02-02-2017, 01:05 AM
In Game Name (IGN): Rigorin
How did you find us?: Some Minecraft forum, Zarkaylia linked to it
About You: I'm a pretty chill guy that just likes to calm down and type up some RP occasionally. I also happen to enjoy video games, and I have no life to speak of. Hooray.
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Troy is a man of common, rather plain appearance. His young, unremarkable mug furls at the brow when he's thinking and makes him look annoyed, making him somewhat standoffish at times. His body type is naturally tall and thin by sheer genetics, but his profession has made him athletically fit, distributing his body mass more evenly; though it doesn't show much in terms of bulk, and his youthful face might throw one off at a glance, he is surprisingly muscular. He is sparsely dotted with scars and lasting bruises, nothing seemingly too serious, but definitely indicative of past scuffles or accidents. His blonde hair is almost always neatly parted despite oftentimes being mostly hidden beneath his hood, and his bright blue eyes stand out nicely from the rest of his face, serving as his one redeeming feature.
Personality:
In sharp contrast with his appearance -- which would suggest an energetic, boastful sort of person -- Troy is oddly quiet and soft-spoken, lacking social aggressiveness. He shies away from serious conversation, and though he is capable of small talk and light banter, he never seems to be fully comfortable talking to people he doesn't know particularly well. If there is any time he is capable of speaking for himself, it is when he is truly angry at somebody; but this is rare, as Troy is remarkably difficult to frustrate. Due to his naturally annoyed facial expression and his distant predisposition, people tend to be hesitant to speak to Troy, which he is perfectly okay with. Even when he has an opportunity to speak his mind, he almost always stutters over himself, panics, and generally fails miserably to communicate. Due in part to his quietness, Troy is naturally very analytical of people, having taken up people-watching as an absent hobby in lieu of social interaction. He is quite good at knowing how people are feeling and guessing what they might be thinking at a given time, so it can be said that he isn't all that bad at listening -- only speaking back.
Though definitely socially inept, he is at least reasonably capable of finding and asking for work, using his advantageous physique to sell himself as a laborer in most cases, letting his results talk for him, so to speak. However, when physical conflict becomes a necessity, Troy becomes even more withdrawn than normal, raising his hood and moving his normally neat hair down in front of his eyes to shade his face. This action is one part technique, two parts self-assurance, as while his hair and hood allow him to see his enemy while keeping them from watching his expression (often a dead giveaway in a combat situation), he is primarily keeping himself from having to make direct eye contact. He would rather not have to think about the harm he is inflicting on his opponent, and instead keep his mind focused on overcoming them.
Backstory:
Troy Duncan was born into a family of middle-high blood, relative to how high status one exactly could be in such turbulent times as the midst of the Civil War. Unfortunately, his parents vied for even higher status, and they were possibly more concerned about appearances than any other such family in the kingdom. He lived a life of luxury for most of his childhood, but he was also highly sheltered and disciplined, always being told to mind his manners, speak quietly if at all, and maintain his appearance as best he could. In his parents' words, children were to be seen and not heard. The little kingdom they resided in was in a favorable position in the northeastern-most corner of the Mainland, with mountains on one side, forest on another, and ocean on the flanks to provide both defense and trade. The Civil War wracked the kingdom with constant attacks, but its natural defenses and strong military provided protection from soldiers and bandits alike. Of course, a strong military was only possible with strong soldiers, which had to be drafted in and trained from a young age. Troy, highborn though he was, was not immune to this draft. Though the Civil War at large had of course ended before Troy was old enough to begin training, he, among many other young men, was drafted into military training at age 9, as the small kingdom's enviable position was of course still desirable regardless of whether or not the Mainland was wracked by war. Sure enough, shortly after Troy turned 11, a surprise attack by a much larger, much more powerful kingdom from across the mountain range struck his home kingdom at full force. It seemed even the reopening of the Dusk Gate and the Xitians' earnest warnings of dragons could not defy the nature of man. The attack was thankfully repelled, but it signified the beginning of a smaller war, isolated in that corner of the Mainland where little could be heard of it save the occasional rumor in a back alley tavern. For Troy, however, this war was his life. His official "safe" training ended then at age 11, and he was deployed as a squire in the company of a small band of warriors and knights, including one particular old knight named Sir Stewart.
Stewart was a remarkably elderly warrior, old enough in fact to have, at a very young age, fought alongside the Lucins in the last days of the War of Veld, placing him at easily around his late sixties by the time Troy joined his company. This, of course, was extraordinarily old, as even most people who did not regularly jape at the face of death didn't live to half that age, and it was nothing short of a miracle that Sir Stewart had maintained his health for so long. The aged knight had spent the majority of his life defending their home kingdom from the various attacks that pelted them during the Civil War, and was the poster image of a grizzled veteran -- as in, his face was quite literally plastered on the propaganda parchments that were passed around to rouse the citizens into supporting the war effort. However, his age and declining physical state were known by the kingdom's war strategists, and in the last decades of his service, Stewart was relegated to smaller and smaller companies, designated for reconnaissance and minimal direct conflict with enemy forces; companies into which those who the kingdom would rather not see dead -- such as highborns like Troy -- were placed. Stewart, hardly one to avoid battle, led the small company nevertheless into skirmishes with any enemy force he thought them able to defeat, usually similarly sized enemy scouting teams. Troy, a mere squire, was primarily present to bear burdens, such as supplies or weapons, as well as being tasked in particular with cooking anything the others caught into edibility. Only once every few months did the company return home for a brief rest, as they were meant to be self-sufficient, often setting up camp in the daytime and moving by night for practical reasons. Troy noted that with each visit, the people seemed just a little less hopeful, and the kingdom just a little less certain of its durability.
To complete the young soldiers' training, which had been cut short by the war, Stewart and the other knights had the squires spar each other whenever there was time. These spars usually consisted of the squires roughing each other up at first with branches or whatever they could find lying around, then eventually resorting to fist fights and ground fights as hotbloodedness rose. Troy, naturally reserved as he was -- his pre-military years in luxurious isolation having made him less aggressive than most -- was notorious for staying calm even as punches were being thrown his way, and he was exceptionally good at reading the other squires and taking them down in a practical manner, a talent which only improved as the years went on. However, his already lacking social skills did not pair well with the rest of the party, none of whom were nearly as sheltered and isolated during their childhoods as he was, and his speaking skills ultimately failed to develop alongside his fighting skills.
It wasn't until age 14 that Troy participated in his first real life-or-death battle, the first of the party's squires to do so. At Stewart's orders, he stayed at the old knight's side and watched the veteran's back. The opposing force that day was no real trouble, and it seemed as if the company was to emerge unscathed from the battle, but as the fight neared its end, a desperate straggler attacked Stewart from behind, aiming a dagger for the grizzled veteran's neck. Had Troy not been paying attention, Stewart would have met his end there, but the young squire stepped in and tackled the straggler from the side, knocking him to the ground. Stewart stood there, watching, as the struggle between Troy and the straggler ensued; and sure enough, the fight ended with a fatally wounded foe, knife ironically buried in his own throat, as Troy watched him bleed to death at his feet. His expression was distant, as if he was trying to be a bystander to the life he'd just ended, but Stewart merely patted the young squire on the back and went to rejoin the rest of the company.
Troy wasn't stupid; he understood what a war entailed. He knew full well that to be a soldier meant to fight and kill for one's homeland, and he had never thought he had any problems with that up until it came time to do it himself. The straggler he'd killed was another squire, not much older than himself, and likely not all that different save that they hailed from different kingdoms. For weeks after the battle, Troy was even more distant and forlorn than normal, straying to the back of the party during travel and remaining silent while cooking, ignoring his friends and superiors. Eventually, however, he came to terms with what his life was to become, and dedicated himself to making sure that if anyone was to die, it was to be his enemy, and not himself. His combat abilities improved even more rapidly than before, until the other squires refused to fight him knowing they would only be met with a swift loss. The knights decided to try their hand at fighting the talented young soldier, and at first Troy basked in the challenge, having not lost a spar for a long while. But as the years ticked by, even they found themselves being bested, if only occasionally, by Troy's prodigous combat abilities. In the end, the only knight in the party Troy had never managed to best was Stewart -- despite the veteran's old age, the gap in experience was simply too large to bridge. For this reason, Troy and Stewart always stuck together during battle, and over the rest of the war, they must have slain dozens, if not over a hundred between them. It seemed certain that one day Troy would become a war hero after the enemy's defeat, and be knighted immediately with the highest of honors.
Such a day never came. Gradually, their company diminished little by little, knights and squires falling in battle, or succumbing to wounds and illness. It came to a head when the small party crested a hill only to come face to face with an enemy force far too large for them to best; not even a mere platoon so much as an entire army, primed for a final, decisive attack. The party fled immediately, but was scattered. Troy and Stewart escaped together, losing track of their allies, who were likely not as fortunate, especially as Troy was carrying the pack holding the party's food for the next two weeks. Stewart was heavily wounded in the retreat by a lucky soldier with a long partisan, adrenaline having carried him to safety within the woods and to an empty cave they'd camped by previously. Stewart, in his age, had exerted himself far more than a nearly eighty-year-old man with a stab wound could manage, and in his final moments he urged Troy to flee to the kingdom and warn them of the oncoming attack. Shortly thereafter, Stewart died. Troy did exactly as he was told, using the supplies he'd been carrying to survive and camping by himself over the coming weeks with the massive enemy force at his heels, knowing they could strike at any time and that would be the end of him. Yet, when he finally came into view of his homeland, over the top of a mountain a few miles off, he saw he was too late.
The enemy army he'd been evading was merely reinforcements for the main attack, or perhaps an occupying force that they had sent, being so certain of their victory. Troy had never known that the enemy kingdom he had spent his life fighting was this powerful, and suddenly it seemed like his entire life's work was for naught, as if his actions never once so much as influenced the tide of the war. He knew it was likely that his family was still safe despite the attacks, as the enemy was not one to slaughter mindlessly, but Troy had no desire to return home and face failure, his parents who he barely knew all but strangers to him. Instead, he fled elsewhere entirely, taking a long route across the mountain to evade the enemy reinforcements, only to scratch the emblems off of his light armor plates and tear them from his uniform to cut all ties with his homeland. Weeks of aimless wandering followed, until the young war veteran stumbled across a port town with merchant ships that, in exchange for work, would take him along with him on their travels. After months of drifting on the seas with any ships that would take him, Troy found himself travelling to the Forbidden Lands, by sheer curiosity if nothing else. The ship he was on drifted along a twisting river that, at its end, opened to a lake, aside which sat a town that the merchants seemed to despise, only visiting because it was a good place to trade. Against the sailors' warnings of curses, Troy stepped off of the ship onto the docks of a little-known town by the name of Nightveil, and proceeded towards the small city's center. It had been 11 long years since Troy had lived any sort of civil life, and curses or not, this seemed like the perfect place to start anew.
Capabilities:
General Combat, Adept: Troy, being a soldier half his life, was trained by, and had fought alongside likely the most experienced human warrior on the Mainland. In this time, his kill count reached an order of dozens, and even outside of real battle, he sparred fellow squires as well as far more experienced knights and warriors on a daily basis for 11 years straight. Obviously, then, Troy is quite skilled at combat, be it hand-to-hand or with any simple weapon, such as a sword or an axe. He is capable of thinking quickly in the face of death and analyzing his foe to figure out how to best defeat them. Troy fights with a sort of half-militant, half-made-up-on-the-spot style, somewhat akin to street fighting, or "fighting dirty". In other words, he fights to win, with no regard for honor or any particular discipline.
Endurance/General Athleticism, Competent: Troy carried packs of provisions and heavy knight's gear over mountains on a regular basis. He is generally good at not tiring out too easily, especially over long periods of travel, considering he would often have to immediately get right back to bearing such burdens even after a skirmish. In addition, he is reasonably strong for someone with such a task, and can run quite quickly when unburdened, generally having all-around good body strength. As such, though Troy doesn't have any easily marketable skills that don't involve killing something, he is still fully capable of simple hard labor over sustained periods of time.
Cooking, Novice: Troy spent a large amount of his time in the military cooking the meat caught by his allies, but seeing as he was merely trying to make the meat edible, he never became very experienced at it. His skills mainly consist of building a fire and knowing when the meat is done enough to not give him any parasites, as well as occasionally making water from freshwater streams or rivers into something more safely drinkable via boiling.
Social Skills, Absolutely Atrocious: Troy can talk to save his life, but not to do much else. He is quiet and nonsocial, as well as generally quite worried what others think of him, taking the cautious route of saying nothing to save himself from the risk of embarrassment by saying something. He cannot speak well, often stuttering over or changing his words in nervousness, which commonly results in misunderstandings. He spent his life with people far more outgoing than himself, and never learned to acclimate, especially as they instead learned to understand him, saving him from having to improve. Instead, when he has nothing to say, he generally resorts to being sheepishly silent, finding it to be the easiest way to avoid talking to people. Of course, this also leads to misunderstandings, leading Troy to wonder why he can't just get along with someone for once.
Items: Troy had a personal sword in his last years of service, but he left it behind when he fled, being unable to remove the emblem that was a fundamental part of its handle. However, he does still carry the generic supply bag, which contains very little save some spare food he saved from his meals on the merchant ships and a small hatchet that was in it when he fled, which he has yet to use for anything. He still wears his uniform, washed in salt water many times but still ultimately wearable, the metal plates well-maintained save the scratches of their removed emblems. Without its emblems, his uniform is nothing more than an inconspicuous orange tunic with a lot of pockets, and relays nothing of his military past -- the plates are detachable, and though their scratches are suspicious, they are shallow enough to be chalked up to general wear and tear. The plates aren't particularly protective, covering mostly only essential areas, and are made of a light, parchment thin metal, essentially making them more of a suggestion of armor than anything meaningful.
Additional Comments: So I accidentally spent a liiiiiittle bit more time on the backstory than I meant to. Uh, oops. But, hopefully that's all acceptable. I know it's got a few questionable, sort of borderline elements to it, but I did try to at least make it sound reasonable. I get points for that, right? Right?
How did you find us?: Some Minecraft forum, Zarkaylia linked to it
About You: I'm a pretty chill guy that just likes to calm down and type up some RP occasionally. I also happen to enjoy video games, and I have no life to speak of. Hooray.
CHARACTER INFORMATION
Name: Troy DuncanAge: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Troy is a man of common, rather plain appearance. His young, unremarkable mug furls at the brow when he's thinking and makes him look annoyed, making him somewhat standoffish at times. His body type is naturally tall and thin by sheer genetics, but his profession has made him athletically fit, distributing his body mass more evenly; though it doesn't show much in terms of bulk, and his youthful face might throw one off at a glance, he is surprisingly muscular. He is sparsely dotted with scars and lasting bruises, nothing seemingly too serious, but definitely indicative of past scuffles or accidents. His blonde hair is almost always neatly parted despite oftentimes being mostly hidden beneath his hood, and his bright blue eyes stand out nicely from the rest of his face, serving as his one redeeming feature.
Personality:
In sharp contrast with his appearance -- which would suggest an energetic, boastful sort of person -- Troy is oddly quiet and soft-spoken, lacking social aggressiveness. He shies away from serious conversation, and though he is capable of small talk and light banter, he never seems to be fully comfortable talking to people he doesn't know particularly well. If there is any time he is capable of speaking for himself, it is when he is truly angry at somebody; but this is rare, as Troy is remarkably difficult to frustrate. Due to his naturally annoyed facial expression and his distant predisposition, people tend to be hesitant to speak to Troy, which he is perfectly okay with. Even when he has an opportunity to speak his mind, he almost always stutters over himself, panics, and generally fails miserably to communicate. Due in part to his quietness, Troy is naturally very analytical of people, having taken up people-watching as an absent hobby in lieu of social interaction. He is quite good at knowing how people are feeling and guessing what they might be thinking at a given time, so it can be said that he isn't all that bad at listening -- only speaking back.
Though definitely socially inept, he is at least reasonably capable of finding and asking for work, using his advantageous physique to sell himself as a laborer in most cases, letting his results talk for him, so to speak. However, when physical conflict becomes a necessity, Troy becomes even more withdrawn than normal, raising his hood and moving his normally neat hair down in front of his eyes to shade his face. This action is one part technique, two parts self-assurance, as while his hair and hood allow him to see his enemy while keeping them from watching his expression (often a dead giveaway in a combat situation), he is primarily keeping himself from having to make direct eye contact. He would rather not have to think about the harm he is inflicting on his opponent, and instead keep his mind focused on overcoming them.
Backstory:
Troy Duncan was born into a family of middle-high blood, relative to how high status one exactly could be in such turbulent times as the midst of the Civil War. Unfortunately, his parents vied for even higher status, and they were possibly more concerned about appearances than any other such family in the kingdom. He lived a life of luxury for most of his childhood, but he was also highly sheltered and disciplined, always being told to mind his manners, speak quietly if at all, and maintain his appearance as best he could. In his parents' words, children were to be seen and not heard. The little kingdom they resided in was in a favorable position in the northeastern-most corner of the Mainland, with mountains on one side, forest on another, and ocean on the flanks to provide both defense and trade. The Civil War wracked the kingdom with constant attacks, but its natural defenses and strong military provided protection from soldiers and bandits alike. Of course, a strong military was only possible with strong soldiers, which had to be drafted in and trained from a young age. Troy, highborn though he was, was not immune to this draft. Though the Civil War at large had of course ended before Troy was old enough to begin training, he, among many other young men, was drafted into military training at age 9, as the small kingdom's enviable position was of course still desirable regardless of whether or not the Mainland was wracked by war. Sure enough, shortly after Troy turned 11, a surprise attack by a much larger, much more powerful kingdom from across the mountain range struck his home kingdom at full force. It seemed even the reopening of the Dusk Gate and the Xitians' earnest warnings of dragons could not defy the nature of man. The attack was thankfully repelled, but it signified the beginning of a smaller war, isolated in that corner of the Mainland where little could be heard of it save the occasional rumor in a back alley tavern. For Troy, however, this war was his life. His official "safe" training ended then at age 11, and he was deployed as a squire in the company of a small band of warriors and knights, including one particular old knight named Sir Stewart.
Stewart was a remarkably elderly warrior, old enough in fact to have, at a very young age, fought alongside the Lucins in the last days of the War of Veld, placing him at easily around his late sixties by the time Troy joined his company. This, of course, was extraordinarily old, as even most people who did not regularly jape at the face of death didn't live to half that age, and it was nothing short of a miracle that Sir Stewart had maintained his health for so long. The aged knight had spent the majority of his life defending their home kingdom from the various attacks that pelted them during the Civil War, and was the poster image of a grizzled veteran -- as in, his face was quite literally plastered on the propaganda parchments that were passed around to rouse the citizens into supporting the war effort. However, his age and declining physical state were known by the kingdom's war strategists, and in the last decades of his service, Stewart was relegated to smaller and smaller companies, designated for reconnaissance and minimal direct conflict with enemy forces; companies into which those who the kingdom would rather not see dead -- such as highborns like Troy -- were placed. Stewart, hardly one to avoid battle, led the small company nevertheless into skirmishes with any enemy force he thought them able to defeat, usually similarly sized enemy scouting teams. Troy, a mere squire, was primarily present to bear burdens, such as supplies or weapons, as well as being tasked in particular with cooking anything the others caught into edibility. Only once every few months did the company return home for a brief rest, as they were meant to be self-sufficient, often setting up camp in the daytime and moving by night for practical reasons. Troy noted that with each visit, the people seemed just a little less hopeful, and the kingdom just a little less certain of its durability.
To complete the young soldiers' training, which had been cut short by the war, Stewart and the other knights had the squires spar each other whenever there was time. These spars usually consisted of the squires roughing each other up at first with branches or whatever they could find lying around, then eventually resorting to fist fights and ground fights as hotbloodedness rose. Troy, naturally reserved as he was -- his pre-military years in luxurious isolation having made him less aggressive than most -- was notorious for staying calm even as punches were being thrown his way, and he was exceptionally good at reading the other squires and taking them down in a practical manner, a talent which only improved as the years went on. However, his already lacking social skills did not pair well with the rest of the party, none of whom were nearly as sheltered and isolated during their childhoods as he was, and his speaking skills ultimately failed to develop alongside his fighting skills.
It wasn't until age 14 that Troy participated in his first real life-or-death battle, the first of the party's squires to do so. At Stewart's orders, he stayed at the old knight's side and watched the veteran's back. The opposing force that day was no real trouble, and it seemed as if the company was to emerge unscathed from the battle, but as the fight neared its end, a desperate straggler attacked Stewart from behind, aiming a dagger for the grizzled veteran's neck. Had Troy not been paying attention, Stewart would have met his end there, but the young squire stepped in and tackled the straggler from the side, knocking him to the ground. Stewart stood there, watching, as the struggle between Troy and the straggler ensued; and sure enough, the fight ended with a fatally wounded foe, knife ironically buried in his own throat, as Troy watched him bleed to death at his feet. His expression was distant, as if he was trying to be a bystander to the life he'd just ended, but Stewart merely patted the young squire on the back and went to rejoin the rest of the company.
Troy wasn't stupid; he understood what a war entailed. He knew full well that to be a soldier meant to fight and kill for one's homeland, and he had never thought he had any problems with that up until it came time to do it himself. The straggler he'd killed was another squire, not much older than himself, and likely not all that different save that they hailed from different kingdoms. For weeks after the battle, Troy was even more distant and forlorn than normal, straying to the back of the party during travel and remaining silent while cooking, ignoring his friends and superiors. Eventually, however, he came to terms with what his life was to become, and dedicated himself to making sure that if anyone was to die, it was to be his enemy, and not himself. His combat abilities improved even more rapidly than before, until the other squires refused to fight him knowing they would only be met with a swift loss. The knights decided to try their hand at fighting the talented young soldier, and at first Troy basked in the challenge, having not lost a spar for a long while. But as the years ticked by, even they found themselves being bested, if only occasionally, by Troy's prodigous combat abilities. In the end, the only knight in the party Troy had never managed to best was Stewart -- despite the veteran's old age, the gap in experience was simply too large to bridge. For this reason, Troy and Stewart always stuck together during battle, and over the rest of the war, they must have slain dozens, if not over a hundred between them. It seemed certain that one day Troy would become a war hero after the enemy's defeat, and be knighted immediately with the highest of honors.
Such a day never came. Gradually, their company diminished little by little, knights and squires falling in battle, or succumbing to wounds and illness. It came to a head when the small party crested a hill only to come face to face with an enemy force far too large for them to best; not even a mere platoon so much as an entire army, primed for a final, decisive attack. The party fled immediately, but was scattered. Troy and Stewart escaped together, losing track of their allies, who were likely not as fortunate, especially as Troy was carrying the pack holding the party's food for the next two weeks. Stewart was heavily wounded in the retreat by a lucky soldier with a long partisan, adrenaline having carried him to safety within the woods and to an empty cave they'd camped by previously. Stewart, in his age, had exerted himself far more than a nearly eighty-year-old man with a stab wound could manage, and in his final moments he urged Troy to flee to the kingdom and warn them of the oncoming attack. Shortly thereafter, Stewart died. Troy did exactly as he was told, using the supplies he'd been carrying to survive and camping by himself over the coming weeks with the massive enemy force at his heels, knowing they could strike at any time and that would be the end of him. Yet, when he finally came into view of his homeland, over the top of a mountain a few miles off, he saw he was too late.
The enemy army he'd been evading was merely reinforcements for the main attack, or perhaps an occupying force that they had sent, being so certain of their victory. Troy had never known that the enemy kingdom he had spent his life fighting was this powerful, and suddenly it seemed like his entire life's work was for naught, as if his actions never once so much as influenced the tide of the war. He knew it was likely that his family was still safe despite the attacks, as the enemy was not one to slaughter mindlessly, but Troy had no desire to return home and face failure, his parents who he barely knew all but strangers to him. Instead, he fled elsewhere entirely, taking a long route across the mountain to evade the enemy reinforcements, only to scratch the emblems off of his light armor plates and tear them from his uniform to cut all ties with his homeland. Weeks of aimless wandering followed, until the young war veteran stumbled across a port town with merchant ships that, in exchange for work, would take him along with him on their travels. After months of drifting on the seas with any ships that would take him, Troy found himself travelling to the Forbidden Lands, by sheer curiosity if nothing else. The ship he was on drifted along a twisting river that, at its end, opened to a lake, aside which sat a town that the merchants seemed to despise, only visiting because it was a good place to trade. Against the sailors' warnings of curses, Troy stepped off of the ship onto the docks of a little-known town by the name of Nightveil, and proceeded towards the small city's center. It had been 11 long years since Troy had lived any sort of civil life, and curses or not, this seemed like the perfect place to start anew.
Capabilities:
General Combat, Adept: Troy, being a soldier half his life, was trained by, and had fought alongside likely the most experienced human warrior on the Mainland. In this time, his kill count reached an order of dozens, and even outside of real battle, he sparred fellow squires as well as far more experienced knights and warriors on a daily basis for 11 years straight. Obviously, then, Troy is quite skilled at combat, be it hand-to-hand or with any simple weapon, such as a sword or an axe. He is capable of thinking quickly in the face of death and analyzing his foe to figure out how to best defeat them. Troy fights with a sort of half-militant, half-made-up-on-the-spot style, somewhat akin to street fighting, or "fighting dirty". In other words, he fights to win, with no regard for honor or any particular discipline.
Endurance/General Athleticism, Competent: Troy carried packs of provisions and heavy knight's gear over mountains on a regular basis. He is generally good at not tiring out too easily, especially over long periods of travel, considering he would often have to immediately get right back to bearing such burdens even after a skirmish. In addition, he is reasonably strong for someone with such a task, and can run quite quickly when unburdened, generally having all-around good body strength. As such, though Troy doesn't have any easily marketable skills that don't involve killing something, he is still fully capable of simple hard labor over sustained periods of time.
Cooking, Novice: Troy spent a large amount of his time in the military cooking the meat caught by his allies, but seeing as he was merely trying to make the meat edible, he never became very experienced at it. His skills mainly consist of building a fire and knowing when the meat is done enough to not give him any parasites, as well as occasionally making water from freshwater streams or rivers into something more safely drinkable via boiling.
Social Skills, Absolutely Atrocious: Troy can talk to save his life, but not to do much else. He is quiet and nonsocial, as well as generally quite worried what others think of him, taking the cautious route of saying nothing to save himself from the risk of embarrassment by saying something. He cannot speak well, often stuttering over or changing his words in nervousness, which commonly results in misunderstandings. He spent his life with people far more outgoing than himself, and never learned to acclimate, especially as they instead learned to understand him, saving him from having to improve. Instead, when he has nothing to say, he generally resorts to being sheepishly silent, finding it to be the easiest way to avoid talking to people. Of course, this also leads to misunderstandings, leading Troy to wonder why he can't just get along with someone for once.
Items: Troy had a personal sword in his last years of service, but he left it behind when he fled, being unable to remove the emblem that was a fundamental part of its handle. However, he does still carry the generic supply bag, which contains very little save some spare food he saved from his meals on the merchant ships and a small hatchet that was in it when he fled, which he has yet to use for anything. He still wears his uniform, washed in salt water many times but still ultimately wearable, the metal plates well-maintained save the scratches of their removed emblems. Without its emblems, his uniform is nothing more than an inconspicuous orange tunic with a lot of pockets, and relays nothing of his military past -- the plates are detachable, and though their scratches are suspicious, they are shallow enough to be chalked up to general wear and tear. The plates aren't particularly protective, covering mostly only essential areas, and are made of a light, parchment thin metal, essentially making them more of a suggestion of armor than anything meaningful.
Additional Comments: So I accidentally spent a liiiiiittle bit more time on the backstory than I meant to. Uh, oops. But, hopefully that's all acceptable. I know it's got a few questionable, sort of borderline elements to it, but I did try to at least make it sound reasonable. I get points for that, right? Right?
