Holt Weaver

Holt Weaver
Social Rank	8
Fealty	Grayson
House	Weaver
Gender	Male
Age	31
Religion	Pantheon
Vocation	Soldier
Height	6'2"
Hair Color	Black
Eye Color	Light Grey
Skintone	Tan
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Description

Here is a summer thunderstorm in a man's shape. He's all size and muscle and overwhelming good humor. No fellow as tall, broad shouldered and barrel-chested as he is should be so light on his feet, but so it is with massed stormclouds driven by high winds, and so it shall be with Holt too. He has too much energy to channel and a lifetime of activity has made him quick on his feet, more so than any would expect of a man his size. This energy gives him a lively, exuberant demeanor; no emotion touches him that does not immediately register in his expression, and sincerity shines in his face like a beacon. He is impulsive, extravagant in his declarations, and probably, most will conclude, not very bright. They'd be wrong about that last part.

He has long coal-black hair and a tan that speaks of hours spent out of doors. His eyes are a pale, steely grey, but despite the starkness of their color, they have a youthful kind of friendliness to them that provides a pleasant contrast to the masculinity of his face. Those eyes sit below slightly bushy eyebrows, and above a set of high cheekbones, a straight nose and a wide but somewhat thin-lipped mouth. He has a strong chin and a well defined jawline that frames his face nicely, and always seems to sport at least a little bit of stubble. The sun has left crinkles at the corners of his eyes, though the responsibility for that could be chalked up to his frequent smiles.

Personality

An energetic storm of smiles and chatter, he is gregarious and cheerful, Holt is a man of few mysteries, enjoying the simpler pleasures in life; he fights, he loves and he drinks, in no particular order. He's got a canny sort of experience that rarely dampens the smile often found on his lips, but he is comfortable in company that is rougher than might usually inspire trust.

Background

Holt was born and raised in Sanctum, a poor kid to poorer folks he was as common as they come. A couple siblings and parents who existed to labor away for what they could scratch together for necessities. Growing up in some of the roughest parts, he learned quickly that ending a fight quickly was the shortest path to success, educated only as far as the Vellichoran scholars were able in the squalor of his neighborhood, most of his experience came from life.

There were a few ways to make it, start in on the more frowned upon pursuits of a young man in a bad area or try to make a life elsewhere. He spent several years trying his hand at the former, more comfortable with the physical nature of some of his tasks. A call too close to losing his pretty head was enough of a call to expand his horizons as any. So he took to the road, muscle for hire to caravans, traders and travelers, his path eventually taking him into Grayson lands.

He's spent more than a decade in the Crownlands, eventually making a name for himself as a sellsword and champion for hire. A short stint for a Grayson princess landed him his current fealty to the house, though his association with the great house has otherwise been loose. His return to Arx and the Champion's guild finds him seeking work once more on behalf of those slighted and looking to prove a point. A particularly sharp point.