Name:
William Alaric Brewer II
“Please, just call me Alaric. Or Alar if you must. William Brewer is my father.”
Age:
26
Gender:
Male
Role (and profession):
Soldier (Guard)
His family trade, however, is wine making. The vineyard was inherited from his first cousins, who are now deceased.
What is your experience with this role?:
Having grown up in a middle-class household, Alaric was eligible to, and heavily “encouraged” by his father to, enlist when he was only 21. While not the best of the bunch, he was a rather admirable student and his skills earned him a spot amongst the prince's private guards. Or, well, that’s his title anyways. In reality, he just stands in a corridor that’s relatively close to the prince’s chambers.
Alaric packed up everything when he left for the castle and he hasn’t looked back since. Not because guarding a boring old hallway is his dream profession, but because he fears that if he digs too deep into those lingering doubts, he’ll have to confront the fact that he never wanted to be a soldier boy in the first place. His mother, as doting as she was, never quite had time for their eldest son, and his father saw him more as a legacy to mold than the child he actually was.
His youth was lost to training, day in and day out, until his hands bled and his feet swelled with blisters. While the other boys of the village, even his younger siblings, screamed and played in the streets, Alaric was out back with his father, getting the snot beat out of him with a wooden sword or abandoned in the woods and told to find his way home. “It builds character”, his father claimed. The only thing it really built in Alaric was an extreme fear of being left for dead and a growing weariness towards the man who sired him.
Being placed as a castle guard was a blessing in disguise, honestly. He never has to go into battle and he’s finally safe from the overwhelming expectations of his parents. It also doesn’t hurt that the hefty dowry he receives mostly empties into the support funds for his family.
When things go south and the rebellion rises, he of all people is chosen to accompany the youngest prince. Alaric is thrown onto the road, far from his family and even further out of his comfort zone…
And he kind of likes it.
What do you think about the uprising?
Honestly? The rebellion scares him and it’s even worse now that he’s officially become a target in this whole game of cat and mouse. Being a prince’s chauffeur is bad enough on a normal day, but now that half of the kingdom wants the boy he’s protecting, and everyone who’s helping him for that matter, dead? It makes him regret not running away into the woods when he was a lad. At least then he knew the fate he faced would either be starvation or death by wild beast. Here? He isn’t sure what’s going to happen to him, to any of them, and god if that thought isn’t terrifying.
He doesn’t think what the rebellion is fighting for is bad. The exact opposite, actually. After all, who wouldn’t be at least a bit angry living in such depressing conditions? However, he is saddened and rather intimidated by just how quickly their citizens resorted to bloodshed over anything else to receive their justice. He won’t run away, Alaric is in far too deep to ever consider it, but sometimes he wishes he’d been just a little less eager when asked to accompany this mission.
What do you think about the king?
Alaric’s loyalty to the crown, while genuine, is bred from decades of being groomed to adore the monarchy. His father is a true loyalist to the king and Alaric, with no other opinions to base his own on, follows along full-heartedly. He holds great respect for figures of authority, with him being a soldier and what not, and carries a sense of duty towards the royal family.
Weapon:
Alaric carries a trusty rondel dagger that was gifted to him by his mentor. The steel blade is long and slim, tapering to a needle-like point, and the rounded leather handle is worn from years of use. The dagger, while not being sharpened or used, rests sheathed at his hip, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.
Appearance:
Alaric is a Silver Spangled Hamburg, weighing 5 lbs with a height of 22 inches, which is about average for his breed. He’s a bit smaller than the others, but fast, and the way he carries himself is almost elegant to watch. His body is long and slender, with wide, flat shoulders, and a well-rounded breast. Alaric’s plumage is snowy white, with spangled, V-shaped, black spots smothering the feathers. In contrast, his long, sweeping tail is solid in color, with spangles just barely decorating the tips. His neck is rather similar to his tail, with pure white feathers flattened down towards his breast. His coloration is a bit brassy from spending hours of his days on a sunlit road, but he, and plenty of others, still find them lovely, nonetheless.
Alaric’s wings are large and neatly tucked, painted the same pattern as his body. The sleek feathers and grand size allow him to fly for short periods but aren’t quite hefty enough to keep him in the air for long. He abuses the strength of his wings often, jumping up into trees to rest at night or simply to have a nice view when it’s his turn to scout. He prefers being up in the air and will often pass the time gliding from branch to branch or leaping over pits to keep his flight muscles in shape.
Alaric’s beak is rather short, curved, and dark, with a slight chip on the front from a fencing accident that has long since healed. His pale blue legs are lean and featherless, ending in small, yet sharp, talons. Sharp, reddish bay eyes peek out from below his magnificent, red rose comb. Pure white earlobes blend in with his plumage and his bright, well-rounded wattle contrasts nicely with his otherwise monochromatic coloration.
Normally, Alaric’s outfit consists of his guards uniform- A simple poet's shirt and leggings, dyed to his nation’s colors, with chainmail over the top. He never had much need to dress very adventurously, seeing as his armor hid his clothes from the prying eye. Now that they’re on the run, however, he’s able to dress a little more freely than before. A white, long-sleeved tunic, overlapped with a green vest, covers his chest. Above that, drapes a short, dark in color cloak, with a hood fashioned to the back. A single plain brooch fastens the material around his shoulders, keeping it in place without the need for string ties. His pants are made of brown linen, with a small hole cut out in the back for his tail to comfortably slip through. A belt also wraps around his waist, supporting his trousers and serving as a place to loop his dagger sheath and whetstone.
Alaric takes pride in his appearance, a trait that was passed down to him by his mother. He likes to keep himself well-groomed, not just for upkeep, but also to show off slightly in that prideful way chickens tend to be.
Personality:
Alaric is, well… Depending on your envisionment of a knight, he either isn't or is exactly what you'd expect one to be like. He isn’t gruff or made weary by decades of bloodshed and war, nor is he boastful and proud with a dozen victories under his belt, he’s just a trainee, still hopeful, and a tad bit nervous, in his youth.
He's a rather kind individual, often going out of his way to help others, and loyal to a fault. He gives freely and expects very little in return- not because he's selfless or was taught good mannerisms as a chick, but because that's just what he's come to expect from the world. He can often come across as a rather introverted lad, outwardly meek, with a sort of chickish charm. He won’t go out of his way to make friends, but after spending enough time with a group of people, he’s bound to open up more and gain confidence around them. His social life has been rather pitiful as of late and it doesn’t help that he’s stressed, under pressure, and uncertain of where to go next. At this point he’d welcome any figure of comfort that comes his way.
Having been raised in a chaotic household with dozens of bratty kids, Alaric doesn’t deal well with long stretches of silence and he’ll do his best to fill them whenever he can. He’s a nervous talker, always carrying on conversations with himself or blabbering absently at anyone nearby, and he’ll chat your ear off about any and everything if given the chance. He’s highly opinionated about just about anything, and he’s not afraid to voice his thoughts. However, he’s also painfully aware of when he should keep certain views to himself, and he can clam up rather quickly if someone delves into a topic he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing.
Alaric has picked up many skills throughout his life, but by far the ones that have stuck with him the best are close combat and wilderness survival. In retrospect, those years spent wandering the woods as a child had done some good for him after all. Over time he has grown into a proficient forager and pathfinder, able to pick out edible or medicinal herbs and fungi and also skilled enough to locate the nearest clean water source with relative ease. He is able to, and usually even prefers to, scavenge for his own food, as it leaves him feeling accomplished and less of a burden on those around him.
Alaric is often described as a wild spirit by those who know him best. He’s a rather active young rooster who loves to spread his wings, roam about, and explore every inch of the land. Somedays, it almost seems like Alaric was made to conquer the outdoors, with his boundless energy and jaunty attitude. The lessons learned from his father's teachings, as unconventional as the man’s methods were, have stuck with him through the years, allowing him to thrive in a setting far from the reach of society. Similarly, he’s a highly spirited fighter, and while he’s certainly not the best in the league, he knows enough to run a chicken through if he needs to.
Affiliations:
The Other Guards-
The Eldest Prince- (Brief/Impersonal)
Open-
Family:
William Emil Brewer
William Brewer is Alaric’s father, who recently became the heir of their family’s winery. Having been unable to join the army, he pushes his dream on his eldest son instead.
Ursula May Brewer
Ursula Brewer is Alaric’s mother. She is the daughter of a weaver, previously living as a peasant before she was married off to his father Will.
Clutch One:
Having been conceived and born on the road, most of the first clutch, having been rather small already, didn’t make it past year one. Because of several delays, Ursula and William were unable to reach a village before their first children were born. With the poor road conditions, lack of supplies, and nasty weather, half of the clutch didn’t make it through the first night, and those that did were rather sickly for the rest of the journey. Alaric, one of three that made it home, and the only one who was able to withstand the illness, was the lone survivor.
Clutch Two:
After the heartbreak of their first clutch, William was determined to try again, and even if Ursula took some time to come around to it, she reluctantly agreed. Five years later they had their second clutch, this time a healthy set of nonuplets. The pair were ecstatic, as was Alaric, who hadn’t had a proper sibling up until just then. Money had built up over the years with only a single child in the house and the family had more than enough funds to care for the little ones, even if it was difficult with only their young boy to help out. They were able to hire a few servants as nannies, a pair named Petra and Agnes, to help out with the children while their mother busied herself with the household chores. By the time Alaric left for the castle, his siblings were just shy of leaving the home.
Clutch Three:
While it’s a bit unruly for families of their classes to have more than a clutch or two, their home and their hearts still felt like it was missing something. This time they managed a clutch of ten, primarily of girls, but healthy all the same. One egg never hatched, sadly, but with so many little ones running about it was difficult to stay upset. Their large house was livelier than ever, both ma and pa, and the servants having their hands full. Thankfully, Alaric was well into his training during this time, so he didn’t have to deal with a bunch of newborn babies. By the time he left for the castle, his siblings in this clutch were just nearing toddler age, many of whom he hasn’t even met yet.
Other:
This is written for a chicken roleplay, if you couldn't tell. Probably never going to use him again, but I might take scraps from him to build some new characters later on.
Fall 
Night 
Heavy Rain Moon: 
