((Please note: The art inspired this character and is currently provided only as a vague reference for how he looks))
“I don’t suppose there’s a task you need completed? Some distant loction scouted, some epic quest undertaken?... Blast. Well, thanks anyways!”
Young children can be quite impressionable-an overheard compliment here, a wild story there, can cause a youth to fixate on a goal or desire, and Aston was no different. One fateful night, staring into a campfire, he listened as a bard wove an epic tale of heroism to the people around it. Of knights and rogues, secret dungeons and strange, long-lost lands. Of maidens and adventure and danger, and world-saving heroics-and thought it was, perhaps a common tale, it struck a cord with Aston, deep within. Ever since that day, he’s wanted to be an adventurer. Any chance he got, he’d tried to hear more stories, listen to more tales, always wide-eyed, always eager.
It was difficult, though, outcast as he was, often shunned and often outright attacked in any town he visited. Now, this was not because he was the child of an exiled king, or displayed strange magical talents, or anything *typical* of a would-be adventurer.
It was more because he was a friggen harpy.
That campfire? His clan was watching it from a distance, waiting for the humans and elves in the camp to go to turn in for the night. That story? Overheard from the tree he was hiding it. That bard? Aston’s mom kiinnddd of turned him into a gooey, glistening, earring-studded puddle. One of the listeners? .. Kind of ended up as padding around Aston’s middle. He still feels a *little* bad about that, but he was a kid! And, uh. A harpy’s gotta eat, right?
Regardless, ever since, he’s tried to sneak around and listen in on tales of daring and adventure, with…. Mixed results.
Given the tendency of harpies to turn peasants into squirming bulges of one sort or another, it’s not hard to imagine why he received such a cool welcome every time he tried to waltz into a town. As a result, he’s resorted to disguising himself, getting better and more clever with age. He’d hide his body under a robe he’d stitched together, his wings in the sleeves, his hands in gloves, the whole thing utterly cloaking him in cloth. He’d even started to *bathe* and wash up, much to the consternation of other harpies-but, well. Aston felt pretty withdrawn from them these days, and they admittedly didn’t care *too* much if he got himself killed on his fool’s errand.
(Character is flexible, and the player has prepared backstories that fit him into both modern and not-modern fantasy settings.)
((Please feel free to PM, though also know the player is sometimes highly distractable - if I don't respond immediately, I may just not have seen it!))
Aston is a creation of
Harley_Chase. Please see Harley for more detailed sliders-at least until I manage to get these set up!
