Profile
BURY YOUR THOUGHTS (DOUBTS)
AND FALL ASLEEP
BASICS
NAME
Erhart
PRONOUNS
he/him
ABOUT
Profoundly lonely hermit who suffers under his own self-imposed isolation.
Nurtures misanthropy, is plagued by his trauma from his time as a mercenary, a trauma from being ripped from home and hearth and family when only a young boy. Erhart stands with a rigidity that screams refusing to be bowed, straight and stiff and the tall proud line of spine. Unapologetic and casting an ominous, exalted shadow on the wall behind him. He feels the sting of wounds that leave no marks, and he sometimes hears things that aren’t there yet also sees and hears all the things that are, could be, will be.
No longer has the presence of mind for company, and isn't willing to try anymore. An extremely capable hunter, rider, survivor, but feels the years catch up to him faster than he'd like, yet not as scared as you might think. Has denied himself love as often as he's denied himself revenge.
Survives in a violent, cruel landscape that trumps the insistent crushing cold in his head that otherwise would be deafening.
Needs a friend.
A man in peril should dream of peril, and Erhart usually does.
He dreams of the sea where the rain never really stops. Allows you no time for reprieve, to stop and pause to catch your breath. Skin never dries, hair grows
brittle from the brine, the salt settles into the creases and scars of your face until it is slick and hard as aged leather. Silt-pocked and fissured.
The water, black.
The wind whips across naked form, leaving stinging cuts that are scoured clean by the ribbons of water that blow from the sea as one trails along the line of the shore. The cold settles in his bones. He approaches the capsized galleon. The beams and ribbing lay exposed, the carcass of a beast of an old world.
Charred by black smoke. It’d lay here for years, the ruins of someone else.
Above him the grey clouds still streak the sky, the sun but an afterthought. The storms and bones remain.
DESIGN NOTES
- Grey eyes, a bright orange ring around the pupils (central heterochromia).
- Brown hair streaked with grey and beige. Usually grows it out a good bit before he cuts it. May look disheveled as a result.
- A lot of prominent scars on his body and face. The scar on his mouth took a chunk of his lip and pulled it into a permanent grimace. Has a scar across his nose, on his jaw and one that goes through his eyebrow across his forehead.
- Can't grow facial hair properly due to the excessive scarring on his face. Best he can do is a stubble. A large part of his face is numb.
- The most tired face you did ever see. Lots of wrinkles and lines, fleshy jowls, bags under his eyes.
- Built like a dolmen (and is every bit as dense as one). Not extremely tall, but strong padded muscular frame, hairy where the skin isn't damaged.
- Lots of facial tattoos. These lead across his throat, then spread to the back of his head and neck. Has these tattoos around his bicep, extensive hand tattoos, under the pectorals, on the hips and around the ankles and on the feet. Back has none.
- Is colourblind (deuteranopia). It's not really a design note but there you go.
- (AU) In bearform: Large bear, size anywhere between a grizzly and a polar bear. Pale face and back of neck and shoulderhump, rest dark brown.
Has the same eyes and facial scarring as a man. Has some dark markings on his face vaguely reminiscent of his facial tattoos.
The language of his tattoos -his people's language, Erhart's native tongue- transcends the strict meaning of words and instead focuses on their emotion and their intent as well as their context. It is poetic, filled with prose, highly personalized per person.
Erhart's tattoos laud his savage soul, whisper of fingertips brushing across the ferns, of quiet feet on cracking ice and a steady heart with the beat of a wardrum. They are meant to invoke feeling more than literal meaning. Those of Erhart's people can read them, but even then language of things is highly personalized and not one person can grasp everything within their own culture.
The tattoos depict words, of course, and one can decipher it if you speak their tongue, but this is surface level. The context of them changes entirely when one knows the person or the history and object and context of the language written. Language is lost with every death, written again with every birth.
It is the sequence of the tattoos, it is how many there are and the distance between them, it is the curves to every symbol, every edge changing the word.
Erhart, lost and unable to find his way home, has not been around his people for a long time and has gotten rusty at reading it.
THEME CREDIT
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