Horatio A. Aldebrandt's page

Horatio was born in Korvosa to Chelish parents. Though his upbringing was poor, he was a happy child, and well looked-after. By the time he was eight years old, he had developed a striking personality, always eager to please, and always honest. For his ninth birthday, his parents took him to a symphony at the theater, and it was there that the young Horatio found his passion.

He'd heard music before, of course. The family had eaten at inns before, and he'd heard the lutes, the flutes, and the fiddles. But the scratchings hadn't ever touched him the way the symphony had. The drums echoed his own heartbeat, the harps sounded like angels singing, and the violins - it was the violins that moved him most of all. Their golden notes sounded like pure happiness in musical form, and even to this day, when he closes his eyes, it's those violins he hears.

From that day forward, Horatio dreamed of becoming a musician. His parents humored him by buying him a small flute, but he couldn't take to it. They tried buying him small drums, but he didn't have the partience for them. He tried singing and dancing, but while passable, neither filled him with the joy he'd felt at the theater. Finally, when he turned twelve, his parents bought him a violin, and he took to it immediately.

His aptitude for the instrument led him to performing on street corners. When he gathered enough attention on the streets, he began performing in taverns. By the time he was sixteen, he'd played in almost every tavern across Korvosa at some point or other, and by the time he was eighteen, he'd also developed a reputation as quite a bit of a charmer.

It was around this time that he met Flynn, a young actor and dancer. The two quickly became lovers, and were inseperable - composing masterpieces together, living together, supporting each other's hopes and dreams. They were together a year before Horatio discovered Flynn was addicted to Shiver.

Horatio tried everything to get Flynn off the drug, even going so far as to spend all his hard-earned coin hiring healers from the temple of Abadar, hoping they could help. It was no use, and six months after Horatio's discovery, Flynn died of an overdose.

Distraight, Horatio moved back in with his parents, and didn't leave the house for weeks. When he did, it was only to perform. He'd been changed - he threw himself so completely into the one dream he had left, it turned him arrogant and selfish. He gave coin to his parents to cover the rent, helping them move into a better district, but he did little for himself. He flirted and drank and worked for his dream.

When he finally managed to secure an audition to perform at the Korvosan Amphitheater, he performed better than he had in his entire life. Which is why he was so amazed when he was turned down. Furious, he demanded to know why, and was told that he was simply too arrogant for the Korvosan stage. That while he had remarkable talent, he had too high an opinion of himself - and that attitude would never get him far in an orchestra.

Distraught, Horatio packed his belongings and left Korvosa, bidding farewell to his parents, to a city of grey walls and greyer skies. He found his way onto a caravan to Magnimar; found trouble in Magnimar; joined anotehr caravan heading elsewhere. Now he finds himself headed to Taldor, to Belhaim, to a place he's never heard of. All he can hope is that his quick fingers and silver tongue will serve him well.

Horatio’s most distinguishing personality characteristic is his charm. Picked up from years of performing in taverns and learning what people want, it practically oozes from him, and he takes advantage of it. A smile, a slow wink, a subtle sway of the hips or a gentle brush of fingers against cheek – all are tools to him, to help him get what he wants.

As for what he wants? More often than not, it tends to be company for the night. Having only been in one serious relationship, which in itself was rather open to other avenues, Horatio is a connoisseur of pleasures of the flesh, more than happy, even eager, to indulge in one-night stands and flings as he fancies. However, having fallen foolishly more than once, he has no desire to break any hearts – if he only wants company for one night, he’ll be honest about it, and while he has been turned down as a result, he feels it’s better to spend the night alone than hurt someone in that way.

Another cause of his promiscuity is the manner in which his last relationship ended – death. Losing someone he loved has led Horatio to close himself off emotionally, satisfying his body with one-night stands, but guarding his heart and soul out of fear of suffering such loss again. Fear is something he refuses to admit to, hiding his fear behind false bravado and arrogance – a trait he bitterly thanks his father (a strong Chelaxian man) for, for bringing him up to teach him that men don’t show pain, or fear, and that men never, ever cry.

Years of performing in taverns and charming his way into other people’s beds has taught Horatio the value of a silvered tongue. He knows how to word things for his own benefit, and how to twist truths to make his stories plausible. Most importantly, he knows how to be diplomatic when the occasion calls for it, as he has had to talk his way out a sticky situation more than once.

On the outside, his charm, arrogance, and promiscuity blend together, painting him as a carefree rake – and it’s an image he’ll happily wear. Because underneath, he’s far more complex, and he doesn’t want anyone to see past the (admittedly truthful) image he’s crafted for himself. A performer needs a persona, after all.

Firstly, the fear. The fear of losing someone. The fear of having everything you loved most dearly taken away from you, stemming from losing a lover to something he was powerless to stop.

The anxiety – the feeling his father drummed into him, teaching him to fight and fence so he could defend himself from “moths and impers”, and the way that it scares him, because it reminds him that not all problems can be solved with a dashing smile and some well-placed words.

The nightmares – the spider-filled terrors that haunt his sleep, snatching him awake on lonely nights, nightmares of spiders and shiver, nightmares brought on by his loss.

The passion for music, the desire that drives him onward – his dream to compose masterpieces that will be played for years after his own death, to play on the largest stages of the world.

Despite the arrogance, the oozing charm (those less kind would call it sleaze), the bouts of depression, and the fear of letting anyone see him for who he truly is, Horatio isn’t a bad person. He’s friendly, and likeable, and quick to smile and laugh. He’s quick to share a drink (like any Caileanite worth their salt) and quick to strike up a tune if the mood seems low, either by playing the violin in such ways as to make grown men weep, or by bursting suddenly into song. He prefers songs in the Skald or Varisian tongues (both of which he picked up in Korvosa), loving the difference between the one, harsh and guttural, and the other, graceful and weaving.

Sometimes, when moved by music or other forms of beauty, his carefree mask slips aside for a few moments, revealing the sensitive soul he’s always been. Every now and then, one might catch glimpses of who he really is – a young man, prone to melancholy, who’s suffered a great loss; a young man who’s now far from home and missing it terribly. But he’ll brush off any attempts to pierce his facade, laughing it off, drowning it with music or drink – he’s decided it’s better to be thought of as shallow, than to risk facing that loss again.

Horatio stands about six feet tall, with long back hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, and deep green eyes. His features are smooth, just strong enough to be considered masculine, but not strong enough to detract from the fact that he is, after all, a beautiful man. He knows he's attractive, and dresses to flatter his figure - heels on his boots to lengthen his legs, snug leather breeches, a shirt that hangs open at the chest - in short, he dresses the part of a performer, of one who expects to attract attention wherever he goes. His armour, when he wears it, is studded leather - snug, allowing movement, and easy to get off in a hurry. He carries himself with a smile and a certain grace, and not without a hint of his arrogance coming through.