Archlector Felix Meadson
A life is made by stories, a weapon has it's own life, it's own stories, and they should be shared.
Social Rank: 5
Concept: Friendly Master Weaponsmith
Marital Status: single
Hair Color: brown
Eye Color: silver grey
Description: Felix is a strong man, tall with broad shoulders, and a perpetually dirty face. He has a boyish charm to his bright smile, which makes him rather popular with the ladies. His brown hair seems often mussed, in his silver grey eyes, and completely ignored, lending to his rough appeal. He moves with surety of purpose, his powerful hands moving fluidly. His laugh booms and echoes in any room, a rich happy sound, that mirrors his loud speaking voice. His good nature is evident in every aspect of his physical self, and when he does become angered, his rage is a force of nature in itself.
Personality: Felix is? a little bit strange. First, he's not your typical scowling, brooding Thrax man. He's mostly a jovial, almost boyish man, who loves stories. He can't get enough of stories. Simple stories, grand stories, love stories, stories of gore and grit. Any little story is a fascination to him. He gets along with people of all stripes, which, admittedly, is good for business. He likes to make friends, seeing people as a story waiting to happen rather than common or noble. He's absolutely respectful, and takes great pains to never bring shame upon his Thrax patrons, and he does occasionally think women are too pretty to get out there and fight themselves. Every weapon he sells comes with a monetary price, and one that requires people to come tell them the stories they make with it, no matter how big or small. He absolutely refuses to be taken advantage of, however, and gets? very, very angry when he is cheated. He also becomes extremely violent when someone bullies or is cruel to someone less fortunate, especially when there's no reason other than pettiness.
Background: Felix's mother was a barwench, and his father the bartender of a lower class hole in the Thraxian capital city. Everyone assumed Felix would become your typical ne'er-do-well, or wretch of a human being. No one expected a damned thing from him. Except one person. That one person saved Felix from a destiny of mediocrity and made him great.
Everyone called him Ol' Jann. Most considered him to have the illustrious title of the Town Drunk or Crazy Old Man. He was the butt of jokes, the cautionary tale, and the constant in a seaside town full of fishermen. No one knew how old he was, but he was always there. Felix was just a kid, not old enough to hold a broom when he came upon Ol' Jann, sleeping it off in the waste behind the tavern. Felix watched him for a little while, before getting his stuffed animal and tucking it under the man's arm. Ol' Jann woke up as Felix was walking away and called after the boy. He had an old, old stuffed bear in his pack, and asked Felix if he wanted to hear a story.
Ol' Jann told the best stories. Stories of glory days, of mighty battles, pirates, reaving up and down the coasts. He told stories of the mighty weapons, the heroes of legends, the great and the gory. Felix ate everyone up. He loved the stories, would often act out his favorite parts, much to the old man's amusement. He used sticks as weapons and one day, confided that he wished he could afford a real sword, so he could be a real pirate. Ol' Jann said four words that changed his life forever. "So make one, boy."
Make one. So simple, so brilliant. Felix watched a blacksmith through the window one night, and thought it looked pretty easy. He snuck in and started pounding, which obviously woke up the blacksmith. Even more obviously, he was pretty angry, but saw what this kid had done, and how quickly, he cuffed the boy on the ear, told him he was doing it wrong, and showed him how. The blacksmith saw what Ol' Jann saw. There was something about this kid. Felix caught on quickly, and within the first year of his apprenticeship, the local garrison would only get their weapons repaired by the blacksmith and Felix. By the fifth year, the Commander of the garrison commissioned a weapon from Felix specifically. Soon after, the Royal Family commissioned swords from the boy, and moved him to Arx, to tend and craft for the royals there.
Three months into his apprenticeship, Felix crafted his first blade, fashioned after a story Ol' Jann told about his very first sword. It was a plain thing, but heavy and sharp, and the boy rushed to present it to the old man who kept him from a life of nothingness. He found him in bed. Ol' Jann looked at the boy, and looked at the sword. He smiled, patted his hand, and then died, a look of pride on his face. Felix didn't cry. Thrax men don't cry. He left his sword under Ol' Jann's arm. The whole town showed up for the funeral of the man that had always been there, and to this day, they tell the story of the fine sword he went to the sea with, and the boy who made it. Felix never tells that story, only the ones he collects now, knowing how the world can change, because of them.