Berchar Fleetfoot
Image TBA
Skills
Image TBA
Skills
Total Points Available To Spend |
|---|
12 |
Physical | Mental | Social |
|---|---|---|
Athletics [Trained] (2) | Medicine [Seasoned] (4) | Persuasion [Trained] (2) |
Fencing [Novice] (1) | Painting & Drawing [Proficient] (3) | Skill [Rank] (Points) |
Skill [Rank] (Points) | Skill [Rank] (Points) | Skill [Rank] (Points) |
Total Points in Category: 3 | Total Points in Category: 7 | Total Points in Category: 2 |
General Information
Age: 29
Species: Long-eared Jerboa
Size: Small (avg. 4'9")
Physical Description
His features are soft on a pleasant face deemed handsome for his species, with bright, constantly darting reddish-brown eyes. For the most part his fur is a soft tawny, flecked with umber and darker charcoal along his back. The tips of his ears and fluffy tip of his tail are that same shade, while his belly and the fur around his eyes are paler. A few thin scars still trace his back beneath the fur.
His attire is simple but rather dashing: a loose, well-made black shirt and equally loose patchworked trousers, belted at the waist. The odd rag or scrap of cloth can be seen tied to his tail, and upon his narrow snout rest a pair of wire-framed spectacles. The harbour is chilly: most of the time he may also be found bundled up in scarves and thick, cheap layers to keep warm.
Inventory and Real Estate
- Portable medical kit in a leather case
- Rolled bundle of brushes and charcoal sticks
- Long-bladed knife
- Glasses
- Shared apartment in the Slups
Personality
He presents as fidgety, always on the look-out for dangers or hidden meanings in the words of others for he finds it difficult to trust. Berchar is skittish and avoidant, often preferring to lose face and save himself the argument - or simply flee altogether. In extreme cases he may simply shut down and freeze up. This sits ill with some small desire for doing good in the world and a dream to be brave, so when he does flee he will reprimand himself relentlessly for his poor behaviour. He harbours more self-loathing than his mild demeanour ever suggests: having lacked agency for so much of his life, he can’t understand why he isn’t doing more with this freedom.
At his core Berchar is a survivor. Despite hating himself for it he will do what he needs to survive, and has managed to navigate more than he is perhaps aware of, through fair means or, it may seem, foul. Surviving is his priority, but as the seasons turn he can’t help but wonder if he is ever truly living.
Strengths
He is well-read and educated, and – if they are still alive – well-connected by the status of his birth. If still in place, there would be opportunity to exert some political influence in his home.
Despite his belly the jerboa is a remarkably fast mover. His hopping gait comes from powerful, if spindly, legs, and he’s capable of jumping distances few would imagine a beast his size capable of. This has proven invaluable when fleeing for his life, as has happened on multiple occasions.
By dint of his species not only is Berchar comfortable in harsher, hotter environments, but can go for a remarkably long time without consuming any water – in fact, rumours persist he doesn’t even need to drink. That isn’t to say he doesn’t, for he appreciates good wine, but dehydration is rarely a concern.
Weaknesses
He is anxious, flighty and prone to freezing; this has always been his greatest shame, for so much of his work tends to be under pressure. After this his first instinct is to run – well, hop, and this unusual gait can prove difficult for navigating shorter, smaller passageways not built for hopping. Berchar learned to fence when he was younger but has no money to afford a sword and no time to train: as such he relies only on speed and a small knife to keep himself safe. Needless to say, being mugged is an almost monthly occurrence.
On that topic, he is poor at managing his finance. Long stripped of the finer things, he still spends his meagre savings on the odd frivolity such as nicer shirts or fine food – which in turn only marks him out as one to steal from, prompting the cycle to begin anew. This has prevented him from saving up to live anywhere less dangerous.
The jerboa is a quiet soul and easily cowed, often stammering or simply relenting to whatever pressure is put upon him with occasionally stubborn patches over utterly trivial matters. That potential political influence could just as easily turn him puppet, and he has no personal experience with politics as he was shielded from such matters. He is often frustrated by his own cowardice which occasionally seeps out in uncharacteristic behaviour such as scathing outbursts or erratic impulses; the last impulse to “live a little” ended up with him the current co-occupant of a flat in the Slups with an entirely deranged weasel.
History
Lonely and bored as his siblings grew apart from him, Berchar fell in love with the arts and quickly developed an affinity for painting, particularly with oils. His mother was concerned that this would prove a distraction in the grand scheme of his learning, but his father was content to indulge his talents. There were four other children to pursue politics or aspirational positions; a paw in the arts, also, might be rather a pleasant talking point. Discussion was had about the potential for him to acquire patronage one day, perhaps even from the royal family: this became his dream.
Berchar was in his teens when a coup shook the country, plunging it into a brief but bloody civil war. Though protected from the worst of the violence the ripples had a direct impact on the economy and power structures. Things were going to crumble rapidly. His parents, seeing no other way to secure the futures of their children in such a rapidly-changing political landscape, began plunging their considerable savings into various streams of education. One by one his siblings were whisked away to various colleges and apprenticeships befitting genteel creatures. Still Berchar clung to the dream of patronage, though with resources rapidly dwindling so did his prospects. The arts, he was told, were no longer a viable option.
One astute tutor noted to his parents that steady paws are often prized in medicine. His family breathed a sigh of relief, and within the month Berchar was being packed off for schooling. He was not permitted to disagree, and this was the last time he saw his home or his family before he was taken further inland to the esteemed Academy of Medicine.
Despite his reticence at being there, the jerboa excelled in his studies. His keen eyes and steady paws, along with artistic flair, lent well to the profession and he settled in well with Academy life – the institution, after all, only taking the finest for the highest fees. Now and again he would still draw or paint, but there was rarely time for such indulgence.
He would have entered his final year to qualify and choose a specialisation had further fighting not broken out across the land. Desperate for reinforcements and medical aid, orders came to the Academy that all older students were to become medics at once for the armies. Berchar was no fighter, nor one for long walks across difficult terrain: this adjustment was, to put it lightly, miserable.
What happened next the jerboa does not speak of aside from two words: “I froze.”. The details he will not divulge, but needless to say whatever happened on the battlefield that day was significant enough for it to be a miracle that he was not immediately executed by the battalion general. Thoroughly beaten and stripped of any duties, he was discharged in disgrace and left to fend for himself as the wounded retreated. He was far too ashamed to return to the academy and formally complete his schooling.
How he got to the coast he cannot easily recall. The first thing he did was discard the name of his family lest he bring more scandal upon them before promptly boarding the first ship leaving the shores. Humiliated, Barchar departed at once without much care for the destination. Where he ended up, eventually, turned out to be the shores of Bully Harbour of the Imperium.
Penniless, homesick and stripped of all his life’s ambitions, Berchar entered the Vulpine Imperium with the only intention of surviving. Ever since his arrival, the jerboa has filled his time with odd jobs and what work he can find, whether that be tending bar or sweeping shops to selling the odd charcoal drawing or simple tonics. Sometimes he’ll take coin for stitching the odd wound. The prospect of something more permanent has been hard to swallow; often he’s run to the next task and the next.
With money ever-dwindling and sick of himself, Berchar is starting to wonder if he might, at long last, face some ghosts of the past and begin to pick up the threads of his medical training once again. He’s heard that there’s always a calling for medics on the payroll proper: all he needs to do is hold his nerve.
