[hider=For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.]
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[color=c4df9b][b]Name:[/b][/color] [color=c4df9b][b]"Sticky Pete"[/b][/color] (Birth name unknown. Earned the "Sticky" appellation by way of the heavy elm branch found at his side by the adventurer who roused him from his catatonia, earned the appellation "Pete" by way of it being the name that hit his ear the best after "Sticky".)

[color=c4df9b][b]Age:[/b][/color] ??? (Could be anywhere from eighteen to thirty-three. Point is, he's young enough to handle himself in a brawl without growing too tired too quickly.)

[color=c4df9b][b]Gender:[/b][/color] Male

[color=c4df9b][b]Race:[/b][/color] Human

[color=c4df9b][b]Rank:[/b][/color] Iron, recently promoted from Copper after a streak of five successful jobs of largely menial grunt work, capped by the extermination of a goblin hive.

[color=c4df9b][b]Personality:[/b][/color] Even-keeled, earnest, and sometimes naive. Pete is by all accounts a genial guy with a permissive temper— perhaps owing to his lack of remembered hangups from the life before himself. Inwardly, he attempts to approach each day with as open a mind as he's able, all in the name of relearning whatever he may have lost— guided only by a deep-seated bedrock of common morality, he lets his personal judgement revolve around the gut feelings that ethical core imparts upon him, approaching each moment on its own. In sum, he has no creed, he remembers no coda, but the ethereal whispers of right and wrong still live in blood, in bone, deep the pit of his stomach. Whoever he used to be, they surely knew very well when they were doing the right thing, and when they weren't. 

Inwardly, Pete worries that he may one day discover the rougher, crasser parts of him, those that don't do well with rookies or take some sort of pleasure in cracking skulls, may have stemmed from a man that was indelibly colored more by the latter than the former. He would be happy to never regain that part of himself, surely... but at the same time, he cannot escape the burning at the back of his head, where that heavy branch smashed through whomever that might have been, that he owes it to them to learn who they once were. Who [i]he[/i] once was. It is by no means lost upon him that reviving the first may mean the death of the second. Even so, surely there was somebody there— someone who's missing from every life they touched, so long as he is here now. Maybe there is a way he can honor the man that was, without giving up the man that is— or maybe there's a way the man that is can remain, even when if man that was returns.

Outwardly, he's a bit stiff-humored, in a way that suggests a kind nature. Hardly one to balk at a joke, least of all at his own expense, but he seems to lack the bite that might drive a man to let cutting words fly. Content to admit that there is much he doesn't know of the world, he seems content to give most things a fair shake— even if it may lead to him letting somebody take advantage of his commitment to sincerity. At the other end of this, he's not a great teacher, in the rare instances where he encounters people that know less of anything than he does.

[color=c4df9b][b]Brief Backstory:[/b][/color] Found at dusk outside Venne beneath an old elm, with one of its' heavy branches broken off at his side. There were no possessions nor money to his name that could be found— even the clothes off his back were nondescript rags, as though a man deprived of every worldly possession, right down to his name. He awoke with memories of gray fog, flecked with dancing black sunspots, a massive swell upon his head, and a gaggle of unfamiliar faces standing over him. It was there that "Sticky Pete" would begin his life, taking a few days to recover under the watchful eyes of the adventurers of the guild that had taken him in. Eventually, when he was hale anew, his lack of librans would catch up to him well before his stagnant memory— and with the nearest work available coming from the same roof over his head, it seemed worth the old college try.

[color=c4df9b][b]Equipment:[/b][/color] The same heavy elm branch that robbed him of his memory now robs pests and most problems of their lives. It's half his identity at this point: hard to be "Sticky Pete" without the aforementioned Stick. Beyond that, he's earned enough to put some proper clothes on his back again, and is slowly collecting the adventurer's staples to fill a sturdy leather pack— rope, a wineskin, a prybar, a lantern, sturdy leather boots, sturdy leather bracers. He's saving up for some decent brigandine or a shield, next.

[color=c4df9b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Tall, well-formed, and fell-handed, Sticky Pete is the beneficiary of a clear head in a scuffle, rarely being taken in by nerves or fear. His calm manner and mild disposition give him an easy time getting along with most people alive— already, he has a few friendships forming. Evidently, he's either literate, or has picked up the general gist of literacy quickly. Fairly dexterous with his hands, seems to know his way around a knife despite not remembering exactly why. Holds his drink well. It's been only a couple of weeks, so he doesn't have a lot to work with, but he budgets well— with money, skillset, and time all alike.
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