Name: Michaeli Uso
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Michaeli is not a tall man, at least as far as hyoomins go. On the shorter side of average for men in his land and time, he's never let a lack of height discourage or dissuade him in the least. To the contrary, his size, he would say, makes him more nimble and quicker to act and react than some of his larger and heavier counterparts. He has a lithe build and deft hands, both traits that suit him well. The almost honey-light bleaching of certain strands of brown hair matches his amber eyes. He wears his hair long enough to pull back into a tail but it often loose and carelessly tossed about his shoulders. He is usually clean-shaven because the scruff he can manage to grow is more baby cute than any kind of gruff or charming.
His outfit changes marginally with the weather, but he is easy to spot. Being shipwrecked with little in the way of personal possessions makes a change of wardrobe tricky at best. Michaeli's consists of a full-sleeved shirt, pale slops, a blue cloak with simple golden trim, a pair of very well-worn leather boots and the most outrageously feathered blue blue hat he can maintain. The feathers have often been replaced, but the hat has been with him since his landing and is one of his most-prized possessions to date.
Personality: Charming might be the first word that comes to mind when it comes to Michaeli. He never lets a conversation pass without a kind or flattering word--and often both--for his partners. He often means them sincerely, but he also has a good sense of timing and knows when pretty words might turn the outcome of a negotiation in his favor. He is quick with a smile or a joke, and after several years stranded among the unicorns, he's learned to interpret the humor in their thought-speech very well, so can appreciate a joke told to him as well as keep away from insulting others when he means simply to amuse.
Don't let his friendly demeanor fool you though. He is an outcast and a curiosity in this strange world and he knows it well. He has many acquaintances, but very few he would consider friends. He does not trust easily; he will not offer a true confidence until that trust has been earned. He does his best to bargain fairly when it comes to trading all these goods he'd never experienced before, and expects the same in return. Cheat him in any trade at your own risk. He may not have a unicorn's horn for fighting and defending himself, but he does keep his rapier sharp, just in case.
He has a weakness for games of chance and riddles. Give him the opportunity to obtain something rare by winning at either, and you will make him a happy man.
Where did you come from? Michaeli is--was--the son of a shipwright or shipmaker in Italy. He was born in 1564 in Cagliari, Sardinia, the second son and middle child of a craft-and-tradesman's family. He had no complaints growing up, other than that he was scolded for being greedy when he wanted a second helping of sweets. At the age of seven, he began studying the craft and trade with his father. His older brother had been sent to apprentice with a dyer in trade and so his father's hopes for the family business to continue were pinned squarely on Michaeli's shoulders.
He was an eager and curious student. Yes, of course there were days when he didn't want to get up, didn't want to carry buckets or sharpen tools or practice making just the right join until his knuckles were stiff and his fingertips were full of splinters. No one is happy or content all the time. Still, he studied and he worked and he learned. He grew upand was allowed to learn new techniques. He accompanied his father to meet with other master craftsmen and picked up new and different tips by eavesdropping on their conversations. And then, at 18, his life turned upside down. At 18, and learned enough to be trusted with significan projects on his own (though his father still oversaw them and had final say on whehter they were good enough, Michaeli was introduced to the pretty young woman who would become his wife.
Sofia was delicate and well-mannered. She was clever and well-spoken, or so he bragged after only a few appointments and chaperoned meetings with her. She was younger, 16, but he was convinced that she would grow up to be every bit the helpmate and support that his mother had always been to his father. Being told that he should stay away from flirtations wasn't nearly such a bother when he knew he would be going home to Sofia at the end of long day's work. They suited one another, they laughed often, and though they had not yet been blessed with a child that would keep her company during Michaeli's abscence, she was thrilled and hopeful for her husband when the decision was made to send him out on a ship (of his own design) to see if he could find people on the islands they thought to be dotted out in deep open water somewhere. People who might have rare goods he could bring back to Cagliari. Things that might make his family wealthy, well-known and well-respected.
It was Sofia who clung to his fingers the longest before he boarded the ship and hers was the last wave Michaeli returned before his ship sailed past the protective arms of the harbor and out of sight.
And how did you get here? One month into the journey, away from home, from his family and any sight of dry land, Michaeli and the crew were contemplating whether they were on a fool's errand and should turn back. Perhaps they had strayed off course, or perhaps there were no islands out here at all. The farther they sailed, the more convinced his crew became that they would eventually be lost. Fear would lead to panic and a panicked crew would be less than useful to him. Perhaps their murmuring was right. Perhaps they should simply turn back, hope to find Cagliari's harbor and start again.
That night, as the sun was setting, a storm formed on the distant horizon and swept toward the ship seemingly against the wind's own direction. In the space of a few moments, a clear sky had gone nearly black and the ocean, previously calm enough to navigate easily, churned so violently that now and then a wave crashed over the deck, threatening to sweep the crew into the now-murky depths. His men prayed. Michaeli prayed, but the storm worsened instead of subsiding, and beneath the roar of each new wave smashing the ship broadsides, he could hear the timbers groan and splinter. It was then he knew that he would not see home, or Sofia, again. He ordered his men to abandon the sinking ship by any means they could find, and some of them did try, cutting the longboat free and tumbling into it as the ship pitched and rolled. Michaeli, though, would stay aboard and go down with the ship. When the spine finally snapped and the ship was torn apart, that was exactly what he did.
Except.
Rather than drowning as he expected he might, he woke up on the rocky shore of what he thought to be one of the very islands he'd been sailing to find. He could not have been more wrong. Fortunately, he had not been spat out far from Dorrala, and after a few confused and exhausted days of wandering, he stumbled into Dorrala, caught sight of a unicorn, and fainted on the spot.
When he woke to find that he'd been dragged to a bed of soft grasses, that water had been offered and, more importantly, that he was alive--or seemed alive, at least--he prayed again.
What do you have to offer? In the five years since coming to Rammalin, Michaeli has come to accept that this is his life -- or his sentence for a life lived imperfectly and therefore his penance. Once he adjusted to the unicorn's method of communication, and how to express himself in return, he took up his father's trade. No, he doesn't build ships anymore--though in theory he could--but he has learned a thing or two about what the unicorns need and want, what is valuable and what they will trade.
Need something? Michaeli probably has it. If he doesn't, he can find someone who does. Have something no one has seen before? Take it to Michaeli to find out what it's worth.
He has kept the sextent that was tied to his belt, but other than his clothing, that's all that remains of the life he knew. Everything else he has found, made or traded for.
