Browse wiki

There are always stories about the mysterious dark stranger. Usually they are just that. Stories. But Myrddin seems to live the stories, not talking much of who he is. However, when pressed he's able to spin a tale of being the forgotten son of a forgotten minor noble house, and that he's possibly the last of his family. Whatever land they had long gone at this point, swallowed up by some other House that had the power to do it. As is the nature of the Houses within the Lyceum. It probably doesn't help the air of mystery around him that he's a very GOOD storyteller. Many around the coast and islands are able to say they've spent a few hours being entertained by the stories that he tells when he's in port. One might be forgiven for thinking that was his one true claim to fame, but it is not. Music, stories, poems. All of those are ways to pass the time, to connect with people that he meets in passing. But his true love is the sea. One ship. One crew. But many tales of adventure. He was present for the situation with the Gyre, so the stories say, speaking in quiet tones about a ship with black sails and a sigil of three waves with a single tear drop. But after that, he seemed to fade away for a little while. Then he'd turn up again at one port, stay for a little while before sailing on his way once more. Now he's sailed into Arx, the first time anyone can say they've seen his particular ship sail into this port.

Dark hair has the appearance of someone who doesn't care about being fashionable, or well-kept. The dark black locks are shaggy, haphazardly cut and a little longer than what might always be fashionable, but could be shorter than what might be fashionable at another time. His features are strong, could easily be described as brooding. His mouth is full and could smile beautifully, but tends to be set in a sad line instead of a smile. Mossy green eyes are deep set, and sad looking nearly at all times. Despite the overall brooding, sad appearance, there are times where laughter or anger can be seen briefly on his face in sudden flashes.

Melancholy. Somber. Morose. Lugubrious. Dark. But there is sometimes light in that darkness, and beneath the somberness is the soul of a poet, a storyteller. There is beauty in the darkness, and he is prone to locating it. He is not, however, dull or unable to have a good time. But these good times are never long, and he almost always reverts to a darker, more somber attitude. Just like he is capable of having a good time, in laughing, he has fits of anger and rage that can overtake him at times. But, like the happiness, they fade quickly and he settles back into his quiet melancholy.