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Cold, Lost, Alone

Name: Rheece Trevillaen.

Official Status: House Noble Exiled.
Birth Date: January 13th.
Gender: Male.
Race: Human. 
Height: 6'.
Hair Color: Brown, flecked with blonde.
Eye Color: Dull green.
Class: Exiled Knight.
Clan: None.
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral, young and brash.
Origin: Cenril.
Home: Cenril.
Status: On the run.
Affiliations: None as yet.

Physical Traits and Appearance

Standing at a rangy six foot, Rheece has benefited from both the fruits of a lavish childhood and the annoyance of overprotective parents. The high protein diet which he was brought up on combined with tutelage in the way of the rapier and stiletto leaving him supple, muscular and lean. His face has been said to be sharp and yet soft at the same time, the line of his jowl and cheekbones high and pointed whilst his general expression and eyes are a much more mellow measure of flesh and bone; this contrast has led to many remarks as to his striking similarity to the Sigil of House Trevillaen: the Swallow, its wicked line of flight juxtaposing with the rounded, friendly features it bears. The left hand side of his torso, his left hip and leg are all covered in intricate tattooed patterns respresting his family and the tribe from which his mother originated in the Lost Isles – a tribute to his lineage.

The youngest of three siblings his parents concerns dwelt mainly on the eldest's education, allowing Rheece and his brother Jerrad a freer reign in the direction of their own lives. Time spent with the House Guard has left the young noble with a savage tongue and hunger for the more vulgar pursuits in life: gambling, taverns and ladies of the night, all counted high amongst his hobbies, the very few times he managed to escape the confines of his curfew at least.

Since the flight from his ransacked home his attire has changed very little, Rheece adapting to his surroundings with a little more grace than he had previously thought possible. The muddied gold of his hair is nearly at all times kept from his eyes by a stylish, leather brimmed hat which is often decorated with a varying array of feathers and other oddities should the mood take him. He has become particularly accustomed to wearing loose fitting shirts of plain cotton and low-lying, baggy pants finding the mobility far superior to the incarcerating trappings of nobility. A pair of stout, knee-high boots are probably his best friend in the world and as well they should considering the cobblestone latrine the streets of Cenril have become. He carries with him a heavy, leather duster also which bears the signs of some attempted-amateur-armour upgrades – a mixture of light metal mesh and leather applied to the forearm, lapel and high collar of the coat at the expense of some style, it has to be said.