A gilded cage, its what he would call it. Kept inside for fear of being
struck ill due to contracting a disease while young. His caretaker, a
maiden in service to his family would sing to him. One day during a tutor
lesson, he asked her to teach him to sing. And so he learned from young,
how to sing, and how songs can sway people's mind, body, and even the world
around them at large. The right words and right notes can cause great
things to happen. So he continued and practiced, painstakingly, even during
his fledgling years and coping with the change of his voice. Finally into
his adult years, he kept his singing a secret for most of his life. Until
he was being taught by his father on the ways of his business. And he would
have none of that in his son's life. He was to focus on far more important
things. As a more privilege person he did learn some other things, some use
of weapons, but his father was teaching him the ways of the world, his
father's world. Ways that Villidan didn't want to live. He'd rather be out
exploring and adventuring the realm, living by song if need be. So, one
night, he left, a small pack, and a note only for the maiden who cared for
him and taught him.
Description:
The shimmering strands of hair are held in a tight braid, much like woven
silver, rest on this male's shoulder. His massive wings, feathers much like
the freshest of fallen snow, shadow over most of his form. His bangs are
cut short and swept out of his face, curtaining over his forehead as his
amber eyes glitter with warmth. The bridge of this hooked nose are seem to
be worn down on two points quite symmetrically. His face tugged into a soft
smile as the air around him seems to be welcoming. Should one catch a
glimpse of his back, they will see an arcane sigil etched into his flesh by
a smouldering implement.
Upon closer examination, he seems to wear a menagerie of clothes. His
appearance is well clean however, nails are trimmed and cleaned, as well as
having a thin layer of lilac colored paint on them. His eyebrows a few
shades darker than his hair are plucked and shaped into soft curves. His
teeth almost dazzle with the gleam they give off. Looking up from his
mouth, you can see the former stress lines that crept their way down his
nose as well as the former bags under his eyes. Looking at his being as a
whole, he seems to carry himself with a sense of pride. Not one of over
confidence, but a pride of having struggled and overcoming great obstacles.
May your soul find forever solace and ashes renew the lands with new spirits, with your guidance, master scribe of literature, goodbye, farewell, have some rest, master bard!
It's always sad to lose a Herald. This was a great character and we didn't get to interact enough. Definitely had fun when you were around even though you were stirring the pot and letting words get you into occasional trouble. Hope to see another character from you!
[reply to Vargan]
Villidan 4 , 0 , 0 . What a way to go though huh? Did you like the magic trick? Vevier 
3 , 0 , 0 . 10/10 muffins.
[reply to Avenar]Avenar 
2 , 0 , 0 . The book collection alone was epic! Villidan 2 , 0 , 0 . I had a blast making my lair. Big thanks to Ilromie for funding that project, or else I would have never been able to make it all.
[reply to Vanisse]And then he’s gone. Hasty prick.
I clutch my stomach. Now I’m sick.
I’d show him how to take a lick
Or use his words to cut the quick.
Do you want to see a trick?
He’d show me mine: yes, terrific.
I’d show him his: an alembic.
I clutch my stomach. Now I’m heartsick.
What a cad. You hear that click?
The box is open. In he fits.
Do you want to see a trick?
I shut the lid but can’t forget.
The box is closed. What a kick.
I clutch my stomach. Getting sick.
The story goes that you’re so slick,
And now you’re gone, they say tragic.
But you left me to hold the trick.
I clutch my stomach. Now I’m sick.
Dogran 
4 , 0 , 0 . Wow, just wow. Davairus 2 , 0 , 1 . the oompa loompas after the delete is awesome
[reply to Valindra]