Fen

Fen, man of the people

Fen is a quiet one. But, you know the old adage.

He stands average albeit mismatched. He's all limbs and yet quite graceful with it, a lanky thing not without some tautness - a seam of quartz within the sandstone-. A long, fair braid, a thread of ribbon running through it, frames his face and the casual smoke of eyeliner gives his eyes an added sharpness. He wears an olive smock over brown leggings, and the leather boots he wears are as worn as his fingers and twice as worked. It would be hard not to describe him as handsome - green eyes, blonde hair, rich tawny skin that speaks of a life spent out in the sun, and that smile, oh, that smile, it could melt ice. But, even with that appeal, there is something dangerous about him.

During the days he often wanders the town - flitting from one to another, always ready to start a conversation and slap someone's shoulder with that confident over-familiarity. Never still for too long. But look closer, and you might spy the exchange of coin; the slipping of fingers into pockets; the exchanging of secrets, contraband, bribes. Everything that runs here, runs because of - and through - him: it is unclear if this is hard work, mutiny, or providence on his part. But, he keeps it all going. He is the driftwood in the dunes.

Any and all new faces come through him, and not without a friendly word or two. And always, always, the implicity that if you do anything to disturb the peace, he will know. Many would call him friend, if only because to not is to invite misfortune; that is not to say, however, that he doesn't have friends. He spends a lot of time readily with Eortua, who he calls Eo in his broad, lilting accent - and whom calls him Feefee in return. Perhaps the only one to dare to do so. Respect, he has in droves.

More often than not if he cannot be found in town he is away in the steppe - sometimes, when he comes back someone new accompanies him. Apart from Wei, he is the only one who writes to elsewhere - though nobody has heard of the people he writes to. He drinks his red wine honeyed, and his favourite food is dumplings "cooked just like ma used to make". It is the only thing he knows how to cook.

He likes those who pull their weight and thinks Al has spirit and Roth needs to do more, but truly, he has affection for all here. His eyes are older than his face, and he is an excellent shot with a bow.

[*] He smells like honeyed wine and sea-air.
[*] He is the unofficial leader of this ragtag settlement. These are his family, if not by blood then by bond, word, or favour.
[*] Everything he does, he does to help others. Whether or not this is entirely altruistic is up to you.
[*] Though he has many friends, they would be hard-pressed to share anything concrete about him.
[*] Has a secret for every price and a price for every secret.