"It is better to be lucky, than dead."
Social Rank: 9
Concept: Luckchild Sellsword
Marital Status: Unmarried
Hair Color: grey-black
Eye Color: Brown
Description: Standing at six feet tall, though you'd never know it because of his clothing, is a man. Go figure, right? A large black hack with a floppy brim covers most of his head and messy hair, three large feathers of a raven stuck in the red band around the bowl, where little needles have been pushed verticle. Three, to be exact. The face is a mixture of age and youth; age, for despite clearly being a man instead of a boy, he hasn't matured very much. Laugh-lines permeat the cheeks, and the eyes are dappled by the same, the nose having been broken once. The right eyebrow has two little lines of hair that don't grow back anymore - a strike that has left a faded scar. Near-misses dapple the skin, except the neck. The neck has a garish mark upon the right and left side - the rough outline of what can only be a fox (or a really deformed cat) that has never quite allowed the skin to heal. The rest of him is covered in simple garb: A long coat, a size too big, and what used to be dark blue has become as grey as stone, dotted by patches over the years, tattered at the ends, and hems that have fallen out or hang. A shirt of white, and a sash of red that falls from his hips a solid foot, while brown pants have been stuffed into boots that buckle up to the knees. The fingers, long and, oddly enough, showing tattoos that paint dice across the knuckles of the right hand.
Personality: Luckbearer. Golden Child. Foxfriend. Jak o' Crows. Whimsy. Hedonistic. A gambler and Fool. No one likes a braggart, but, Gods damn him...Ravna is -lucky-, and that good fortune has tainted everything about him, and his outlook on life. Light-hearted, and unable to take anything seriously - even violence - the world, life itself, has become a game, and he is rolling dice with Death...but the bastard keeps winning! In a room where everything is in its place, expect this man to enter and summarily mess it up. Or swipe a few things, that's happened more than once. SorryNotSorry.
Background: No one really knows where he comes from, just that The Cullers found him one day, a baby boy playing in the mud -- with a single gold coin. He wasn't in danger, wasn't sick, and no one was looking for him. One day, in the mud and sewage and crime-ridden streets...The Cullers adopted a Luckchild. Which sounds far too generous, because his childhood wasn't filled with just luck. Trouble-Maker, is what he was, from climbing where he shouldn't be, taking money in games from boys who were thrice his size -- and somehow always managing to find his own brothers first. Witty. Lucky. Ravna had a talent for Trouble. Always did. The guards hated it, and the Family laughed about them hating it enough to not hate him for it...until that Luck caught him the first time -- a fight turned into a brawl turned into a small riot, and it ended up with a girl being stabbed...his adoptive father, Ajus, struck his back so bad with a belt it has left permanent scars. To make matters worse, it was the first time Ravna was sent to prison, and for a year he grew there...until a cousin who knew a guy who had a guard's gambling debt cleared -- set him free. The trouble came back, without falter, for years. Mischief and mayhem. Learning how to fight with sticks as boys, turned into learning how to kill with spears, and other polearms. Learning how to slice a man open from cock-to-chin and stabbing his friend in the throat! One battle with a Sellsword company, 'The Greybacks', turned into six. Six turned into eight. Eight turned into -- well, dice came into his life, and dice left. Wine. Women. Once more, Home in the slop called to him...and once more, just a night returned...and Ravna was back in prison. One year turned to three. Three turned into an execution...and then some dolt forgot to write him down in the charter, and Ravna was set free. Again. Possessed by his own zest for life, and a feeling of divine deliverence....well, Trouble started again.