to avoid such situations; he knows that when angry, keeping up his act becomes that much more difficult - and his ability to care about being exposed lessens to a dangerous degree. He also has a soft spot for the downtrodden, and particularly hates seeing them mistreated.
On most occasions when interacting with others however, Leonid is amiable enough. He's talkative, and though his jokes tend to be a bit strange and some of the things he lets slip unfitting for a man of his status, he isn't looking for trouble - most of the time.
[Personal History]If categorized, Leon's story would be of the "rags to riches" variety. Born as a nobody in the less fortunate parts of Cretus, most of his early life was marked by struggle and poverty. According to the tales his father used to tell, theirs was once a successful merchant business in the heart of Solitaire - but whatever wealth their forefathers had once accrued had long since been lost to time. Bad business decisions, bandits and untimely deaths had eaten away at the success of their business over generations, until naught remained but tales. 'Keep close ever penny,' his father always told him at the end of the story. 'Today's coin is tomorrow's dinner.'
At the dawn of Leonid's ninth Amber Moon, his father told stories no longer. Illness claimed him, and at the turn of the year, his mother followed. Devastated and alone, Leonid soon found himself on the streets. At first, he got by with help of strangers' kindness; neighbours who pitied his fate, townspeople who'd known his parents and wished to aid their son in his time of need. Sometimes, he was given food - other times a bed, even coin, a time or two. But kind as the townspeople were, their resources were not infinite. At the end of the day, they had their own families to care for - and the more time passed, the more forgotten Leonid's plight became. New orphans were birthed by the harsh living conditions, and alms were distributed to them in turn. Even when Leonid worked for his coin or spent the entirety of his day begging, the closer the winter came, the less people could afford to give. It wasn't just him; everyone was struggling.
Then, with the first snow, they arrived to town; traveling merchants, looking for a roof above their heads for a night. Leonid overheard them talk as he cleaned tables at the tavern, catching wind of their plans to head for the capital to sell their wares come morrow. The capital, Solitaire... a place where his family had once prospered, and where many a merchant had earned their fortune. Perhaps there, Leonid could start to accrue his own fortune. It wasn't easy convincing the merchants to take with them a stray boy, but free labor was free labor and Leonid promised he'd make a fine attendant and didn't have too big a belly. Scraps would suit him just fine.
Solitaire was as grand as the stories told, and from the moment Leonid first set foot onto its cobblestone streets, he was in awe. The city was big, beautiful and bustling, worlds apart from the quaint little town he'd called home. Leonid felt as though anything was possible here.
His glee did not last.
Not long after arrival, he realized that for a filthy boy with no coin in his pocket, Solitaire was no more hospitable than any other city. On the contrary, even; the citizens of the capital did not know him like his neighbours had, and they'd seen enough bastards, scoundrels and thieves that they had no sympathy left to spare. And then there were the unwritten rules of the street; where one could beg, sleep, or tread, carefully dictated by already existing gangs that had claimed parts of the back alleys to their name.
Leonid never wanted to steal. He'd heard his father speak ill of the bandits that partook in his family's fall from grace, yet winter was harsh and circumstances dire. It started as grabbing produce when no one was looking, then moved on to picking a pocket, two, three - until finally, he found himself stealing and conning the good people of Solitaire even when no direct need dictated it. He found a certain thrill in a successful gig - and it was only matter of time until it got him into trouble. Not with the locals themselves, nor even guards; certainly, he'd gotten a beating once or twice in his earlier years, but this was worse. He got caught trying to steal from a criminal much worse than him; a trained assassin, part of a guild of his kind.
Leonid ended up trading his freedom for a chance to live another day. He was still a boy of thirteen at the time, but the guild never had a shortage of little birds. They did not only deal in assassinations; espionage and information breaking were also part of their trade, and the younger their messenger, the easier they could slip by undetected. That is how he spent the next few years: acquiring, carrying and exchanging information the land over, until fate threw a yet another twist his way. He got caught a second time. But if the first had been a curse, this one was more a blessing.
The young criminal had found his way into the manor of the Sylmares - the second wealthiest noble house in all of Cretus. Perhaps in part due to the legalization of assassinations, the house was quite secretive, and so any information he could gather would likely fetch a fine price. Unfortunately, as many others before him, Leonid got caught in the act by the many guards of the estate. Unlike those before him, however, he did not meet his end as punishment. In the process of examination and interrogation, it was discovered that he, against all odds, was in possession of a crest. And not just any crest, either - but the Crest of Sylmare. Someone, somewhere down his line of ancestors, descended from Sylmare.
Judging by the look in the lord's eyes, the news bode well for Leonid. All he wanted was to keep his life. What he got, instead, was a new life altogether. As it turned out, apart from the current head herself, they had no one with a crest to inherit the family name. And so, a quick plan was devised to present Leonid as the heir proper. With the legal status of assassinations, it would not be unthinkable for the family to have kept a crest-bearing heir a secret out of fear of attempts on his life, after all. And with him being almost of age, now would be a good time to reveal him to the world - perhaps by sending him to the monastery?
Leonid was not thrilled, yet he found himself given little choice. And so, for the next few excruciating months, he was trained in the ways of nobility. Etiquette, dancing, proper manner of dress and address - he did his best to learn it all, if only to keep his head. And when the next academic year begun, he was sent off to learn the rest of the skills necessary for someone in his position.
[Preferred Fighting Style]Bow
[Equipment]Training Sword, Training Bow
[Learned Spells]N/A
[Interests]
- Climbing
- Archery
- Cooking
- Storytelling
[Likes]
- Money
- Sweets
- Rain
- Nighttime
- Banter
- Naps
[Dislikes]
- Nobles
- Horses
- Fleas
- Hypocrites
- Etiquette
- Restrictive clothing
