Erik Vargas's page

Erik Vargas has a few happy memories. The smell of green plants after a spring rain; warm sunlight shining down from a blue sky, cottony white clouds with silver linings drifting languidly on the summer wind; the leaves blazing a myriad colors in an autumn sunset; his mother's voice, telling him stories of heroes of old to lull him to sleep on a cold winter's night.

Mostly he tries not to dwell on them; remembering makes it that much harder to survive in the present.

His memories of his mother, all but the earliest, are of her gaunt and tired as she worked menial jobs in Westcrown to try to feed herself and her son. Of his father he remembers even less, save that he wasn't there. His memories of 'home' are, again in all but the earliest, of a series of progressively shabbier hovels, a slow spiral leading ever further downwards.

Then the downward spiral became a freefall. The earth shook, and the sun hid its face; a Runelord awoke from his slumber and a tyrant slipped his bonds. Work grew scarce, food scarcer still; distant winds brought tales of horrors rising from beneath the earth, of the world burning. The Council of Thieves grew bold and rose to seize Westcrown; the gears of order slipped and ground. Hellknights stepped in, striving to contain the insurgents and restore the rule of law in a world going mad, and Westcrown became a city wracked by guerilla warfare.

It was then that Erik's mother fell ill; it was then that Erik first began to steal, to beg, to pick pockets, in a desperate effort to support them both.

It wasn't enough. Within the year, Erik's mother had passed, leaving him orphaned and homeless.

He survived. He slept wherever he could find, and stole what he needed to feed himself. Sometimes he worked with other children forced into similar situations--there was certainly no shortage of such--but the faces seldom stayed the same for long, as Westcrown had become a dangerous place for street urchins, a place where even a moment's lapse of caution could result in a bad fate.

For several years Erik remained in Westcrown, surviving from day to day by stealing what he needed to live, sleeping on rooftops, in sewers, in any place of even dubious safety--after all, where else was there for him to go? But fortune is a fickle mistress, and eventually his luck seemed to run out, landing him in prison to await the Hellknights' justice.

But the wheels of justice aren't turning quite as swiftly these days--the Hellknights have a great many pressing concerns at the moment. Keeping the Council of Thieves from overrunning them, for one thing; the prosecution and interrogation of those prisoners with ties to the Council, for another. So it is that Erik was left in a quiet cell to wait...

Erik is something of a runt due to years of malnutrition; he's short and lanky, and while he's not quite skin and bones, it's a near thing. His eyes seem too large for his face, his nose just a bit too prominent, his cheeks a bit too gaunt for him to quite be considered handsome. His sandy blond hair has been recently cut, and his skin is pale. The most striking thing about him, though, is the sense of energy about him; he is almost always moving, whether it's doing something with his hands, tapping his feet, or, if the rest of him is still, his eyes will often be moving rapidly, flickering from object to object as if he's trying to see everything around him all at once.

Initially, Erik comes across as wary, watchful, and maybe even a bit skittish; it can be hard for him to really rely on other people, as he's been fending largely for himself for years. While he's making an effort to curb this aspect of his personality, habits learned through years of harsh experience die hard. To those he's more used to, he can be more talkative, and will reveal himself to be something of a joker, fond of witty quips and the occasional prank. He's also prone to playing devil's advocate, often solely for the purpose of throwing the cat amongst the pigeons, though not usually with spiteful or malicious intent.

At heart, he possesses a startlingly strong sense of determination--once he undertakes a challenge, he will keep at it until he either succeeds or falls unconscious... in which case, he will resume trying once he regains consciousness. While he's not averse to changing his methods if it becomes clear that the head-on approach isn't working, he is loathe to admit defeat.

He despises bullies--years of experience on the wrong end of Cheliax's Asmodean philosophy of 'the right of the strong to prey on the weak' has made this something of a sore spot for him, and should he see someone trying to bully someone else, he will often intervene, attempting to draw the ire of the offending party to himself, even if it means taking a beating. While he won't confirm it, it's likely something of this sort that resulted in him being thrown into prison. He also strongly believes in keeping one's word, and would be aghast at the prospect of someone coming to unintended harm through his actions; at this point in his life, he would scoff if someone suggested he had a sense of honor, but it would nonetheless not be an entirely inaccurate description.