Lord Percephon Telmar
It may be impossible to know all there is, but that doesn't mean it's not worth trying.
Description: High, stark cheekbones and the hawkish hook of a nose combine to give Percephon a sharp, aggressive look. His eyes are dark and liquid, a deep brown with warmth to it when they catch the light, but seeming black as shadow at other times. His hair is thick, dark auburn curls, ordinarily bound behind him at his nape. Tall and thin with narrow hips and a whisper of the unfinished about his rangy height, there is something elusive and inconsistent about the dark gaze, except when it is sharpened and clarified by his small round-frame glasses.
(His hair, long overdue and in desperate need of a cut, has been trimmed to the nape of his neck. Unfortunately, the fluff of auburn curls at the front now flop forward like a pony's forelock.)
Personality: Percephon is a man of focused intensity when working on a problem, but sometimes has difficulty tracking important details, like 'someone is talking to me right now' or 'it's important to eat food'. Curious to a fault, his thirst for knowledge is linked to his quest for purpose. Because his mind is the sharpest weapon he has, and a far superior one than any he might wield with his arm. His sense of duty and his personal piety are linked to his filial need to compensate for being, you know, the nerdiest noble in all the Oathlands. He cares deeply, but sometimes has difficulty understanding the appropriate way to show his caring. E.g.: 'Look! I've written you a treatise about flowers. It's like a bouquet, but it won't die!'
Background: A nephew of the Duke of Telmar, Percephon began his life as a disappointment. As a baby, he was ill often, collicky and hollering. He wasn't expected to survive, but did so anyway, to become a child that was sickly and lacked the bulwark's strength common for the bloodline of the Telmarch. Yet for all his weak lungs and constant sneezing in certain seasons of the Oathlands, he proved an able student to his tutors, and plunged deep into fact hunting. Even as he grew a little older and stronger, he created problems by not being the kind of son his father would want -- or more importantly, the kind of nephew his uncle would find convenient. It wasn't that duty didn't interest him; he felt a strong, strong pull of duty to the realm and to his family. But the fact is, he was a reed in a family of oaks, a willow in a family of mountains.
Even when he reached adulthood, he was ill often. When he traveled to the capital, he was sick for a week on arrival, which actually put the kibosh on a potential marriage alliance that had been treated for him, as his family had thought they might be able to marry him out to a Velenosa vassal -- why not, the warmer, lusher climes of the south might be good for him, and it would get him out of their hair, and there are worse houses in the Lyceum than the Fidantes -- but what it left him with was the life of a square peg in a round hole. A noble in the capital, of good bloodline, but still, a fish out of water.