Stefan LeRoi
Race: Imperial, despite the Breton pen name
Age: Late twenties, early thirties, depending on the woman asking him
Eyes: "Dark brown with flecks of green and gold, penetrating into the windows of another's soul"
Yeesh.Hair: "Chestnut brown with-"
Shhh! It's brown, you vainglorious, conceited fop!Physique: Keeps himself in good enough shape to look good naked, but nothing more.
"Well, that's not quite fair, now is it? I'd hardly say that having the body as statuesque and chiseled as mine-"
-growls- Quit interrupting, or I'll reduce the size of your-"I will be silent."
Personality: -points to previous entries-
Skills: Besides interrupting me, and preening in front of a mirror, he's a bard and an author. He holds no skills for blade, magick, or stealth. Hires those skilled enough to do the dirty work for him, and has the coin for it, too.
"I have more skills than you are giving me credit for."
Every time you talk, it's an inch taken off."Well, that's hardly-"
Two inches."Cease!"
Oh look, you're a woman, now."Very funny."
Accompanying parties include mercenaries, the current one being Shiva, the masked stealth mage he'd hired back in Cheydinhal. Stefan has never seen her face, and has never gotten her to say more than a few words to him. he's fine with that, as she knows when to make herself scarce when wooing a potential night-time partner.
"Is that all you have to say about me?!"
Yep."But what about my-"