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Liam "Manzabar"

age | 28
occupation | Barkeep at the Wayfarer, messenger, deliverer, farmhand, fixer-upper, anything that'll earn a few pence.

history ||
Four years ago, Liam washed up on the shores of Sunderland with nothing but the clothes on his back and his name. A fortunate stowaway from a less fortunate merchant vessel, he then charmed his way onto a ship bound for Palisade and was planning to find work, had it not been for the sudden longing that seized him when he caught sight of the distant trees beyond the city. Thanking the captain for his hospitality (and a new pair of boots), Liam set off for the Wardwood. How he survived the journey no one knows, not even him, his memories only a blur of exhaustion and hunger with but one clear recollection of a tree and a red-eyed totem that fell from its highest eaves and conked him in the head. When he finally stumbled haggard and misty-eyed out of the trees, he was at the outskirts of Oldcastle, and it was all he could do to knock on a door and beg for lodging.

The door he knocked on was the Wayfarer's, a tavern that had stood beside the Kingsroad for generations. The person who opened the door was Madge, the cantankerous old innkeeper who was said to be able to break up barfights with her scowl alone, not to mention the axe she kept under the counter. Stingy and no-nonsense, she would have turned him away for his lack of coin but for the totem he still clutched in his hand. A firm believer in the old ways, she saw it for what it was and let its poor owner stay.

A few weeks later, Liam was working the bar for his room and board, and there was a fawn running amidst the tables. Not much has changed since then - Madge's business has grown with a handsome face at the par, Liam's found a home that'll hopefully prove more permanent than his first, and a doe broke up a barfight. But sometimes in the wee hours after the tavern clears and Madge goes to bed, the barkeep drains another pint or three watching the fading embers of the hearthfire with hooded eyes, lost in another time, another place, and an unforgotten sorrow.

appearance |
Taller than average (6'1"), with a mop of dusty blonde hair and grey-blue eyes, Liam's appearance is otherwise defined by his work and his income. He is forever lean with a few odd scrapes or bruises here or there over tanned skin, with said mop of hair tied in a tail at the nape of his neck between Madge's haircuts. The look is finished with a fine coating of dust or sweat or dirt or mud, depending on what work he found at hand, and clothes worn down and sometimes frayed. The only thing that keeps him cleanshaven and affords one the opportunity to find him better dressed is his primary job as a barkeep, which demands some semblance of professionalism (and almost daily dunks in the freezing well water from the yard). In the evenings at the Wayfarer, in the glow of the lamplight with or without beer spectacles, he is handsome, mixing and pouring drinks with deft hands, hefting kegs with an easy strength.

personality |
Chivalrous, easy-going, and overall quite charming, its no wonder Madge kept him as her barkeep. Liam gets along with most everyone and gets his way with them too, when he's of the mind -- there's a sparkle in his eye and a winning sincerity in his manner that'll have you sliding him a tip, or giving him a job. He'd love to have everyone believe he's jests and sunshine all the time, because keeping people happy keeps them from asking too many questions, such as where he was from or why he came to Sunderland or what his last name is. When sunshine fails, he falls to his second option - amnesia (which unfortunately is less convincing than his smiles) but usually gets the job done.

Getting the job done, as it happens, is his speciality. You'll be hard pressed to find someone with such a knack for getting things done, but when it comes to making money (and you can bet he's counting every pence), Liam will do most anything. The one thing he doesn't do is borrow or lend or collect on debts, believing firmly that money between people only breeds ill-will.

It's only rarely that another person will catch a glimpse of the quieter, somber side of Liam, usually reserved for a the hearthfire coals. Sometimes it'll manifest in a shadowed smile, or suddenly hooded gaze, or a surprisingly sharp word and a fist clenched beneath the counter, and when it appears it is gone in an instant, but those who know him well will know there is more to him than he will say.