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 __________________________________________ Thomas Rosemont _______________________________________________________________ 22 | Male | Northron _______________________________________________________________ ▼ B A S I C S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'0" ► Weight - 162 lbs ► Build - Wiry ► Hair Colour - Dirty Blond ► Eye Colour - Emerald Green ► Origin - The Barony of Rosemont, a subdivision of Wessumbra County in the Kingdom of Anemor - ▼ S K I L L S E T ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Swordplay - Skilled with sword and shield ► Horsemanship - Capable rider, lancer ► Noble's Upbringing - History, Courtly Manner, Politics - | D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E A youth born of gentle birth, Thomas Rosemont stands a head taller than most and shares the angular jaw of his grandfather. Any sense of nobility these traits might conjure is broken by the presence of his button nose, rosy cheeks and wiry frame. His once fair skin has been shaded by the kiss of the sun, owed entirely to his fancying elk and boar hunts over stuffy courtly proceedings. Brown hair flecked with gold frames his square face, dropping down to just below his ears in length and contrasting sharply with the emerald in his eyes. And while he does his best to keep his face shaven, Thomas has fancied as of recent to let his side whiskers grow out to better define his rounded cheeks. Apart from his boyish looks, Rosemont's worst feature is easily his awkward demeanor. Thomas never took to the training of his tutors when it came to gentlemanly behavior and etiquette; not to say he was intentionally rude, per se, but that he was so intensely insecure that he of came across as aloof and dreary. He still to this day carries his shoulders in a low slouch and walks in short strides with his head tucked down, despite more than a decade of chiding from his family and teachers. Owing to his station as the son of a minor noble house, Thomas's clothing and equipment is always of quality make. He favors thigh-length tunics, long cloaks and riding boots for general use- typically in dark reds, golds, blacks and whites. When entering combat Rosemont dons the iron half-plate, chemically washed a porcelain white, his family's armorsmith fitted for Thomas specifically. The metalwork, while of excellent quality compared to what many of lower birth use, is still a step below that of a knight or lord's full harness. |
Growing up in abuse and hardship required that Thomas adapt to cope with his situation if he wanted to maintain his sanity. He chose to deal with it by putting distance between himself and his despondence with a layer of sardonic detachment, finding humor in even the worst moments. That sort of coldness has bled into all aspects of his personality, where in even positive or safe environments its incredibly rare for Rosemont to appear comfortable.
He's never felt any particular connection to others of his class, as most nobles look down their nose at him for being a bastard or, worse, a Rosemont. And he never had much of an opportunity to interact with others of different standing. Thomas was never too bothered by the lack of proper companionship, though, finding solace in his vices and other, less harmful outlets, like week-long hunts for elk and boar, or digging his nose into some stuffy tome he liberated from the family library.
There'd never been any line for Thomas to cross before he entered the service of the Blackwardens. There were things he wouldn't do, of course, but never because he'd developed some strong sense of right and wrong- all he had to go on was an intuitive feeling in his gut to act as his moral compass. Those were ideas he thought belonged to knights and noble kings and their like; Thomas's only goal was to avoid notice and survive. It wasn't until he was introduced to the warden's creed, The Path, that he began to consider such heady things as good and evil.
Some parts of the creed were more digestible than others. Evil lingering in all men was something he'd seen himself. It was easy to believe that, given the right circumstances, just about anyone could commit incredible acts of cruelty that they'd normally think revolting. Other things, like the preciousness of life or that none deserve to suffer, were...harder to contend with. He'd met many a person so gratuitously brutal that there was little they weren't deserving of, and their lives meant precious little to him. Still, if he were to ever actually be a Blackwarden, those were ideas he'd have to actually reckon with.
He's never felt any particular connection to others of his class, as most nobles look down their nose at him for being a bastard or, worse, a Rosemont. And he never had much of an opportunity to interact with others of different standing. Thomas was never too bothered by the lack of proper companionship, though, finding solace in his vices and other, less harmful outlets, like week-long hunts for elk and boar, or digging his nose into some stuffy tome he liberated from the family library.
There'd never been any line for Thomas to cross before he entered the service of the Blackwardens. There were things he wouldn't do, of course, but never because he'd developed some strong sense of right and wrong- all he had to go on was an intuitive feeling in his gut to act as his moral compass. Those were ideas he thought belonged to knights and noble kings and their like; Thomas's only goal was to avoid notice and survive. It wasn't until he was introduced to the warden's creed, The Path, that he began to consider such heady things as good and evil.
Some parts of the creed were more digestible than others. Evil lingering in all men was something he'd seen himself. It was easy to believe that, given the right circumstances, just about anyone could commit incredible acts of cruelty that they'd normally think revolting. Other things, like the preciousness of life or that none deserve to suffer, were...harder to contend with. He'd met many a person so gratuitously brutal that there was little they weren't deserving of, and their lives meant precious little to him. Still, if he were to ever actually be a Blackwarden, those were ideas he'd have to actually reckon with.
---O R I G I N
Thomas was born fourteen years before the Age of Dawn to Baron Cedric Rosemont. Cedric's wife, Eveline, was never fond of keeping the servant girls around once the bastards were born, so it wasn't any surprise the boy never knew his mother. He was the second youngest of seven male siblings and a half-score of sisters, all born either from one of Cedric's three legitimate marriages or any of his many extramarital affairs- earning Cedric the nickname 'The Salacious.'
As one of Cedric's legitimized bastards boys, Thomas wasn't raised for succession- but to act as an instrument of the family's will. He was training in swordplay when he was strong enough to hold one and was riding horses when he was tall enough to reach the stirrup. The trainers encouraged fierce competition among the siblings, punishing compassion and rewarding ruthlessness where they saw it. Thomas was never the best of them, but he managed to avoid the whipping's that came with repeated failure...most of the time, anyway.
The children were assigned work in their later years based on their aptitude for various things growing up, some going on to become stewards, others diplomats, spies or enforcers- Thomas fell into the last role, owing to his swordsmanship and his impatience for work in courts. It was his duty to act as retainer to his father during travel, to accompany the tax collectors and to deal with criminals, debtors, and threats to the baron as requested of him.
Nothing good was ever asked of Thomas. There were no knightly heroics or daring adventures, just the bloody work of a nobleman's thug: capturing runaway slaves, dragging indebted fathers from the arms of their families, and picking villagers clean of the little coin and bread they had. Thomas grew to hate it, choosing to distance himself from it by indulging in wine, girls and hunting at every moment. It was easier to drown his miseries away in frivolous luxury than to actually confront the things that bothered him so.
He wished he could say things changed because he tired of acting as a tool for evil men. Say that he came to a revelation and chose to confront the baron. Things were never as romantic as they were in the stories.
It'd been a late night out hunting down a gang of poachers when Thomas and his brothers road back to the town of Redbrook, the seat of the barony and Rosemont Keep. They'd already been drinking on the ride back, but Rowlan, the eldest of the bastards, suggested they stop at the alehouse to celebrate. Thomas, feeling particularly miserable that night, indulged more than usual. In a drunken haze he mouthed off at Rowlan, letting slip more than he'd wanted about his family's cruelty, and the trading of words quickly became physical. Rowlan was far stronger than Thomas and had little trouble putting him on his back. There was talk of dragging the boy before their father for his insolence, though they came to the collective conclusion that waking up Baron Cedric in the middle of the night to deal with this wasn't wise; instead, they'd tie Thomas up in the stable and deal with him in the morning.
Covered in mud, his nose shattered and in a drunken stupor, they tied Thomas to a post and left him there for the night to contemplate his fate. He wasn't particularly hopeful about his father's judgement, having seen what happened to others that stepped out of line firsthand. If it weren't for the kindness of a stranger its entirely possible he wouldn't live to see the next day. A young stablehand, woken up by the racket, wandered outside to find Thomas in his sorry state and chose to cut him free. Thomas took the opportunity to gather his things and flee south, never turning back.
It was in some shoddy, roadside tavern where Thomas was drinking himself under the table that a Blackwarden recruiter just happened to notice the sword on his hilt, the noble's sigil on his brooch and offered him a second chance at life.
As one of Cedric's legitimized bastards boys, Thomas wasn't raised for succession- but to act as an instrument of the family's will. He was training in swordplay when he was strong enough to hold one and was riding horses when he was tall enough to reach the stirrup. The trainers encouraged fierce competition among the siblings, punishing compassion and rewarding ruthlessness where they saw it. Thomas was never the best of them, but he managed to avoid the whipping's that came with repeated failure...most of the time, anyway.
The children were assigned work in their later years based on their aptitude for various things growing up, some going on to become stewards, others diplomats, spies or enforcers- Thomas fell into the last role, owing to his swordsmanship and his impatience for work in courts. It was his duty to act as retainer to his father during travel, to accompany the tax collectors and to deal with criminals, debtors, and threats to the baron as requested of him.
Nothing good was ever asked of Thomas. There were no knightly heroics or daring adventures, just the bloody work of a nobleman's thug: capturing runaway slaves, dragging indebted fathers from the arms of their families, and picking villagers clean of the little coin and bread they had. Thomas grew to hate it, choosing to distance himself from it by indulging in wine, girls and hunting at every moment. It was easier to drown his miseries away in frivolous luxury than to actually confront the things that bothered him so.
He wished he could say things changed because he tired of acting as a tool for evil men. Say that he came to a revelation and chose to confront the baron. Things were never as romantic as they were in the stories.
It'd been a late night out hunting down a gang of poachers when Thomas and his brothers road back to the town of Redbrook, the seat of the barony and Rosemont Keep. They'd already been drinking on the ride back, but Rowlan, the eldest of the bastards, suggested they stop at the alehouse to celebrate. Thomas, feeling particularly miserable that night, indulged more than usual. In a drunken haze he mouthed off at Rowlan, letting slip more than he'd wanted about his family's cruelty, and the trading of words quickly became physical. Rowlan was far stronger than Thomas and had little trouble putting him on his back. There was talk of dragging the boy before their father for his insolence, though they came to the collective conclusion that waking up Baron Cedric in the middle of the night to deal with this wasn't wise; instead, they'd tie Thomas up in the stable and deal with him in the morning.
Covered in mud, his nose shattered and in a drunken stupor, they tied Thomas to a post and left him there for the night to contemplate his fate. He wasn't particularly hopeful about his father's judgement, having seen what happened to others that stepped out of line firsthand. If it weren't for the kindness of a stranger its entirely possible he wouldn't live to see the next day. A young stablehand, woken up by the racket, wandered outside to find Thomas in his sorry state and chose to cut him free. Thomas took the opportunity to gather his things and flee south, never turning back.
It was in some shoddy, roadside tavern where Thomas was drinking himself under the table that a Blackwarden recruiter just happened to notice the sword on his hilt, the noble's sigil on his brooch and offered him a second chance at life.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Arming sword, 'Littlethorn,' banded hilt & rose-engraved pommel
- Heater shield, emblazoned with familial heraldry
- Lance
- Javelins (x3)
- Half-plate armor
- sallet helm
- mail hood
- breastplate & pauldrons
- greaves
- gauntlets
- riveted tassets
- mail faulds
- Female courser, Wander
- riding cloak
- Satchel
- journal
- bundle of maps
- provisions
- flint and steel
- lantern
- Heater shield, emblazoned with familial heraldry
- Lance
- Javelins (x3)
- Half-plate armor
- sallet helm
- mail hood
- breastplate & pauldrons
- greaves
- gauntlets
- riveted tassets
- mail faulds
- Female courser, Wander
- riding cloak
- Satchel
- journal
- bundle of maps
- provisions
- flint and steel
- lantern
---O T H E R
Thomas, ironically enough, has a pollen allergy.
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