Post by Sverrir on Jan 13, 2014 12:30:44 GMT -5
Name: Sverrir
Age: approximately 19 at time of death, now over 250
Eye Color: pale green, often glowing
Hair Color: jet black, long and usually tangled with various aquatic flora
Skin Tone: very pale
Height: 5’9”
Weight: unknown, since he tends to be spectral a lot
Blood Type: unknown type, blood is more transparent than most
Physical Condition: slender to the point of almost-scrawny
Species: Fossegrimen (also known as Noekke, a cousin of the famous Nixies)
Religion: Christian, though he’s not sure if fae creatures are permitted to follow it
Occupation: Student?
History: Sverrir was a young man living in a village not far from the current location of the school. The villagers found him one day as a child, wandering the woods, and took him in because it was a plentiful harvest and they could easily afford to feed one more mouth that year. The town’s master musician in particular took a shine to the boy, who quickly proved very adept with the violin. Sverrir’s talent and the affection bestowed upon him by the musician earned him respect from the townsfolk, but jealousy from the master’s son, who was a rough lout with no musical gift whatsoever. As the years passed, jealousy turned to hate, and when rumors began to circulate that the musician would adopt Sverrir as his own, the musician’s son retaliated by luring Sverrir to a nearby pond and killing him, hiding the body in the reeds. But the pond was too full of the old magic for Sverrir to rest in peace after such an end, and his soul was resurrected as a Fossegrimen, a spirit of the waters with musical talent beyond any mortal skill. He remembers little of his past now (due to an event in the early 1900s), and for centuries was content to sit upon the waters and play his fiddle on moonlit nights, occasionally attracting curious wanderers, until Reverie Hills was built around his pond. The village a short distance downstream from the school was once his home, and the people there still refer to his as "their water-sprite", either fearfully or affectionately (depending on who you ask).
Admirable Traits: Courteous, musically gifted, modest
Negative Traits: shy
Fears: Iron and steel are very dangerous for him to touch, and fire can dry out his somewhat fragile skin with frighening speed. If he is without water too long, his skin becomes very stiff and brittle, and eventually he would crumble to ash unless he reached water in time.
Magic: Sverrir can manipulate the minds and bodies of others with the magic of his violin, especially during high tide and the new and full moons (when the pull of the tide is strongest). He also has a high level of control over water and can manipulate it freely when he plays his music. He can also manipulate it without music, but his control is less powerful and more basic. Most people cannot see him unless they have a powerful second sight or he wishes to be seen.
Prejudices: Has a general dislike of the rude and ignorant
Annoyances: Discordant or unskilled musicians, or those unjustly or overly proud of their skills
Habits: Sverrir often will play his violin absently or at strange moments, and likes trying to imitate tunes he hears
Favorite Food: Oranges (he’s only had them once before, when he was much younger)
Least Favorite Food: anything that was taken from his pond without his permission
Weapon: Generally he relies on his powers of persuasion and hypnotism to avoid fights, but if forced into combat he uses improvised martial arts to defend himself. He can also transform items from his pond into weapons, like transforming reeds into javelins or a sword or freezing the water into needles of ice.
Sample of Speech: Sverrir sat silently upon the still waters, gazing up at the round white moon. Against his shoulder the violin rested, its strings humming softly as the bow in his right hand stroked them to life. Memories flickered in his mind like the too-swift currents of a wild river, drawing close but then darting away like a school of frightened fish, never clear enough for him to recognize them. It was always like this when the moon was full, the ancient magic in his bones stirred to life by its silvery light and disturbing his usually-still mind. There was only one thing he could do on a night like this. Letting the magic of the old world flow through his hands and into the violin, he raised the bow and began to play.
Age: approximately 19 at time of death, now over 250
Eye Color: pale green, often glowing
Hair Color: jet black, long and usually tangled with various aquatic flora
Skin Tone: very pale
Height: 5’9”
Weight: unknown, since he tends to be spectral a lot
Blood Type: unknown type, blood is more transparent than most
Physical Condition: slender to the point of almost-scrawny
Species: Fossegrimen (also known as Noekke, a cousin of the famous Nixies)
Religion: Christian, though he’s not sure if fae creatures are permitted to follow it
Occupation: Student?
History: Sverrir was a young man living in a village not far from the current location of the school. The villagers found him one day as a child, wandering the woods, and took him in because it was a plentiful harvest and they could easily afford to feed one more mouth that year. The town’s master musician in particular took a shine to the boy, who quickly proved very adept with the violin. Sverrir’s talent and the affection bestowed upon him by the musician earned him respect from the townsfolk, but jealousy from the master’s son, who was a rough lout with no musical gift whatsoever. As the years passed, jealousy turned to hate, and when rumors began to circulate that the musician would adopt Sverrir as his own, the musician’s son retaliated by luring Sverrir to a nearby pond and killing him, hiding the body in the reeds. But the pond was too full of the old magic for Sverrir to rest in peace after such an end, and his soul was resurrected as a Fossegrimen, a spirit of the waters with musical talent beyond any mortal skill. He remembers little of his past now (due to an event in the early 1900s), and for centuries was content to sit upon the waters and play his fiddle on moonlit nights, occasionally attracting curious wanderers, until Reverie Hills was built around his pond. The village a short distance downstream from the school was once his home, and the people there still refer to his as "their water-sprite", either fearfully or affectionately (depending on who you ask).
Admirable Traits: Courteous, musically gifted, modest
Negative Traits: shy
Fears: Iron and steel are very dangerous for him to touch, and fire can dry out his somewhat fragile skin with frighening speed. If he is without water too long, his skin becomes very stiff and brittle, and eventually he would crumble to ash unless he reached water in time.
Magic: Sverrir can manipulate the minds and bodies of others with the magic of his violin, especially during high tide and the new and full moons (when the pull of the tide is strongest). He also has a high level of control over water and can manipulate it freely when he plays his music. He can also manipulate it without music, but his control is less powerful and more basic. Most people cannot see him unless they have a powerful second sight or he wishes to be seen.
Prejudices: Has a general dislike of the rude and ignorant
Annoyances: Discordant or unskilled musicians, or those unjustly or overly proud of their skills
Habits: Sverrir often will play his violin absently or at strange moments, and likes trying to imitate tunes he hears
Favorite Food: Oranges (he’s only had them once before, when he was much younger)
Least Favorite Food: anything that was taken from his pond without his permission
Weapon: Generally he relies on his powers of persuasion and hypnotism to avoid fights, but if forced into combat he uses improvised martial arts to defend himself. He can also transform items from his pond into weapons, like transforming reeds into javelins or a sword or freezing the water into needles of ice.
Sample of Speech: Sverrir sat silently upon the still waters, gazing up at the round white moon. Against his shoulder the violin rested, its strings humming softly as the bow in his right hand stroked them to life. Memories flickered in his mind like the too-swift currents of a wild river, drawing close but then darting away like a school of frightened fish, never clear enough for him to recognize them. It was always like this when the moon was full, the ancient magic in his bones stirred to life by its silvery light and disturbing his usually-still mind. There was only one thing he could do on a night like this. Letting the magic of the old world flow through his hands and into the violin, he raised the bow and began to play.
