Timofyr's page

I was trying to express the idea that Timofyr will be a bit of a jack-of-all trades, concentrating on knowledge skills, magic and rogue traits rather than on anything too combat-oriented. It was a mistake to suggest the magus class as part of that line up, I meant "magic" really. He'll stick to bard in terms of levelling up, if you think that best, though as a half-elf he should have preferred classes for two, I believe, which might mean the rogue on occasion. The idea was to give a sense of his character and traits and his preferred development path -- I've never had a character that levelled up more than a couple of times during a PBP before, so am not used to planning in that much depth! My thinking was mainly about the roleplay, not the stats. Sorry for any confusion.

“Timofyr Wilberforce Gaunt the Younger! ’Ark at him, lads! What kind of poncy bloody name is that for a little pipsqueak?” sneered the ringleader, prancing around the circle of jeering boys, waving at them as though he were royalty.

“It happens to be my kind of poncy, bloody name. Please don’t wear it out,” said Timofyr, levering himself up on one arm from the puddle where he’d been knocked. Outwardly, he was calm, but inside he was in absolute turmoil. He wanted so badly to knock Sandru hard enough that the prig would swallow some teeth – indeed, the muscles in his arms twitched with gleeful anticipation at the very thought. “At least it’s not an anagram of 'nude arse'!”

It was only when the others boys in the circle began to laugh in a different way that Sandru realized that he was being mocked. “Why, you little...” and with that, he suddenly raced back to Timofyr’s semi-prone form, and attempted to launch a powerful kick to the younger boy’s midriff. This time, however, Timofyr was better prepared, and caught the oncoming foot in mid-air. He twisted it so sharply that Sandru squealed with pain, even as his body unthinkingly threw itself to one side to correct the sudden change in the alignment of its appendage. Crashing unceremoniously into the selfsame puddle in which Timofyr already sat, Sandru had the misfortune to strike the puddle face first. In a second Timofyr was astride the larger boy’s back, pushing his face into the water. Sandru spluttered first with indignation, and then immediately afterwards because of the effects of inhaling a large portion of puddle.

“Gerroff, you big .... blyuch, mrmphh ... I can’t ... blubbleblubble ... breathe ...”

“Oh, I’m big now, am I?” sneered Timofyr. “I seem to remember being a pipsqueak a second ago. How quickly I must have grown! What’s that? You can’t breathe? Oh dear, that’s bad. I understand breathing is normally considered a vitally important trait of living.” He could hear that the boys around him sniggering with him now: he was winning this battle. “Right, time for a breath then,” he said, lifting Sandru’s head out of the puddle by pulling his hair. Sandru took a great big gasp of air, but almost immediately coughed it straight back out again. He almost sounded like he was going to throw up.

“Let me up, you bastard!” Sandru gasped.

“Now, really. With a name like Timofyr Wilberforce Gaunt the Younger, do you really think for one moment that I’m a bastard? I’d think again if I were you. My family goes back centuries, and I’m the latest in a long line of Gaunts. Are you feeling better? Ready for another swim? OK, take a deep breath...” Sandru did so. Excellent, thought Timofyr, he’s taking commands now, even as he plunged the boy’s head back into the mud. However, Sandru began to buck and twist, and attempted to get his arms into a position where they could thrust him back upright, but Timofyr concentrated on making sure that they were pinned to his sides. In a little while the puddle began to bubble.

“Time for another breath?” asked Timofyr, pulling on the hair again. He had to grab hold slightly more firmly though, because part of the last handful had come away.

“Arggh,” wailed Sandru. “OK. OK. I’m sorry. Really, I am. Get off now...”

“Say please,” responded Timofyr, smugly.

“Please!”

“Ah yes, Sandru, but what guarantee do I have that you’ll not attack me again?”

“I won’t, I promise... just ... get off ... me.” The exertions were beginning to tell, and Timofyr’s weight on his back would have made his breathing more difficult, even without all the water in his lungs. He started to cough again, and the noise was quite incredible.

“A promise is nothing. I want you to swear.”

“I swear!!”

“No, swear properly.”

“I’m always swearing, you bas... moron!” The surrounding gaggle of onlookers began to laugh again.

“No, no, no. Don’t try and be clever. That’s my job. Swear to Sarenrae that you’ll never touch me again.”

“I’ve never heard of him. Which god is that?”

“Well there’s a surprise. The Goddess of Honesty and Healing, and if ever you go back on this, you’ll get ill and die!”

“OK, OK. I swear by ... almighty Sarenrae that I’ll ... never hit you again. There ... satisfied?”

“I believe I am.” Suddenly, Timofyr jumped to his feet and stood a little way off, warily watching his former assailant. Sandru struggled slowly to his feet and began to brush himself down. “I’m wet,” he stated, somewhat slowly and rather obviously.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Most boys have told me you’re the resident tough guy,” Timofyr quipped. Sandru had the decency to laugh, but as the fight was obviously over the crowd began to dissipate.

“That’s a neat trick with the foot thing,” Sandru said.

“A little thing I learnt from my dancing master.”

“Your dancing master?” Sandru could scarcely keep the incredulity out of his voice, but seeing the look in Timofyr’s face swiftly modulated his tone.

“Yes, though not deliberately. He was telling me that my feet weren’t turned out enough in the quadrille I was learning for a ball, and he suddenly grabbed my foot and turned it out for me. I wasn’t ready for it, and I nearly broke my back twisting round. Of course, I fell over too.”

“Do you go to lots of balls up at the palace? That must be amazing...”

“No, not really. This one was in honour of my birthday, so I was allowed to that, but normally I’m not allowed. I’m not old enough.”

“Wow. You’re really lucky.”

“Yes, I know. I could always get you invited to my next one, if you wanted.”

“For sure?!”

“Certainly, if I could tell my father you were my friend.”

“Of course I’m your friend! I’ll have to be now, won’t I? And besides, you’ll need one around here.”

“Why thank you. I think I should like that.”

**************

Sandru and Timofyr did indeed become the best of friends throughout their childhood. However, towards the final year, Gaunt the Elder was suddenly accused of the most heinous crimes, including, most seriously, treason. Being found guilty on all counts not only meant that he lost his own head, but also suffered the disappropriation of his assets, and the disinheritance of all his family. Naturally, this did not bother the old reprobate too much, but Timofyr had only ever considered himself as a nobleman and therefore someone with his entire life mapped out for him, and to discover that suddenly had all of that pulled from underneath him, came as a bit of a shock.

More or less overnight he had to try his hand at something different – and although they’d drifted apart a little once they’d grown up, perhaps becoming a caravan guard like Sandru was just the ticket. He had some useful training, could hold his own in a fight, and more importantly, perhaps his best friend of old would come through for him?

He has been trained in just about everything as the son of a nobleman, and may not easily fit it with the other characters, having a tendency to seem a bit snobby or aloof. However, his heart is in the right place, and he adores *everything* about Sandru: his character, his training, his approach to the world, his ease of relationships, possibly even his looks -- he never thought he'd be able to share the man's life, but as his world has turned over so completely recently, he's re-evaluating where he's at. Probably he's going to be massively multi-classed, with levels of bard, magus and rogue depending on the previous roleplay.