- Name: Jakob Larkin
Nickname: Hey you, come back here! Hey you, stop! Hey you!
Age: 16
Social Class: Peasant
Occupation: Pickpocket Indentured Servant Messenger
APPEARANCE
Somewhat square-jawed with a heavy chin and eyebrows that are heavier still, in several years, Jakob could be an attractive man -- assuming, of course, that he managed to eat a bit better. As it is, he is worn lean and sharp, with narrow eyes and an emboldened, challenging edge to his posture. Most days he is wind-chapped and cold, frequently sporting a bloodied lip or a black eye. Dark hair is kept cropped short and ragged, up off of his face. Dark eyes are bright and attentive.
Though orphaned teenager he might be, dressed in ragged and patched clothing under a fairly-fresh coat, one-on-one it's hard for Jakob to garner sympathy, due to the cocky tone of his voice and his obvious unwillingness to indulge in pity. This only fades away when he's trying to milk something out of a stranger.
PERSONALITY
Under no circumstance could one really call Jakob naive, but in his way, he is something of a dreamer. Capable of taking care of himself [mostly], slipping the reins of his status and finding enough food and shelter to keep him alive and unfrozen, he quietly and inwardly burns with frustration, impotently furious when he sees the rich bandying around their goods, as if they deserve them merely from having been born into them.
He is irreverent and sly, cocky and unapologetic, frequently charismatic, balanced with a healthy dose of something vulnerable and fragile. Easily wounded pride. A sharp tongue.
ABILITIES
Alas, Jakob lacks certain skills that could aid in getting him ahead in life. He barely knows which way to point a bow and arrow; he has no skill for snares; animals make him edgy and he them; reading and writing are certainly out of the question. He is a city boy, through and through, and wouldn't last ten minutes in the Blackwood -- so in the city he'll remain.
He does, however, have skills enough to keep him alive. He knows the city like the back of his hand, alleyways and shortcuts, pubs likely to throw out perfectly good food that he could steal. He knows names and faces of shop owners likely to help him out in the heat of trouble.
Add to this nimble fingers, quick legs, and sharp eyes, and his chosen 'profession' comes into clear light. He is an excellent pickpocket.
Of course, this isn't how he bills himself. No. He bills himself on his clear voice and memory, his ability to remember messages and deliver them by voice -- and, of course, the fact that he couldn't read written messages if he wanted to. Message delivered within the hour, two at most. He'll collect his tip at the other end.
Or maybe out of your pocket while you're not paying attention.
HOBBIES
Above all else, Jakob loves food. He loves rich meaty pies and soft flaky pastries, sweets and candies, fried vegetables. The aroma of freshly cooked delicacies draws him in and, on occasion, leads him to waste a bit of coin that could otherwise last him for weeks.
He also loves music. He has some of the voice needed to be a minstrel, and frequently stalks some of the better performers when they appear in pubs or squares, lingering to hear them sing and play. He just lacks the skill with an instrument, and the fine way of talking they seem to cultivate, his own vowels careless, stretched or clipped and decisively poor. So. He doesn't even really dream of that kind of job. He just admires it.
HISTORY & HOME
Jakob's parents were farmers -- hard working and simple, toiling away for a nobleman who grew food in some of the higher-up caves. Jakob himself was destined for a similar life, until a cave-in took out them as well as about eight other farmers in the area.
As an orphan, he was handed off as an indentured servant to a very low-ranking noble, who at least kept him clothed and fed. After years mucking out stables, cleaning, dealing with hunds, and eating their food, he has acquired quite a debt -- one that he could probably never in his life pay off.
Instead of submitting quietly to his fate, Jakob slips the leash and finds his own way living where he can and finding whatever work he can pull off to keep himself alive. When he's caught with his hand in the wrong cookie jar, his punishment is to be nabbed up by the swords and drop him back into his noble family's care, with an addendum added to his debt. Two weeks, maybe three, after he's been soundly whooped, Jakob just breaks away again...
