Given Name: Skerr Goodman (believes himself to be "Krondor the Mighty")
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Eye Color: Brown
Hair: Short cropped, brown.
Skin Color: Pale
Height: 183 cm
Physical Description: Of relatively average height and build, Skerr is plain in all ways, almost distinctively so. His skin is clear, his arms and legs are moderate to lean, and his voice is somewhat high pitched and grating, and edged with tension due to a try-hard posh accent.
Personality: Highly megalomanic, the distinctively plain Skerr has delusions of grandeur. He believes himself to be human, and an analysis of the last decade of his life would likely give the perspective of a spoilt child kicked from a rich home – if not for his habit of suddenly vanishing into thin Air at any signs of danger. Prior to his 16th birthday, he has no memory. (The reason behind this is explained in his backstory.)
Despite his extraordinarily ordinary appearance, he rarely goes anywhere without being noticed; People would likely never give him a second glance were it not for his exceedingly loud and grating voice, compulsively drawing attention to himself by crying foul of others and making accusations against those around him.
He is misogynistic, He does not care about who his mother is, but is driven by the desire to gain the approval of his father.
He talks a big game, thinking himself to be the invincible (bastard) son of Thorok the Terrible, a mighty barbarian warrior renowned by all for being unbeaten in battle, and a friend of the dwarves. It is the motivation to find and meet his “father” and gain his approval that drives him.
Skerr is often found starting fights, but is never the one to end them for reasons discussed below in the backstory section. He is, in reality, knocked unconscious with ease by physical blows or pain, due to a low pain threshold and high level of fear, that creates, in part, the insecurity behind his attention seeking behaviour – the other being his unexplained (to himself and those around him) megalomanic tendencies.
Any fact of reality that would contradict his megalomanic beliefs about himself he refuses to accept, to the point of illogical, irrational and fantastical explanations.
Deity Parent: Father Sky
Mortal Parent: Unknown.
Adopted by Lord Rudolph Goodman, a low level noble of Tharlacolf in Sylvia, and his wife Katherine.
He believes his true father to be Thorok the Terrible.
Realm of Origin: Sylvia
Animal Companion: None.
Talents: No true talent, but automatically teleports into the Plane of Air when unconscious (including sleeping), automatically returning to his previous position when consciousness is regained – due to the protective enchantment of the Sky Father.
Weapon: A small steel knife he calls “GodSlayer”.
Flaws: Megalomanic tendencies.
Loud/grating/high-pitched voice.
Insecure - impulsively accuses, insults and challenges men around him, especially warriors and figures of authority.
Unproficient in use of all weapons.
Faints at the first sign of pain.
Drinks more mead than is good for him.
Powers: No powers of his own, but enchanted by Father Sky to have the trait of vanishing into the Plane of Air for the duration of unconsciousness.
Backstory:
Forgotten segment: Skerr is the son of Father Sky, but by his 16th birthday, Father Sky observed that he had no powers of any apparent nature, and would be out of place in the Plane of Air. For this reason, Father Sky wiped his memory and left him in the care of Lord Rudolph Goodman, who was honoured to take on such a task, and neither he nor his wife informed him nor anyone else of his origins, telling others that he was an orphaned street boy who they took in in good faith.
His megalomania is the result of the remaining subconscious knowledge that he is descended of great power.
Not wanting to leave him without any blessing or protection, Father Sky enchanted him, giving him the trait to vanish into his reserved bedroom in Father Sky's abode in the Plane of Air for the duration of his unconsciousness, returning to his original position upon awakening. He also reduced his pain threshold to such a degree that even slight pain would make him faint, as a method of protection for his son.
Remembered segment: His earliest memory is of waking up in a bed with his adopted father and mother by his side, telling him of nasty fall that caused him to hit his head, and that it was this that caused him to lose his memory. They explained to him the cover story of his orphaning and adoption. For eight years, he was discontent with the explanation, but accepted it nonetheless, until one night, Lord Rudolph was honoured with the presence of a famous bard in his home. The bard told tales of Thorok the Terrible, the barbarian warrior in Scolpulous, and his fabled bastard son that he left in Sylvia on a visit, Krondor the Mighty. From this and his delusions of power, Skerr decided that he must be that lost son, and began insisting that others call him Krondor. Over the course of a few weeks, this rejection of his adopted heritage caused much tension in the Goodman household, and he ran away to find who he believed to be his true father.
The previous two years had been spent using his ability to disappear upon any level of beating or pain to do petty thievery, saving up enough money to make the travel to Scolpulous. This took a long time, due to his tendency to spend any coin on mead in taverns, loudly boasting of his supposed parentage, and starting many a fight from which he would quickly vanish. This gained Skerr something of a reputation as Krondor as being a mage of some description, and a coward, which simply intensified his boasting due to insecurity and determination to find his father.
At the age of 26, he finally has enough coin to start off on his journey...
RP Example:
Skerr continued, a slur in his quavery voice “-and then, hic, Thorok, who is my father,”
“As you have stated many a tiresome time now, friend.” the large man next to him at the filthy bar interjected dryly, his patience at Skerr's persistent and repetitive stories obviously wearing thin.
“Well he is!” Skerr snapped with another stifled hiccough.
“That is yet to be seen.” The man stated in a flat tone, his eyes boredly fixed on the wall across from the serving bar. He slouched, resting his elbows on the bench, his hands fixed in the same manner as his eyes around the tankard held against his lip.
“What, hic, are you implying, 'friend'”? Skerr said, turning toward him clumsily with barely contained anger.
The bartender slowly put down the cup he was washing, and narrowed his eyes at the pair.
“Perhaps you two lads should take this outside.”, he said, his suggestion a thinly veiled command.
“No need.” The burly man waved away the notion, “This sewer rat has a bark far bigger than his bite. He's found in bars more often than not, and even more often letting his chin drop more freely than his mother's skirt.”
Skerr had no fondness for his mother, but it was as good enough an excuse as any to prove his strength to this obviously inferior foe. He stepped up, drawing back his fist in rage, which was caught behind him by the bartender, who was suddenly over his side of the bar and behind him, pinning his arm behind his back.
“Aye, lad. It's definitely time for you to go.”, the man grunted, dragging him toward the door. Skerr protested half heartedly, his dizziness preventing any real resistance. Before he knew what had hit him, he landed promptly on his rear on the cold cobblestone road outside. Muttering to himself, he picked himself up and dusted off his thighs, somewhat indignant and he stumbled into the alley behind the tavern, the contents of his belly preparing to make an encore appearance.
When finished in the alley, Skerr returned to the street, and spotted a familiar figure, recognising his drinking mate from the bar. He vaguely remembered that he had some reason to fight the man, and quickened his unsteady pace to catch the man. When an arms length away, he drew back his arm again to strike the man in the back, this time succeeding in flinging it forward to land a heavy blow. The man staggered forward slightly, before spinning around with a sledgehammer fist instead, catching Skerr in the head and sending him sprawling. As it had so many times before, his vision went black, then white, before his mind drifted off to places unknown.
When Skerr awoke to the cold floor below him, he was still warm, in just small part due to the fact that the sun had arisen, and the man from the previous night was gone.
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Subject: Skerr Goodman 
Thu Sep 12, 2013 4:26 am
