Name Wilheim Von Canto ((Waterlogged or Wet) Willy)
Description Wilheim is the only son of the eighth son of the Clan (High Men clan in highland area, think Scottish), tartan below.
His story is given here, in his own words. A lone artist, called River Rider, he is usually found wearing a utilitarian leather kilt, with a shirt or sash of his clan's tartan, always with boots that are soaking wet. Stands 6'4“, 264, burly, with a streak of green hair, usually braided with his black mane, down to his shoulders, clean shaven, and broody looking.
Being of half-fey ancestry (mother was a Fosse-Grim), I would like to have him get a +1 to initiative, quickness, con, and intel when dripping wet, but –1 when dry for more than 30min. As well as an additional –1 for every hour he is dehydrated. Expand to +2 when completely submerged, and can breath water or air.
Wilhelm's story “When it comes down to it, it's really all Grandmas fault. If she hadn't filled mother's head with those thoughts of non-fey races… She looking for allies in the intrigue against the spring court, and would tell my mother, the young, impressionable fosse-grim, of the virtues of the high men. Aye, if Grandmother had kept her mouth shut, she would would have never been so enthralled with dad, when he fell off that log and hit his head. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad she did, or I wouldn't be here. But maybe then I would have actually grown up with my mother, rather than just seeing her in my dreams on mid-winters eve…
You see, Dad was some lord's eighth son or something, and grew up with the huntsmaster, really living in the forest. When it became clear, there was no way he was going to inherit, he set out to make his own way in the world. He started a logging company, harvesting the oaks, aspen, and birch trees from the RoggenForst, and floating them down the river to the Elves in D(whatever it is called).
One day he had been practicing his log rolling and singing a jaunty song, when a pair of Undines, thought it would be fun to bobble the log he was floating on, except when he fell, he bonked his head, and didn't come back up. Well, Mom had been following him for miles, ever since she heard him sing, as he ran around her waterfall, the logs tumbling over it. She loved the sound of his voice, and when she realized that she may never hear it again, she saved his life, and took him home to the Winter Court to meet her mother, and nurse him back to health.
Long story short, they fell in love, but Grandma didn't approve. As a lady in waiting of the Lady Black Fysher, she was looking for allies to help the Lady overthrow the Oakenking. She was not looking for some nameless woodland barbarian, who would draw the king's wrath by chopping down his trees. Sure as graves for a Grimsvald, this drove my parents into each others arms, and they ran off together, living near her waterfall, and had me.
I grew up pretty normally, as Mom didn't talk about the fry realm much, though we visited from time to time, to see her friends, but never her mother. Apparently, in an effort of plausible deniability, grandmother swore that should my mother ever return, she would be forced to serve as her chambermaid, denying her the title of Dame of the Rushing Waters.
When the bad times came, I was just approaching manhood, and for many years, I did not realize what was going on, Mom had gone to visit her best friend, an Undines countess, who she had played with as a young FG, the Countess of the Deep Winding. Dad and I left on a trip to apprentice in his trade. He taught me the ways of the river, all of the river shanties and we had many a good trip, floating down to see the Elves.
When we returned that winter, we expected to see Mom home waiting for us. Instead, there was a pixie named Transluca, who hold us at that the Dame had trapped my mother, and was trying to annul dad's marriage! Since I was obviously a man by this time (almost 16!), I grabbed my log pike and rushed to the door. Dad blocked my way with a sad look in his eye, and said that he must be the one to do defend his marriage and free his bride, it was the way of the fey.
He began to unlock a chest I had never seen before, pulling out swords, daggers, armor, and weapons. He told me, I must stay here, and when I was a man he would send for me. 'But I am a man!', I screamed at him (I admit now, like a child). Suddenly, my own father, swept my legs out from under me, pulled a dagger from his boot, and pressed the dull edge against my throat. He whispered, 'When you can stop someone like me, from doing something like that, then you will be a man.' He reversed the silver blade, threw it into the wood at my feet and walked out of my life forever. With tears of shame and disappointment in my eyes, I pulled at the knife, intent in showing him, how I could handle myself, but it was too deep in the wood floor, and I was not yet strong enough to pull it out. The time I cried, and pulled, and tugged and sobbed, give him the time he needed to slip into the woods and leave no trail…
(As you imagine the preparation montage, and travel shots to Grimsveld, play this song in the background. http://youtu.be/EQTi9GYm1G8)
I trained all that winter, pushing myself to exhaustion, going into town, and getting my ass kicked, teaching myself how to fight from travelers on the river, some of the fey and spirit friends of my mother, as well as the books my father had left me. With no others to share my grief, the books became my friends. In the spring, I travelled to Roggen(whatitsnuts). There I joined a gang of street urchins, and through my size, strength, and determination, became one of the leaders of what eventually became known as the Children's Crusade. I was in the front of our army when the Lords of Grimsveldt stopped us from going through the gate. They radiated power, grace, and poise. I knew, that although I was a man, I was not yet ready to pick a fight on another plane. As I made this realization, it seemed one of the lords, looked me in the eye, and nodded. His look seemed to say, 'A true man know his limits.'. It was then that my muse began to speak to me, and I wrote a song that night, speaking in allegory of a card game, lin-lan pokiir, about knowing when to walk away…
I returned home, and resumed my father's trade, all the while learning about the power inside me, that the Lords and my muse had showed me could be tapped and exploited. The night the earth shook, and the gates slammed shut, I was practicing my magic, and in my concentration, I could hear the voice of my mother screaming as the gate to the fey realm slammed shut.
Eight years have passed, I have learned all I can from the books, the elves, and the river. Each Midwinter's eve, I dream of Mother, who tells me she is proud of me, and tells me how proud Father would be of me.
I head to Roggen, to try to find a way to return to the fey realm, discover my fathers fate, and rescue my mother. Perhaps The Lords could help me, but none have seen them since the gates closed. I work in the lumber mill, keeping the books, and letting my boots dangle in the sluice run as I work. I am constantly leaving wet footprints around, as my heredity requires to be moistened every hour, or I get terrible headaches. The kids all call me Waterlogged Willy, but I know my real name, Wilhelm Von Canto, the River Rider.”
(I envision a fade to black, with some Peter Jackson-esque sweeping shots of New Zealand, upon his horse.)
Beliefs 1. Those who put politics above the welfare of others are not deserving of their birthright. 2. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. 3. The boots you lick today may be connected to the ass you kick tomorrow.
Instincts 1. Fake it 'til you make it. 2. Everyone deserves a chance to live long enough to regret their mistakes. (If close to the killing blow, he will try to knock unconscious.) 3. Allies require fame or imfamy. 4. If it is worth doing, it is worth over-doing.
Special ?Can see the fey realm through musical concentration (think Gregorian Monk Chant)?, but can only receive communication through dreams. Noble on two sides, has the potential to forge a High Men-Fey Alliance.