Reynard

Name: Reynar

Age: 31 years

Appearance: Tall, broad shoulders, wiry build, bright red wavy hair partially pulled back at the nape of the neck, fair skin, green eyes, high cheekbones, strong jawline, lips almost always curled into a smirk, silver earrings, one with colorful beads, clean-shaven face.

Personality: Sarcastic, caustic, jokes even in danger, self-confident, impudent, knows he's good-looking, lives for the moment, loves drinking, women, gambling and fine clothes, womanizer, gives backhanded compliments, cynical, distrusts nobles, rude, straightforward, suspicious, good judge of character, cold-blooded and cruel in battle, quick-tempered when it comes to the safety of his people, stubborn, hides his concern behind rudeness and jokes.

About yourself:
I grew up in a port in southern Elmaria. My mother died, my father drank, and at fifteen I left with the mercenaries. There I realized that you could die any day, so I spent everything on wine, women, and clothes. By thirty, I had assembled my own company, the "Grey Ravens": Thibault, my best friend, the silent northerner Goran, young Lys, and the crossbowman Marten.

We didn't fight in the war, but there was a lot of work. Then we encountered the first corpse, and one of them bit Martin. By morning, he was dead and rose, and I had to kill him with my own hands. I never joke about him.

I said we wouldn't rescue strangers, but I still picked up survivors each time, and soon about forty people were following us. I didn't lead them into the overcrowded capital, but brought them to the Ardemor estate, an ancient fortress with a moat and drawbridge.

The landlady, a young countess, wears trousers, and they suit her perfectly, so I often glance at her. But she's strange: too calm and smells of herbs, vinegar, and sometimes carrion. The old alchemist Edmund and the healer Mathis are always hanging around her, and I even argued with Thibault about which of them warms her bed.