Social Rank: 7
Concept: Bad Luck Knight
Fealty: Velenosa
Family: Whitewake
Gender: male
Marital Status: single
Age: 30
Birthday: 12/25
Religion: Pantheon
Vocation: Knight
Height: tall
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: whiskey
Skintone: brown

Description: Tall and solid with a sea knight's broad-shouldered, broad-chested strength, there's a rough athleticism and a rugged charm about Zebulon's features. He never tells the same story about how he got the white scar that draws a line up the side of his jaw towards his right eye, but it was probably a disaster. His eyes are bright, a warm, light hue of brown not unlike the glow of firelight off a glass of fine whiskey. His eyebrows are thick and dark, his skin dark brown, his lips full and his teeth very white. There is also a tiny tattoo of a white sea bird in flight just above his left butt cheek, although this is not viewable at first glance except in limited circumstances.

Personality: Shit happens. Usually to Zebulon. He's developed a certain sense of beleaguered resignation about this suffering. He's got the worst luck in the world. Everything he earns, he earns by dint of hard work and keeping his head down. He has a good sense of humor and a finely honed sense of the ridiculous, because he needs it. He likes parties and being entertained and he enjoys people socially but has a general sense of certain doom that follows him whenever nothing bad has happened to him in awhile that can occasionally make him a bit of a downer.

Background: Zebulon is pretty sure it all started with the card game.

There he was, 18 years old, the day after that first shiningly adult birthday, with a brand new commission to the guards of the Countess of the March of Granato. Of course he was going to decide to celebrate, and of course celebrating was going to involve copious amounts of wine and variable levels of being clothed. That's part of what celebrating means in any part of the Lyceum. Somehow he was talked into betting his commission papers in that poker game, and that was the beginning of the end. There may have been incidents of shit going horribly wrong for Zebulon earlier than that, but this one was the doozy, the beginning, the snowball that started the whole godsdamned avalanche.

Suddenly without the future that he'd been so proud to earn by sword and valor, Zebulon wandered drunkenly around the city and ended up falling asleep on a bench. When he woke up, he wasn't sure whether he was hungover or wildly seasick. After a few months of service in the Granato navy, he was pretty sure he wasn't seasick anymore, but that didn't mean anything was going /right/. He served for a few years with only a few minor mishaps to his name -- look, how could it possibly be his fault that the rope slipped and a shipboard trebuchet hit the splintered railing /right there/ and fell into the sea? -- and, despite fortune conspiring against him generally, earned his way up the ranks by force of arms and generally applying himself. It was only when chance was given a hand in his life that disaster beckoned.

As first mate of the Lady's Spear, he led a boarding party in capturing a pirate vessel that had taken noble hostages and managed to sail the prize home to Granato port. The Countess of the March was so pleased she elevated him to the role of a knight, and a knight captain; the prize vessel became his, and so he sailed out under the flag of the Moon's Folly. So, he became Sir Zebulon.

Unfortunately, the knighting ceremony was held aboard the deck of the Folly, and at a comical moment when Marquesa Igniseri was about to finish dubbing him, he was struck by a sliding boom and somehow, through this series of errors, managed to fall off the ship into her wake. So he didn't just become Sir Zebulon. He became Sir Zebulon Whitewake.

As knight-captain of the Countess of the March's third best navyman, however, he still had the opportunity to serve and serve her well for a few years. It wasn't until after she stepped down and became the Dowager Countess of the March that his disastrous luck really struck again, though. See, in the Lyceum, it wasn't so big a deal for the Dowager Countess of the March and one of her knights to engage in a few solid rolls in the hay -- a really delightful, memorable week with a much older lady -- but the thing is, scandal or no, there's something to be said for luck and timing. Zebulon was regaling a few of his boon companions with the raucous tale of their latest amorous encounter when no one other than Emilisia Igniseri walked into the room and walked up behind him and none of those bastards warned him that she was there. (Pro tip: women don't like it when they hear you refer to their breasts as like floppy flapjacks. Learn from Zebulon. He knows now.)

So now, not entirely disgraced but definitely needing to avoid Granato for awhile, Zebulon has been sent to Arx to earn honor for the glory of house and defend the capital and maybe join the Champions. Something is bound to go wrong. He just doesn't know what it is yet.