Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 18, 2010 19:48:44 GMT -5
(Online deities allow that this come out right...)
Name: Faisan nó Balm (previously Croyeux)
Age: 20
Race (Lineage Origin): D’Angeline (Eisheth dominant by his mother/Anael by his father)
Gender: Male
Height: 5’ 7”
Home Province/Country: Eisande/Terre d’Ange
Appearance
Appearance: Faisal keeps long hair pinned back in a simple clasp, which doubles handily for him to twirl the mass of it into a make-shift lover’s knot and out of his way when he works; it’s a shade between brown and very dark auburn red lightening at the tips to truer strawberry blond. He has luminous gray eyes, full of kindness and a deep shyness, kept down and behind the partial cover of very long lashes, fair-to-dark skin, that tans easily in summer, and the long, skilled fingers and loving hands of a chirurgeon. His face is almost always set in serious lines for all the elegant beauty of his features, and as most adepts he's fit and trim.
He rarely speaks out in matters of the House, and while he’s charming (inasmuch as his over-solemn demeanor lets him) to his Patrons, he is almost shy around most other adepts, his soft tenor having only once been heard raised in emotion within the House. He tends to hold very still most of the time, the grace of an adept on both the typical attendances as well as in the medical attentions he offers, and while he smiles often, he rarely laughs, uncomfortable with such open displays of affection from himself. He does love the fosterlings, though, and most clever ones can wrap him around their little fingers like it’s nothing.
History: There is no secret nor misadventure to Faisan’s arrival to House Balm: his parents simply couldn’t afford him.
His Eisandine mother was healer to his father’s sheep and goat herd, and she gladly extended her gift to the rest of the tiny farming community in Eisande, including its children’s runny noses and occasionally its pregnant wives’ birthing woes. At her knee, Faisan learned what his mother would teach him, which given how quickly children of peasants might grow up, was a fair deal. But he was the youngest of three sons and a daughter, and no healer can heal thieves or frightened sheep being run off into the rocks. The middle son, by Elua’s gift and a very, very, very distant claim to nobility from his mother, was accepted to the Cassiline Brotherhood. The daughter was old enough to marry, and joy to her of her husband, or at least better luck. Out of ideas and unwilling to starve their last, even if they did starve themselves, his parents took him to the City and presented Faisan to House Balm when he was six years old. It was on his mother’s gifts, once again, that he was bound to the House. His mother left him one present – her much-loved and well-worn journal.
It is this journal that has kept Faisan’s memories alive, and expanded muchly upon them. His deft fingers can tie flesh together with the most delicate sutures, and he knows how to help most problems of birth with a soothing touch, a steadfast presence, and a strong but careful hand (even if most of the notes in the journal are in reference to sheep. Or horses. But most of the principles, he’s found, apply closely enough, and he’s learned quite a lot as he goes along). His true specialty, however, is to brew philters and teas to take care of minor ailments and common illnesses. He is… not as easy in the other aspect of being an Adept of House Balm, which is why his marque is barely a third done, but he tries his best, and his manners are impeccable, in and out of assignment.
Around his 18th birthday, he got himself into a belated, hopeless crush. He has told no one, and has only made small tokens of his phials and teas to the object of his attention, fortifying draughts to sleep restfully after a night’s hard work, or restoring teas to loosen muscles made to work too long and strongly. What a thing, what an irony, what jokes Elua plays on his children, for a child of Balm to be smitten by a hard adept of Mandrake. If the young man in question has figured out what those small tokens mean, he has kept as quiet as Faisan himself.
The only condition on which he will not budge is that, unless his patron (or patient) is absolutely and critically unable to come to him, he will not leave House Balm. Even running errands to Night’s Doorstep leaves him deeply unsettled, though he admits this to no one, and hides it as well as any adept can hide their true feelings. The truth (known to himself, he confides in no one such things) is very simple: he’s terrified.
When he’d just started his work as an adept, he took on as one of his regular patrons the D’Angeline wife of a minor half-blooded Caerdiccian lordling with a short temper and a long honor. While her health was delicate (or she just didn’t care for her husband’s love of sea-travel and hunting), during her yearly visits to Terre D’Ange the lady flourished under Faisan’s care as healer and adept, and eventually, as such things happen, she found herself carrying her husband’s heir-to-be. Since Faisan was already trusted to her, it seemed only logical to call him when the birthing proved difficult.
It’s never an easy thing to help a frightened first-time mother in trouble (it’s a little easier with humans than with sheep, they don’t always bite and kick), all the more so when her Caerdiccian-raised husband is a thin wall away, pacing, cursing and threatening with one breath, pleading with the other, to every deity and mortal in two countries. Both the lady and the baby girl survived, not in small fact to Faisan’s skill... at which point the husband, being informed of the baby’s gender and quite forgotten of his Terre D’Ange half-heritage, barged in and accused the adept of saddling him with said “useless chit” and called him such things as no Servant of Namaah should be called.
Faisan, thoroughly shocked, finished his care to both his patients and officially reported the man’s verbal assault to the House. The matter was dealt with, discreetly, but thoroughly, and Faisan counted himself satisfied. Thus, when the lady in question begged for a visit, he was naïve enough to accept. Unsurprisingly (to anyone but him, likely), he found himself dealing with her husband, not the lady in question. Whatever was said in that visit, Faisan has never spoken of to a soul: in no uncertain terms, for the dishonor he’d done him, the lordling swore he would one day break every one of Faisan’s fingers.
He’s not coming out of Balm House even if he does ever finish his marque. Because even if he were to protest… what good would it do him after his fingers are broken? Thus he has learned that first lesson, not to complain when the complain is not worth it. The second, to actually say something when it is worth saying, still eludes him.
Approved by: Kerri - thank you
Name: Faisan nó Balm (previously Croyeux)
Age: 20
Race (Lineage Origin): D’Angeline (Eisheth dominant by his mother/Anael by his father)
Gender: Male
Height: 5’ 7”
Home Province/Country: Eisande/Terre d’Ange
Appearance
Appearance: Faisal keeps long hair pinned back in a simple clasp, which doubles handily for him to twirl the mass of it into a make-shift lover’s knot and out of his way when he works; it’s a shade between brown and very dark auburn red lightening at the tips to truer strawberry blond. He has luminous gray eyes, full of kindness and a deep shyness, kept down and behind the partial cover of very long lashes, fair-to-dark skin, that tans easily in summer, and the long, skilled fingers and loving hands of a chirurgeon. His face is almost always set in serious lines for all the elegant beauty of his features, and as most adepts he's fit and trim.
He rarely speaks out in matters of the House, and while he’s charming (inasmuch as his over-solemn demeanor lets him) to his Patrons, he is almost shy around most other adepts, his soft tenor having only once been heard raised in emotion within the House. He tends to hold very still most of the time, the grace of an adept on both the typical attendances as well as in the medical attentions he offers, and while he smiles often, he rarely laughs, uncomfortable with such open displays of affection from himself. He does love the fosterlings, though, and most clever ones can wrap him around their little fingers like it’s nothing.
History: There is no secret nor misadventure to Faisan’s arrival to House Balm: his parents simply couldn’t afford him.
His Eisandine mother was healer to his father’s sheep and goat herd, and she gladly extended her gift to the rest of the tiny farming community in Eisande, including its children’s runny noses and occasionally its pregnant wives’ birthing woes. At her knee, Faisan learned what his mother would teach him, which given how quickly children of peasants might grow up, was a fair deal. But he was the youngest of three sons and a daughter, and no healer can heal thieves or frightened sheep being run off into the rocks. The middle son, by Elua’s gift and a very, very, very distant claim to nobility from his mother, was accepted to the Cassiline Brotherhood. The daughter was old enough to marry, and joy to her of her husband, or at least better luck. Out of ideas and unwilling to starve their last, even if they did starve themselves, his parents took him to the City and presented Faisan to House Balm when he was six years old. It was on his mother’s gifts, once again, that he was bound to the House. His mother left him one present – her much-loved and well-worn journal.
It is this journal that has kept Faisan’s memories alive, and expanded muchly upon them. His deft fingers can tie flesh together with the most delicate sutures, and he knows how to help most problems of birth with a soothing touch, a steadfast presence, and a strong but careful hand (even if most of the notes in the journal are in reference to sheep. Or horses. But most of the principles, he’s found, apply closely enough, and he’s learned quite a lot as he goes along). His true specialty, however, is to brew philters and teas to take care of minor ailments and common illnesses. He is… not as easy in the other aspect of being an Adept of House Balm, which is why his marque is barely a third done, but he tries his best, and his manners are impeccable, in and out of assignment.
Around his 18th birthday, he got himself into a belated, hopeless crush. He has told no one, and has only made small tokens of his phials and teas to the object of his attention, fortifying draughts to sleep restfully after a night’s hard work, or restoring teas to loosen muscles made to work too long and strongly. What a thing, what an irony, what jokes Elua plays on his children, for a child of Balm to be smitten by a hard adept of Mandrake. If the young man in question has figured out what those small tokens mean, he has kept as quiet as Faisan himself.
The only condition on which he will not budge is that, unless his patron (or patient) is absolutely and critically unable to come to him, he will not leave House Balm. Even running errands to Night’s Doorstep leaves him deeply unsettled, though he admits this to no one, and hides it as well as any adept can hide their true feelings. The truth (known to himself, he confides in no one such things) is very simple: he’s terrified.
When he’d just started his work as an adept, he took on as one of his regular patrons the D’Angeline wife of a minor half-blooded Caerdiccian lordling with a short temper and a long honor. While her health was delicate (or she just didn’t care for her husband’s love of sea-travel and hunting), during her yearly visits to Terre D’Ange the lady flourished under Faisan’s care as healer and adept, and eventually, as such things happen, she found herself carrying her husband’s heir-to-be. Since Faisan was already trusted to her, it seemed only logical to call him when the birthing proved difficult.
It’s never an easy thing to help a frightened first-time mother in trouble (it’s a little easier with humans than with sheep, they don’t always bite and kick), all the more so when her Caerdiccian-raised husband is a thin wall away, pacing, cursing and threatening with one breath, pleading with the other, to every deity and mortal in two countries. Both the lady and the baby girl survived, not in small fact to Faisan’s skill... at which point the husband, being informed of the baby’s gender and quite forgotten of his Terre D’Ange half-heritage, barged in and accused the adept of saddling him with said “useless chit” and called him such things as no Servant of Namaah should be called.
Faisan, thoroughly shocked, finished his care to both his patients and officially reported the man’s verbal assault to the House. The matter was dealt with, discreetly, but thoroughly, and Faisan counted himself satisfied. Thus, when the lady in question begged for a visit, he was naïve enough to accept. Unsurprisingly (to anyone but him, likely), he found himself dealing with her husband, not the lady in question. Whatever was said in that visit, Faisan has never spoken of to a soul: in no uncertain terms, for the dishonor he’d done him, the lordling swore he would one day break every one of Faisan’s fingers.
He’s not coming out of Balm House even if he does ever finish his marque. Because even if he were to protest… what good would it do him after his fingers are broken? Thus he has learned that first lesson, not to complain when the complain is not worth it. The second, to actually say something when it is worth saying, still eludes him.
Approved by: Kerri - thank you
