Levian Neri
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| Levian Neri | |
|---|---|
| Social Rank | 6 |
| Fealty | Grayson |
| House | Neri |
| Gender | Male |
| Age | 42 |
| Religion | Shamanism |
| Vocation | Charlatan |
| Height | 5'11" |
| Hair Color | Brown |
| Eye Color | Brown |
| Skintone | Light Tan |
| Journals | |
| Authored By / Featured In | |
| Active | |
Description
Silvain is a man that's tall without being towering. He's athletic by way of his daily life instead of some routine. There's still vitality in the man's body, the vigor that animates him, and belies the detailed artwork of faint lines around the corners of his eyes, mouth, and brow. He's tanned enough to show he spends time outside, and not so much to say it's where his days are spent entirely. His slightly shaggy hair leads with sideburns down to a well-kept goatee and mustache. Silver streaks already stand out against the chestnut highlights of the goatee. All in all, he's a man that stands between worlds, halfway between the academic and the adventurous.
Personality
Levian is a man that has a personal relationship with time. Some days he feels it slipping away and he's suddenly driven to do something he's been putting off. Other days he'll say the flow is slow enough that he can take a day to just enjoy the sun or sit by the fire. It leaves him moving through, what to outsiders, looks like states of manic productivity mingled with laconic procrastination. But it works for Levian and seems to keep him happy.
He's a man of simple pleasures and keeps away from intrigue as much as he can. He'd rather think of all men and women as friends to share a drink with than have any of them as enemies. To share a drink and a story around a night time fire is the height of enjoyment for Levian.
Background
Levian may be the only Civashari in Arvum who gets called 'lord' with anything more than irony. It's a fact he doesn't forget and one that leaves him feeling that he represents the people who birthed and raised him all the more when he moves among the nobility of Arx. Or at least the thought was heavy on his mind when he drinks too much at night and has no company to keep him from more maudlin thoughts. But that's putting the cart before the horse in this particular tale.
Born among the Civashari that wander the lands wild and free, and those tamed and restricted, Levian was a precocious child. As such he did precocious child things. He climbed the greatest trees he could find ("Levian get down from there before you break your fool neck!) so he could be closer to the stars to see them. He swam to the deepest parts of the lakes to see the sky reflected in a watery mirror ("Lev! Lev, lad, where'd you go?") And he danced with every man or woman that'd give him the chance at fairs ("Sigh. Lev, lad, you can't go telling everyone you're smitten with their eyes remind you of the stars. It starts sounding disengenuine!)" to see the truth of the firmament reflected in the colored orbs of his romantic partners.
But Lev was obsessed with looking at the stars from every angle, through every lens he could. He would claim it showed him a more accurate truth. And no one he traveled with knew what it meant.
By the time that Levian was sixteen he was making predictions based on the stars. Everyone expects the Ravashari to peddle pretty nothings for a penny, and most took it as what it was because the boy made the telling entertaining. He'd put it in a song, or dance it under the midnight sky before telling a farmer where to plant his crops, or predicting a drought for the year. Soon enough word got around and each time Lev's group of Civashari would pass back through an area he'd be stopped and asked for a prediction. The cost of his services went from coppers to silvers (or just coppers or a pie, he never took more than the person could afford). Sometimes he was wrong. More often he was right.
Eventually word got to the ears of King Alaric III who, at a harvesst festival, invited Levian to offer up advice on where the corn should go this year. Lev, smart enough not to fall into a prodigal trap, gave blessings to Petrichor first and then did his prediction. That year the corn yield just happened to be twice of any year in the past decade. Out of amusement, the same thing happened the year after. Alaric laughed, "Well done, Lord Levian."
And that was that. Levian was a Lord, invited once a year to the palace to attend a party. The worst dressed lord. The one with nary a House and nary a domain (thus his family name of Neri). But a Lord all the same.
