"What does a Philosopher, a Holy Man, a King, and a God have in common?"
Sheba Voermann
The Corrupted Ambition
DetailsFull Name: Sheba Voerman
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 21
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 130 lbs
Birthdate:
Birthplace:
Profession: Courtesan
Housing:
Partners:
Titles:
Factions:
Fluencies: Two Fluent Languages
Conversationals: None
Ineptitudes: None
Appearance
Personality
Sheba is a creature comprised of three lessons.
The lesson of the snake:
Drawn to the warmth of Man, Sheba understands the dangers of those that surround them. Understanding that all are harboring innate venom and poison. One must, at all costs, create both within their person, or risk being killed at the hands of the very saccharine half-whispers that they employ. A weapon is both deadly to others, and its user.
The lesson of the wolf:
Territory and position is something that must be constantly fought for. Those at the head of the Pack must always employ prowess and power, lest they fall the moment their position is contested. Sheba understand that for them to rise, another must fall from their seat. However, power, should never breed complacency.
The lesson of the fox:
Sheba understands that cunning and social graces is the only thing that has any lasting value. Power is kept by despots by fear. Alliances are formed out of common enemies and trust. Tribes dance to the tune of the one playing the drums. There is always a hierarchy, one that must be understood, dissected, but more importantly: Climbed.
Sheba is, in both standing and morals, a bastard. While not malicious, Sheba is not a force for benevolence. Instead, they follow personal guidelines as a stand-in for societal mores.
History
"Every inch of my flesh is my own. Every breath I take belongs to me. You may possess my body for a time, but you will never own me."
I was left for dead. As a brat, I was discarded like a peasant's dream of literacy. The rumor is that I was born as a result of a minor Lordling falling in love with a commoner: A mistake.
You would think that a hemp sack being tossed in a river was enough. Then perhaps we'd be spared this droll conversation. But no, a Cobbler's wife plucked me from the leech-infested waters. What she was doing anywhere near she found me, I don't know. But she became my mother, nonetheless.
The funny thing about commoners, is that no-one expects anything from them. There's no expectations of bloodlines, no expectations of marrying for political gain. They're expected to be raised as levies, and provide their Lords with enough goods to make the velvet-wearers fat and complacent.
My mother, for what good she did me between the beatings, taught me that this 'natural order' was something that could be easily subverted.
My brothers were taught how to make shoes. My sisters were taught how to sew. But myself? I was shown a new way to live life. To struggle against this lot in life that nature cursed me with. I was taught how to make myself small, how to hide and keep quiet enough to be overlooked. How to lie and cheat my way into getting what I want.
When I became of age, I was summarily tossed out of the house. I don't particularly blame them: a thieving whore would only drag down the business. And that decision, was just business.
I fought many hard nights to get where I am. Plying what little tricks I had: conning dames, stealing from gentlemen, and stepping on the toes of every dogfaced thief I could. I knew better than to think that a night of starving was better than risking it all in an attempt to get a full meal.
When the local barmaid died from cholera, I took her place.
When the tavernkeep had a hole in his heart, I filled it.
When the patrons had needs and the coin, I provided services.
But once I started warming the beds of Gentrymen, my pockets began to fill. My face suddenly had powder to press to it. My lies began to bleed together, yet my lips remained sealed. I learned to shut my mouth, and provide the fantasy of connection.
So here I am. Living. Plying my trade.
What else did you expect?