"As I end the refrain, my dagger thrusts homeward, into the heart of my nemesis"
Name: Count Fitzroy von Hohenstein
Age: 48 human years
Race: Kobold. A race never seen as a threat, most Kobolds spend their time commiting small crimes, stealing everything they can. The race of the Kobolds is split up, and most of them live a nomadic life, moving from raid to raid, determined to get more gold into their tiny claws. They aren't fond of direct combat, most of them refrain to trickery and backstabbing.
General appearance: Hunched, long and pointy ears, dressed in rags, huge black eyes, pale skin, generally very thin
Sex (or gender if you prefer): Male
Occupation: Thief, Assasin, Poet
Backstory: The Count had never been one for direct conflict. He was born in a dark cave, his uglyness hidden by the darkness. He was not of nobility, but who were his parents to judge? They'd lived in the caves all their lives, nothing but shadows of a race. Pathetic, isn't it?
The Count would've agreed. He left the caves, and went out into the world. He despised anything barbaric, such as his parents, as well as Orcs. He heard stories of writers, aristocrats, intellectuals. And he wanted to be one of them. He'd lived his life backstabbing and thieving. He was terrified of his life. And yet, he wasn't one to change it. But he changed his name. Perhaps it was impossible to be a writer, especially as a Kobold, but that wouldn't stop him.
He grew a weird affection for poetry, some would even call it madness. During his raids, he'd stop to read a magnificent book of wonders, men, and fights, sinking into the world of the poets. He started to write his own, quite bad, peotry, especially while commiting crimes. And to this day, he lives as a mercenary poet.
What kind of bard is the best kind of bard?: Why, it's the spoony bard, of course! Who wouldn't love them?
Anything else?: I heard he doesn't even lift. But don't tell anyone, okay?
(I'm a bit rusty, go easy on me. Pleeeeeeease?)
