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Varg the Wanderer

Varg is my name, and wander is what I do. A fool is who I am, for I was never too smart to stay out of my fellow human's follies. But you can just call me Varg the Wanderer, for Varg the Fool would be an idiotic way to refer to oneself, isn't it?

Wait, did I just create a paradox? Never mind that, for I have a more riveting sight to offer you: my face! Yellow skins, black, ruffled hair, and a pair of brown eyes, the usual stuffs. But you might find my features foreign, because it is exactly that. My father is not from here, but across the great sea, where he was born a raised as a noble man. I could never guess why he abandoned all that, but it is too late now. At the least I am thankful that I look human enough to avoid too much ridicule from my fellow man.

But enough this about my face. After all, what use is it? So let talk about my choice of career… Which I must say, don't expect much. After all, I am only a humble wanderer, and I make by scraping every bits of crumbs that fall off the tavern table. If there is none, I selling toys and small trinkets and a good travel story. But don't ever compare me to a bard. I bloody hate bards. Always bad for business, those. And where there are no money to be made with tales and toys, a bloody pair of knuckle and some captured bandits always net a fair bit of coins. For that there are usually parties of adventurers that while fun to be with, I never got attached for long since I never enjoyed the bloody line of work to begin with.

A king? Me? A king of fools or a fool of a king!? What a ridiculous notion, but I guess a prophecy is a prophecy, and if I was ever destined to be a king to begin with then it will simply come, and if it doesn't… that seer is a hack. So, live and let live. A walk, arm in arm, my fellow man, to our ends, and may the journey be ever glorious.

Wanderer Varg

Advisor Description

I never know who Elixir is, or where he was from. It never seem that important. I never wanted to talk about where half of my bloodline comes from either, and it seem that neither was he. As a kid, and even now, I don't have many that I can call "Close" friend, and in truth, he was the first and only. We met in when I was around 5 years old, wandering around the forest one day catching bugs and looking for shiny pebbles to build a fortress for my friend- my dad's song bird. It was then that I met him, digging up roots and collecting branches, his almost white blonde hair covered in dirt and slick with sweat. Interested, I inquired what he was doing, and he told me that he is building a boat and collecting rations for his friend the turtle, so that they may sail the river to the open sea somewhere. "But the turtle can swim?" I said, and he laugh. "If he can swim", he said, "Then why would he sink the rock bellow?". And then he asked me back "And what are you doing?". "I'm building a fortress for my friend the bird, so that he could be safe from the neighbor's cat". "But why would you need a fortress?" he inquire, "A bird can fly. No cat will catch him there". I shrug my head "I never see him fly, for my dad said that he only know to live in a cage. So I bring pebbles to fill the cages wall so that the cat can't reach inside". He think, then say "How about this, you bring him to me, and together we can build a boat to reach the other side of the sea. I heard there are beautiful flying birds at the shore that could teach your bird how to fly. My turtle friend said it would only cost the eye of a fish!". Needless to be said, the plan make use almost drowned, lost in the woods and even though my dad never said it, I know that he was sad at the loss of his dear song bird. I thought it was be the end of our interaction for the boy slipped away after the villagers found me and dragged me home, but at my surprise I found him again, 3 days later, collecting acorns to trade with the local squirrel for a feat of climbing. And just as easily I joined him in his imagination and mischiefs forever since. I still hold our trinket from our more innocent days: a cracked rock that shine real bright when you hold it just right in the sun light.

Varg the Wanderer Post Play & MMORPG RPG Text

Reflections on your mother

Mother was a hardy woman, and the bane of my existence. She was keenly on letting me go free as a bird, never do anything to rein me in. Yet when I ask her about every single decisions I have made in my life, she always display a level of disappointment in her words and her eyes, and some days I am unsure whether she resent me or loved me. She love my father deeply, once, I think. But after his death, and the hardship of raising the family by herself grows, that turned to resentment, for my dad is a noble and yet leave his wealth for some distant heir over the far shore instead of the family he been living with since forever. But she raised me nonetheless, and comfortably even. I could never resent her for that. I got a normal life. To be who I am now, a wanderer without home, without wealth or family… It is because of my own temperament.