sneakyonfoota
flightless bird
Appearance: A male adult human. Dryden is a handsome--yet slovenly--man who gives the impression of a bohemian poet who spends his nights in and out of opium dens.
He stands slightly less than six feet tall. His broad shoulders are slumped, giving him an overall gangly appearance. An imaginative interpretation of his look would be that it seems as though he is recovering from having the life sucked out of him.
Blunt chinned, but not necessarily square-jawed. He has no deep creases in his face, but has the beginnings of crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. Dark patches beneath his grey, lazy, smirking eyes denote a certain weariness and longing. His nose is narrow but not long. His teeth are a light beige colour due to years of cigarillo smoking, coffee, wine and stout.
Dryden typically would be seen wearing a poet shirt and plain trousers. His hair falls in a heap of dirty blonde just touching his shoulders. He only shaves every once in a while, prefering to leave his grooming "to the professionals". When working seriously he wears a bandana to keep his hair out of his face.
Despite his sloppy appearance, he takes great care of his hands, even manicuring them and admiring them through a jeweller's eyepiece. While he can show faith in barbers, his hands are off limits: he has mentioned (perhaps in jest?) that he has taken a policy of insurance on his hands.
Name: Fearghas Dryden
Age: 38
Location: Porzul
Class/Weapon: Wizard/mage, rank: magister arcanum; artificer ("Magic Shop Wizard") / "Just my wits and my mitts, I guess."
Personality: Dryden is flagrantly unapologetic for his choice of lifestyle. His contemporaries have branded the man as a bum, he acknowledges that he is a bum, and he has no intentions of ceasing to be a bum.
Many find Dryden's lackadaisical attitude to be condescending as nothing seems to be important to him besides hedonism and epicurean pursuits.
Dryden's attitude aside, he is a very capable artificer, pouring great effort into high quality works of craft and enchantment.
History: As a child, Dryden believed that having to go through the bureaucracy of the Arcane Order to be an unnecessary hassle. It wasn't until the Order became aware of him at age 12 that he was press-ganged into enrolment; the Order citing that the practice of magic alone and undisciplined during the tumultuous time of puberty put Dryden and those around him in imminent danger. When Dryden was taken from Lorana by the Order, he had just begun his apprenticeship as a goldsmith.
Dryden did not take well to the scholastic environment of Arcanum, but his natural talent did serve him well enough to please his instructors. While not directly insubordinate, his lack of punctuality and tactless speech often put him at odds with the administration. He admits to have been unkind to his master while he apprenticed, however the two managed to come to terms with each other. He deliberately delayed his test repeatedly under the conceit of pursuing additional credits in different (often conflicting) arcane disciplines, until he once again was forced to take his final step to receiving his robes.
While the details of the test are not public, what is known is that the high magisters who administered it regard the event with contempt. Dryden himself prefers not to speak of the test--which he voices with an annoyed tone.
After receiving his red robes, Dryden purchased a modest workshop in Porzul (the funds having been collected by Dryden throughout his education) where he dedicates his time to crafting, fine food, fine drink and the occasional lip service to his alma mater.
A typical day for Dryden would be waking up past noon, putting an hour into a work, take an extended tea, make up a magic lesson for whatever temporary apprentice he has, take an extended supper and then sleep. Bonus points if he makes it to his bed.
He stands slightly less than six feet tall. His broad shoulders are slumped, giving him an overall gangly appearance. An imaginative interpretation of his look would be that it seems as though he is recovering from having the life sucked out of him.
Blunt chinned, but not necessarily square-jawed. He has no deep creases in his face, but has the beginnings of crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. Dark patches beneath his grey, lazy, smirking eyes denote a certain weariness and longing. His nose is narrow but not long. His teeth are a light beige colour due to years of cigarillo smoking, coffee, wine and stout.
Dryden typically would be seen wearing a poet shirt and plain trousers. His hair falls in a heap of dirty blonde just touching his shoulders. He only shaves every once in a while, prefering to leave his grooming "to the professionals". When working seriously he wears a bandana to keep his hair out of his face.
Despite his sloppy appearance, he takes great care of his hands, even manicuring them and admiring them through a jeweller's eyepiece. While he can show faith in barbers, his hands are off limits: he has mentioned (perhaps in jest?) that he has taken a policy of insurance on his hands.
Name: Fearghas Dryden
Age: 38
Location: Porzul
Class/Weapon: Wizard/mage, rank: magister arcanum; artificer ("Magic Shop Wizard") / "Just my wits and my mitts, I guess."
Personality: Dryden is flagrantly unapologetic for his choice of lifestyle. His contemporaries have branded the man as a bum, he acknowledges that he is a bum, and he has no intentions of ceasing to be a bum.
Many find Dryden's lackadaisical attitude to be condescending as nothing seems to be important to him besides hedonism and epicurean pursuits.
Dryden's attitude aside, he is a very capable artificer, pouring great effort into high quality works of craft and enchantment.
History: As a child, Dryden believed that having to go through the bureaucracy of the Arcane Order to be an unnecessary hassle. It wasn't until the Order became aware of him at age 12 that he was press-ganged into enrolment; the Order citing that the practice of magic alone and undisciplined during the tumultuous time of puberty put Dryden and those around him in imminent danger. When Dryden was taken from Lorana by the Order, he had just begun his apprenticeship as a goldsmith.
Dryden did not take well to the scholastic environment of Arcanum, but his natural talent did serve him well enough to please his instructors. While not directly insubordinate, his lack of punctuality and tactless speech often put him at odds with the administration. He admits to have been unkind to his master while he apprenticed, however the two managed to come to terms with each other. He deliberately delayed his test repeatedly under the conceit of pursuing additional credits in different (often conflicting) arcane disciplines, until he once again was forced to take his final step to receiving his robes.
While the details of the test are not public, what is known is that the high magisters who administered it regard the event with contempt. Dryden himself prefers not to speak of the test--which he voices with an annoyed tone.
After receiving his red robes, Dryden purchased a modest workshop in Porzul (the funds having been collected by Dryden throughout his education) where he dedicates his time to crafting, fine food, fine drink and the occasional lip service to his alma mater.
A typical day for Dryden would be waking up past noon, putting an hour into a work, take an extended tea, make up a magic lesson for whatever temporary apprentice he has, take an extended supper and then sleep. Bonus points if he makes it to his bed.
