Class: Druid (Level 5)
Height: 5’ 10"
Weight: 180 lbs.
Hair: Dark Brown with assorted feathers and trinkets.
Skin: Fair, face is significantly scarred.
Languages: Common, Elven
D’Arcy is a mysterious human druid from the Eastern Forest, and when he first emerged he looked as though he hadn’t left (or bathed) in a long time. A former soldier, he bears the mark of a curse from his time at war: a jagged scar that crosses his face and makes him unmistakable. The scar stays with him when he transforms into his cursed form, a massive dusky brown wolf.
Physical/Personality: D’Arcy is physically an average human male. His weight is evenly distributed through his body and he is very fit from his hermit living. Far from average is his scarred face, a jagged disfigurement that runs from the right portion of his forehead, curves down and across his nose, and ends on his left cheek. It is a deadened dark grey color that seems necrotized or enchanted with negative energy. Whilst living alone, he kept his dark brown hair long, often entangled with sticks and twigs. But since re-introducing himself to society cut it in a bizarre half-cropped half long style that suits a more battle-oriented lifestyle. D’Arcy often wears trinkets and findings (ex. feathers, string) in his hair as a inexplicable hobby. Must be a druid thing. Having spent many years alone in the forest, D’Arcy has the skills of a tenured outdoorsman, including but not limited to: hunting, trapping, light horticulture, tracking, climbing, etc. None of these skills effect his strength or ability, but enhance his thoughtfulness and knowledge.
Not all aspects of living in solitude were fortuitous for him, though. Since being cursed, D’Arcy developed a nasty attitude, cagey demeanor, and downright pure vengefulness that will not be quenched until he feels justified. He is rude, brash, and has a general dislike of others since spending 10 years alone. It goes without saying that this makes him extremely difficult to get along with. His social graces have been tossed to the winds as well. While D’Arcy would consider himself a “ladies man”, others would call him a sleaze. He has little conception of how to treat others respectfully.
Dress: D’Arcy wears only light leather military armor. His original set bore no insignias, his new set display his rank of Major clearly. They are a drab grey green with black, white, and gold accents. He accompanies his coat and shirt with some plain black pants tucked into heavily worn brown leather boots. He wears a dark grey Cloak of Resistance over his soldier’s coat, generally leaving the hood down. The Wolf!D’Arcy obviously wears nothing.
Equipment: D’Arcy is equipped with an Adventurer’s Kit which he bought during his first trip to a shop. His implement is the Alfsair Spear, a long wicked blade on a sturdy pole. It resembles a pike more than a spear, and close to the blade has a red rope and tassel as well as a tattered red banner attached. When not in use or battle, he keeps it slung loosely across his back with leather thongs. With a simple swing, it summons an unseen wave of water or a fiery hawk, which perches nobly on the tip of the spear until signaled. His other equipment and accessories are fairly standard at this time. He has also been known to enjoy the occasional cigarette, and keeps tobacco in his supplies.
D’Arcy grew up in a typical human household in the city of Tarmikos, just North of the Eastern Forest. Not being inherently skilled or leaning toward any particular vocation, D’Arcy enlisted in the military at the earliest age. As a trained crossbowman, but not a very good shot, D’Arcy’s rank stayed low. During his service in the Poccan War, a rogue warlock shot a curse straight at the young soldier, scarring him forever.
Henceforth unable to control his wild abilities and form, D’Arcy was honorably discharged from the military on grounds that he was unfit to serve due to his injury. Ashamed, disappointed, and angry about his fate, D’Arcy exiled himself to the Eastern Forest to make a new life that was more accommodating to his “handicap”.
It was there that he lived alone for ten years, until one day after returning from a successful hunting trip (it is much easier to kill wildlife when you trap them with the very vines they stand on) D’Arcy found his home he built with his own hands burned to the ground as well as most of the forest around it. The fire spread and consumed his beloved forest, driving him out with nothing but a deer carcass and the old military uniform on his back.
Now finding himself adventuring with five other and much more eager individuals, D’Arcy is begrudgingly developing a bizarre and unexpected fondness for them.
D’Arcy’s relationships with his fellow adventurers has changed slightly throughout their time together. He has the rather rude tendency of giving his comrades nicknames that are mostly derogatory, but are meant as a term of affection.
Oris : “Grape Ape” Oris generally stays out of D’Arcy’s way…until he’s gone too far. The ancient being often finds himself verbally hoisting the druid out of jams, and reminding him that if he doesn’t shut his constantly flapping maw, there will be dangerous consequences. (And they’ll never be the same.)
Brook: “Whiskers” continuously annoys D’Arcy. The scruffy scrap at first wouldn’t stop staring at the druid, as if he was trying to see past his skin. But now, Brook won’t let a single remark go unnoticed, chiding D’Arcy relentlessly.
Kella : “Beefy” is not a very nice name for a lady. D’Arcy has little opinion about Kella, other than on her rather er… solid appearance. She’s not his type, let’s say that.
MkConnel : “Deceased Beefy” D’Arcy admired the minotaur’s brash nature, but had very little time to get
used to know him, as MkConnel sacrificed himself in battle for the others to board an airship. D’Arcy mourned briefly and obstinately.
Shard : “Metal Head” The Warforged hardly ever says anything, so D’Arcy really has no opinion either way. They are both formally in the military, which is the only real tie they have together.
Carter : “Big Cheese” When the group met Carter in the bar in Tarmikos, D’Arcy was well into his second flagon of social lubricant. He had no qualms about telling the paladin the rather confusing story about how they came to be there. Carter seemed to take all of this in stride, since he found the man he was looking for yet appeared apprehensive about taking the drunken druid seriously. The group set off to look for Carter’s fellow paladin Sir Frederick against D’Arcy’s wishes, but he agreed to be their guide. Carter and D’Arcy frequently have spirited back-and-forth pseudo arguments that result in exactly nothing.