Hey everyone. Before I put this all down, I wanted to say a few things about it. The following is about a NPC I created for fan fiction stories dealing with Uther Skystrider. The more I wrote about him, the more I became attached to the character. Upon learning that they added in red hair and plan on adding in barbershop and a gear vanity system, I've now deemed it possible to play him as an alt, or even my main character depending on how I feel about him at launch. I created the following in place of a wiki page, which I felt didn't add in the feel of the character well enough.Â
Please respond if you like the character idea. I'm still juggling with whether or not I want to play as him or just write about him and the response I get from this will be the best indicator for me. The content below is a letter he wrote to the people of Gridania on his last night there before seeking new opportunities elsewhere. I realize it doesn't make too much sense for him to tell his life story to strangers, but it's just a creative way for me to deliver the information and speech pattern of the character. Without further nonsense, here it is...
The sun was just beginning to rise over the trees of the Black Shroud when a Wood Wailer found a long scroll pegged to a tree by an arrow. At first, the patrolman jumped. He was wildly startled at the sight of an arrow in a tree near him, fearing he could be under attack by the Scarlet Hood. There was no one in sight. Not a bandit, not a villager, no one. The confused Wailer looked around and scratched his head. The letter must have been placed there in the night while he was on patrol. The Wood Wailer's curiosity trumped his confusion and he unraveled the parchment on the trunk of the tree to read it. The letter read:
"Oy!
Hey, and how-de-do. I'm not sure who's going to read this here scrawl, but I'm going to write it any way. You might be curious as to who the Scarlet Hood really is. If you don't know me by name, I'm the guy who's been taking all of your money if you've got it, and dropping it on your porch if you don't. I'm not taking it for myself if that's what you're thinking. What in the Seven Hells do I need it for? The Twelveswood provides me my meals.Â
Welp, since I'm about to be moving on to other lands and I doubt anyone will believe you goons anyway, I guess I'll tell you the whole of it. In Gridania I go by some fancy-shmancy name you all might be familiar with. I'm the librarian, Casius Stone. That's not my real name of course, and I never quite fancied it myself. A cover's a cover, though, I guess.Â
My real name is Wilfred Scathlock, and I'd say I've lived a pretty interesting life. I was born in Gods-know-where Eorzea, and orphaned before I developed memory. I know what you're thinking, 'This is why he turned to crime.' Not even close. What do I care about my parents? I don't even know 'em! Off-topic. I'll ask your forgiveness on that one. I have a pretty short attention span. Off-topic again. Sorry. Â As I was, when I was a boy I was picked up by some Ul'dah nobles as a servant boy for their son. Let's see, I must've been about three or four. They figured they could groom me into a servant since I was so young I 'spose. Their son was a real sod. He called me "Wart" instead of Wilfred, and he said it was because I was about as appealing as one. Growing up in the sun of Ul'dah, he would insult me and tease me when my fair skin burned. He would say it was as red as my hair, which he also teased. Following boy-magnificent around, I learned what he learned. In the morning, I'd sit there while he was tutored. I taught myself to read and write over his shoulder. In the afternoons, he'd do archery. The instructor took pity on me and let me practice too. Unfortunately, I was rapped on the knuckles whenever I outperformed Prince Perfect. As it was, I had bloody knuckles through my whole childhood. Not to mention, I beat him at music class and mathematics to boot.
As my peer and I got older, our roles seemed to reverse. His envy turned to grudging respect and admiration. Â The kid's parents didn't like that one bit. They sent me to the market to run errands as much as they could to pry me away from my rival. These trips often involved me getting lost or getting into trouble. I met a great bunch of locals and learned that I wasn't so different from them. They were poor and oppressed by a corrupt government, and I could relate to just that. I joined in with an unsavory lot who taught me to pickpocket, brawl, and flee. Back at the manor, I was treated like a worthless dog, but in the streets I was the toast of the roast. As my 'master' and I grew up, he got taller, and I stayed the same. As many of you reading this might know, I'm a runt. Five fulms, five ilms to be exact. My old pal was at least six fulms tall. The difference in our heights brought his condescension right back out of the vault. He never shut up about it. My guess is because I beat him in everything but genetics and wealth. Things he was born with.Â
About the time I turned sixteen, I began to notice the difference between the wealthy snobs I lived with and the good, poor people who treated me like their own. O'course, being young and dumb as a stump at the time, I thought I could help 'em. I snuck into the manor one night and grabbed all of the gil and valuables I could get my grubby little hands on. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to feed my beloved miscreants for at least two months. I stole away into the night and presented my friends with my bounty. Two suns later, I was arrested. It wasn't hard to trace me back to the manor, but at least the good people would eat.Â
Thrown in the dank, Ul'dah dungeon, I tried to keep my spirits up. I joked and joshed with the other inmates, who loved my story of stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Even the guards became friendly toward me. Maybe it was the irony of being befriended by prisoners and treated like garbage by the law abiding citizens, but I felt no remorse for my actions, and vowed to do it again when I got out. As you may know, that part of my life turned out as planned. I served my two cycle sentence and was released with the surname "Scathlock". To those of you whose ears aren't tuned to Old Midlander, that means I was branded a thief.Â
Now, I may have spent a bit of time in the prison, but I can't say I remembered that moon being as bright and red as it was. And it wasn't long before it fell like a mithril weight right on top of Hydaelyn. As the world went mad and cults began rising up, I took up a bow and some arrows and fought harder than I ever had. I helped the poor get their hands on as much food as possible, and I may or may not have robbed some rich folks in doing so. When the calm came in, I knew it was time to bolt. My name and face were all too familiar to the guards in Ul'dah. I headed to Gridania, where I met you fine and not-so-fine folks.
In the Twelveswood I adopted a mask for night and an alias for day and continued my work. Thank me or hate me, I felt it was right and I'll make no apologies. For the past five cycles, we've had a real fun ride. I'm afraid tonight is the end of our lovely little dance, though.Â
I guess it's time for goodbyes!
Wood Wailers -- You're slow. You'll never catch me with those chicken legs of yours.
Conjurer's Guild -- Thanks for the books. Casius sends his regards.
Chocobo Handler -- Sorry I stole your prize 'bo. She was a beaut and she rode great until one of the Wailers skewered her while I was making my getaway. Who throws a spear at a chocobo anyway?
Gods' Quiver -- I'm better than all of you at this.
Strider, at the Lancer's Guild -- Maybe you'll catch me next time, Hot Shot."
The Wood Wailer was shocked by what seemed to be the complete confession of Gridania's Casius Stone. He knew he would be promoted with the highest honors if he could lead to the arrest of the Scarlet Hood before he left town. The Wailer ripped the letter off of the tree and sprinted toward the gate to bring it to his boss. In his excitement, however, the young Wailer tripped and dropped the note. The parchment was lifted by a strong breeze before it hit the ground and flew straight into one of the torches still lighting the pathway. The confession of the Scarlet Hood vanished as suddenly as it had arrived.
The depressed Wood Wailer stood up and wiped off his doublet. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed his embarrassing tumble. As he walked back to the gate in shame, he thought he heard a rustling in the branches. In his self doubt he ignored it and entered the city.
Had the unlucky Wood Wailer looked behind him, he would have noticed that a Midlander male was sitting in a tree with his Plainsfolk friend. The Lalafell was garbed in mage's robes, while the Midlander wore a suit of olive green with decorative red cloth. His upper face was covered by an eye-mask attached to an archer's cap. Nonchalantly, the Midlander looked at the Plainsfolk.
"That was close. Thanks for the Aero, Lodo." Said the Midlander, taking a breath of relief.
"Next time don't put your life story on a tree and you won't need my help." Replied the Lalafell.
The Midlander threw the Lalafell a small pouch of coins. The Lalafell smiled at his reward and looked up to thank the Midlander, but the Midlander had already disappeared.
Let me know what you all think. I really like the character, but I'm hesitant to bring him into the world of RP.
Also this story was scraped together in about ten minutes so please don't critique my writing form.Â
Please respond if you like the character idea. I'm still juggling with whether or not I want to play as him or just write about him and the response I get from this will be the best indicator for me. The content below is a letter he wrote to the people of Gridania on his last night there before seeking new opportunities elsewhere. I realize it doesn't make too much sense for him to tell his life story to strangers, but it's just a creative way for me to deliver the information and speech pattern of the character. Without further nonsense, here it is...
The sun was just beginning to rise over the trees of the Black Shroud when a Wood Wailer found a long scroll pegged to a tree by an arrow. At first, the patrolman jumped. He was wildly startled at the sight of an arrow in a tree near him, fearing he could be under attack by the Scarlet Hood. There was no one in sight. Not a bandit, not a villager, no one. The confused Wailer looked around and scratched his head. The letter must have been placed there in the night while he was on patrol. The Wood Wailer's curiosity trumped his confusion and he unraveled the parchment on the trunk of the tree to read it. The letter read:
"Oy!
Hey, and how-de-do. I'm not sure who's going to read this here scrawl, but I'm going to write it any way. You might be curious as to who the Scarlet Hood really is. If you don't know me by name, I'm the guy who's been taking all of your money if you've got it, and dropping it on your porch if you don't. I'm not taking it for myself if that's what you're thinking. What in the Seven Hells do I need it for? The Twelveswood provides me my meals.Â
Welp, since I'm about to be moving on to other lands and I doubt anyone will believe you goons anyway, I guess I'll tell you the whole of it. In Gridania I go by some fancy-shmancy name you all might be familiar with. I'm the librarian, Casius Stone. That's not my real name of course, and I never quite fancied it myself. A cover's a cover, though, I guess.Â
My real name is Wilfred Scathlock, and I'd say I've lived a pretty interesting life. I was born in Gods-know-where Eorzea, and orphaned before I developed memory. I know what you're thinking, 'This is why he turned to crime.' Not even close. What do I care about my parents? I don't even know 'em! Off-topic. I'll ask your forgiveness on that one. I have a pretty short attention span. Off-topic again. Sorry. Â As I was, when I was a boy I was picked up by some Ul'dah nobles as a servant boy for their son. Let's see, I must've been about three or four. They figured they could groom me into a servant since I was so young I 'spose. Their son was a real sod. He called me "Wart" instead of Wilfred, and he said it was because I was about as appealing as one. Growing up in the sun of Ul'dah, he would insult me and tease me when my fair skin burned. He would say it was as red as my hair, which he also teased. Following boy-magnificent around, I learned what he learned. In the morning, I'd sit there while he was tutored. I taught myself to read and write over his shoulder. In the afternoons, he'd do archery. The instructor took pity on me and let me practice too. Unfortunately, I was rapped on the knuckles whenever I outperformed Prince Perfect. As it was, I had bloody knuckles through my whole childhood. Not to mention, I beat him at music class and mathematics to boot.
As my peer and I got older, our roles seemed to reverse. His envy turned to grudging respect and admiration. Â The kid's parents didn't like that one bit. They sent me to the market to run errands as much as they could to pry me away from my rival. These trips often involved me getting lost or getting into trouble. I met a great bunch of locals and learned that I wasn't so different from them. They were poor and oppressed by a corrupt government, and I could relate to just that. I joined in with an unsavory lot who taught me to pickpocket, brawl, and flee. Back at the manor, I was treated like a worthless dog, but in the streets I was the toast of the roast. As my 'master' and I grew up, he got taller, and I stayed the same. As many of you reading this might know, I'm a runt. Five fulms, five ilms to be exact. My old pal was at least six fulms tall. The difference in our heights brought his condescension right back out of the vault. He never shut up about it. My guess is because I beat him in everything but genetics and wealth. Things he was born with.Â
About the time I turned sixteen, I began to notice the difference between the wealthy snobs I lived with and the good, poor people who treated me like their own. O'course, being young and dumb as a stump at the time, I thought I could help 'em. I snuck into the manor one night and grabbed all of the gil and valuables I could get my grubby little hands on. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to feed my beloved miscreants for at least two months. I stole away into the night and presented my friends with my bounty. Two suns later, I was arrested. It wasn't hard to trace me back to the manor, but at least the good people would eat.Â
Thrown in the dank, Ul'dah dungeon, I tried to keep my spirits up. I joked and joshed with the other inmates, who loved my story of stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Even the guards became friendly toward me. Maybe it was the irony of being befriended by prisoners and treated like garbage by the law abiding citizens, but I felt no remorse for my actions, and vowed to do it again when I got out. As you may know, that part of my life turned out as planned. I served my two cycle sentence and was released with the surname "Scathlock". To those of you whose ears aren't tuned to Old Midlander, that means I was branded a thief.Â
Now, I may have spent a bit of time in the prison, but I can't say I remembered that moon being as bright and red as it was. And it wasn't long before it fell like a mithril weight right on top of Hydaelyn. As the world went mad and cults began rising up, I took up a bow and some arrows and fought harder than I ever had. I helped the poor get their hands on as much food as possible, and I may or may not have robbed some rich folks in doing so. When the calm came in, I knew it was time to bolt. My name and face were all too familiar to the guards in Ul'dah. I headed to Gridania, where I met you fine and not-so-fine folks.
In the Twelveswood I adopted a mask for night and an alias for day and continued my work. Thank me or hate me, I felt it was right and I'll make no apologies. For the past five cycles, we've had a real fun ride. I'm afraid tonight is the end of our lovely little dance, though.Â
I guess it's time for goodbyes!
Wood Wailers -- You're slow. You'll never catch me with those chicken legs of yours.
Conjurer's Guild -- Thanks for the books. Casius sends his regards.
Chocobo Handler -- Sorry I stole your prize 'bo. She was a beaut and she rode great until one of the Wailers skewered her while I was making my getaway. Who throws a spear at a chocobo anyway?
Gods' Quiver -- I'm better than all of you at this.
Strider, at the Lancer's Guild -- Maybe you'll catch me next time, Hot Shot."
The Wood Wailer was shocked by what seemed to be the complete confession of Gridania's Casius Stone. He knew he would be promoted with the highest honors if he could lead to the arrest of the Scarlet Hood before he left town. The Wailer ripped the letter off of the tree and sprinted toward the gate to bring it to his boss. In his excitement, however, the young Wailer tripped and dropped the note. The parchment was lifted by a strong breeze before it hit the ground and flew straight into one of the torches still lighting the pathway. The confession of the Scarlet Hood vanished as suddenly as it had arrived.
The depressed Wood Wailer stood up and wiped off his doublet. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed his embarrassing tumble. As he walked back to the gate in shame, he thought he heard a rustling in the branches. In his self doubt he ignored it and entered the city.
Had the unlucky Wood Wailer looked behind him, he would have noticed that a Midlander male was sitting in a tree with his Plainsfolk friend. The Lalafell was garbed in mage's robes, while the Midlander wore a suit of olive green with decorative red cloth. His upper face was covered by an eye-mask attached to an archer's cap. Nonchalantly, the Midlander looked at the Plainsfolk.
"That was close. Thanks for the Aero, Lodo." Said the Midlander, taking a breath of relief.
"Next time don't put your life story on a tree and you won't need my help." Replied the Lalafell.
The Midlander threw the Lalafell a small pouch of coins. The Lalafell smiled at his reward and looked up to thank the Midlander, but the Midlander had already disappeared.
Let me know what you all think. I really like the character, but I'm hesitant to bring him into the world of RP.
Also this story was scraped together in about ten minutes so please don't critique my writing form.Â
![[Image: batman-under-the-red-hood-1.jpeg]](http://filmdump.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/batman-under-the-red-hood-1.jpeg)
