:
Posted: Sat Mar 20, 2010 7:50 pm
incomplete. obviously.
THE CHARACTER BASICS
NAME: FLICK
- Most people take on the view that it is a fake name, the assumption would be incorrect; such a name is of English origin (quite obviously, so) and has an indirect but cement relation and meaning to 'a sudden, light striking motion'. Best known for its use as a verb.
AGE: FIFTEEN
- Fifteen in physical age, it is true. And yet, he looks so much younger. Very much like a ten-year-old. It's the babyface that does it, making it rather difficult for one to correctly place his affects. It was pure luck that it be this way, naturally, but he keeps his eyes wide and his hair adorning, nonetheless.
CLASS: MALE VAGABOND
- Male or female? That's usually the question which presents itself when one is faced with the small, orange-haired boy. And with such a unisex name, also. It is an easy mistake to make, and has been made many times in the past.
- As for the subclass; if one is so curious, Flick studies the fine art of music. Or, at least, he enjoys making pretty sounds on wooden sticks with holes. It's more a fascination, than a talent. Not much of a talent at all, in fact.
RACE: SHEIKAH
- So far from home? Little boy, are you lost? Without a home, even? Left on your own?; left on the street?; left to die? But quite the opposite, in fact. For he, he ran away. Fled from his home, intentionally splitting hi'self from his family, seperating hi'self from his kin. And now? He plays his (bad, might one interject subtley) music on the side of the road, begging for money... And killing a few of the nameless along the way, for to make a living.
ORDER: CHAOS
- Good lord, how so? It is not quite clear as to how the pixie-like young lad goes about his chaotic ways, but it should be made known that he is indeed quite twisted. Upon many'a occasion taking the life of rich people, simply for his own gain.
STATS:
- - - - - - - - - - (BASE) - - - TOTAL
- - - - - - STR - - (2) - - - - - 2
- - - - - -DEF - - (1) - - - - - 1
- - - - - - AGI - - (3) - - - - - 6
- - - - - - INT - - (3) - - - - - 3
- - - - - - SPI - - (2) - - - - - 2
SPOKEN LANGUAGES: COMMON, ANCIENT HYLIAN
- As is tradition, especially in his household. Flick learnt both languages back-to-back since the youngest age one could imagine. As a weekly revolution, each parent would speak in different tongue to him. Throughout his development in both speech and mind, he learnt to speak (and write, and read) both with fair fluency. Perhaps, though, disregarding most grammatical rules; sidestepping grammar need not be a problem when one is a teenaged, homeless murderer, though.
WEAPONS: N/A
- While it is true that Flick does not carry with him and clearly defined 'weapons' in the sense of an arsenal, he tends to kill his victims in whatever manner he sees fit. Usually, it would be a sharp, precise blow to the temple with his flute. However, rocks are heavy and glass is sharp, and there's no saying (or thinking) what he could come up with in the moment.
PERSONALITY.... TYPE... STUFF...
To come -lazeh-
HISTORY AND BACKGROUND
EARLIER YEARS, BIRTH TO AGE TWELVE
- birth
- ages one, two and three
- ages four, five and six
- ages seven, eight and nine
- ages ten, eleven and twelve
LATER YEARS, AGE THIRTEEN TO AGE FIFTEEN
- It was at the tender age of thirteen when Flick finally decided he'd had enough of his life, packed his tiny bag, and snuck out under the cover of a deep blue, dotted blanket (...the night sky, genius). He had no real idea as to where he was going, exactly, he just wanted to leave. His selfishness getting the better of him, he could not live in that kind of environment any longer, having to work and earn -- why couldn't things just be handed to him on a silver platter? Pssh, a gold platter. And a goblet, of course; where else would he get that beloved wine from?
- Unfortunately, it wasn't until a day or so later that the young boy realized exactly what running away from home meant. Not the sorrow of being away from home or a sadness from missing his family, but the fact that he had crashed head-long into the very thing he was running away from. Work. He hadn't thought this through very well, had he? No. No, he had not. Still, he was out now, he could hardly go back. At least he could be independent, at least he could build his own reputation. His lack of muscle wasn't going to get him any work in the 'Knight' department, and his babyface wasn't exactly mugger material.
- All he managed? A flute. A simple, wooden flute. Fudge. That Shit.
- Flick, being the proud, selfish creature he was, had something slightly different in mind. His anger had never really been his most redeeming quality, but he'd taken the flute, what else was there to do? Well, bash the man across the head with the flute, of course. The man who'd given it to him (free of charge, because who could resist the adorable little interchangeable-gender child with those big hazel-brown eyes) began rambling on about how he'd helped out the warriors trying to make it as 'big, tough, toughies working to keep us safe from the baddies'. The baby-talk alone was enough to work Flick up into a considerable annoyance, the underlying notations of 'you'll never be able to do anything of that sort' was what pushed him just that little bit too far. Temper, temper; that measly little flute became a weapon in the hands of a shrimpy, awkwardly-proportioned thirteen-year-old.
- The vibrance, the adreneline, the colour; the scene and the blood, it gave young Flick a new idea. Murder? It wasn't so bad, pretty easy to do, it seemed; not as horrible as they'd made it out to be. One less person in the world, and more money for him; it was a win-win situation.... for Flick, not the dead guy...
THE CURRENT, PRESENT DAY
- Which leads us to now. Flick, the short little kid with vibrant hair, playing his flute on the side of the road. In the one-point-five years he's been playing, it, though, there hasn't been much of an improvement. A Bard, perhaps, but an untalented one at that. The only talent, if it can be called that, that he possesses, is the murdering of (most likely innocent,) rich people.
The essence of Flick -- Money, money, moneyyy~~~ ALL MEIN!
THE CHARACTER BASICS
NAME: FLICK
- Most people take on the view that it is a fake name, the assumption would be incorrect; such a name is of English origin (quite obviously, so) and has an indirect but cement relation and meaning to 'a sudden, light striking motion'. Best known for its use as a verb.
AGE: FIFTEEN
- Fifteen in physical age, it is true. And yet, he looks so much younger. Very much like a ten-year-old. It's the babyface that does it, making it rather difficult for one to correctly place his affects. It was pure luck that it be this way, naturally, but he keeps his eyes wide and his hair adorning, nonetheless.
CLASS: MALE VAGABOND
- Male or female? That's usually the question which presents itself when one is faced with the small, orange-haired boy. And with such a unisex name, also. It is an easy mistake to make, and has been made many times in the past.
- As for the subclass; if one is so curious, Flick studies the fine art of music. Or, at least, he enjoys making pretty sounds on wooden sticks with holes. It's more a fascination, than a talent. Not much of a talent at all, in fact.
RACE: SHEIKAH
- So far from home? Little boy, are you lost? Without a home, even? Left on your own?; left on the street?; left to die? But quite the opposite, in fact. For he, he ran away. Fled from his home, intentionally splitting hi'self from his family, seperating hi'self from his kin. And now? He plays his (bad, might one interject subtley) music on the side of the road, begging for money... And killing a few of the nameless along the way, for to make a living.
ORDER: CHAOS
- Good lord, how so? It is not quite clear as to how the pixie-like young lad goes about his chaotic ways, but it should be made known that he is indeed quite twisted. Upon many'a occasion taking the life of rich people, simply for his own gain.
STATS:
- - - - - - - - - - (BASE) - - - TOTAL
- - - - - - STR - - (2) - - - - - 2
- - - - - -DEF - - (1) - - - - - 1
- - - - - - AGI - - (3) - - - - - 6
- - - - - - INT - - (3) - - - - - 3
- - - - - - SPI - - (2) - - - - - 2
SPOKEN LANGUAGES: COMMON, ANCIENT HYLIAN
- As is tradition, especially in his household. Flick learnt both languages back-to-back since the youngest age one could imagine. As a weekly revolution, each parent would speak in different tongue to him. Throughout his development in both speech and mind, he learnt to speak (and write, and read) both with fair fluency. Perhaps, though, disregarding most grammatical rules; sidestepping grammar need not be a problem when one is a teenaged, homeless murderer, though.
WEAPONS: N/A
- While it is true that Flick does not carry with him and clearly defined 'weapons' in the sense of an arsenal, he tends to kill his victims in whatever manner he sees fit. Usually, it would be a sharp, precise blow to the temple with his flute. However, rocks are heavy and glass is sharp, and there's no saying (or thinking) what he could come up with in the moment.
PERSONALITY.... TYPE... STUFF...
To come -lazeh-
HISTORY AND BACKGROUND
EARLIER YEARS, BIRTH TO AGE TWELVE
- birth
- ages one, two and three
- ages four, five and six
- ages seven, eight and nine
- ages ten, eleven and twelve
LATER YEARS, AGE THIRTEEN TO AGE FIFTEEN
- It was at the tender age of thirteen when Flick finally decided he'd had enough of his life, packed his tiny bag, and snuck out under the cover of a deep blue, dotted blanket (...the night sky, genius). He had no real idea as to where he was going, exactly, he just wanted to leave. His selfishness getting the better of him, he could not live in that kind of environment any longer, having to work and earn -- why couldn't things just be handed to him on a silver platter? Pssh, a gold platter. And a goblet, of course; where else would he get that beloved wine from?
- Unfortunately, it wasn't until a day or so later that the young boy realized exactly what running away from home meant. Not the sorrow of being away from home or a sadness from missing his family, but the fact that he had crashed head-long into the very thing he was running away from. Work. He hadn't thought this through very well, had he? No. No, he had not. Still, he was out now, he could hardly go back. At least he could be independent, at least he could build his own reputation. His lack of muscle wasn't going to get him any work in the 'Knight' department, and his babyface wasn't exactly mugger material.
- All he managed? A flute. A simple, wooden flute. Fudge. That Shit.
- Flick, being the proud, selfish creature he was, had something slightly different in mind. His anger had never really been his most redeeming quality, but he'd taken the flute, what else was there to do? Well, bash the man across the head with the flute, of course. The man who'd given it to him (free of charge, because who could resist the adorable little interchangeable-gender child with those big hazel-brown eyes) began rambling on about how he'd helped out the warriors trying to make it as 'big, tough, toughies working to keep us safe from the baddies'. The baby-talk alone was enough to work Flick up into a considerable annoyance, the underlying notations of 'you'll never be able to do anything of that sort' was what pushed him just that little bit too far. Temper, temper; that measly little flute became a weapon in the hands of a shrimpy, awkwardly-proportioned thirteen-year-old.
- The vibrance, the adreneline, the colour; the scene and the blood, it gave young Flick a new idea. Murder? It wasn't so bad, pretty easy to do, it seemed; not as horrible as they'd made it out to be. One less person in the world, and more money for him; it was a win-win situation.... for Flick, not the dead guy...
THE CURRENT, PRESENT DAY
- Which leads us to now. Flick, the short little kid with vibrant hair, playing his flute on the side of the road. In the one-point-five years he's been playing, it, though, there hasn't been much of an improvement. A Bard, perhaps, but an untalented one at that. The only talent, if it can be called that, that he possesses, is the murdering of (most likely innocent,) rich people.
The essence of Flick -- Money, money, moneyyy~~~ ALL MEIN!