|
Unregistered
|
[align=center] Nicholas Carew

* lyrics describing your character here .
For this, I've gone with The Verve, and "Lucky Man".
Happiness More or less It's just a change in me Something in my liberty Oh, my, my Happiness Coming and going I watch you look at me Watch my fever growing I know just where I am
But how many corners do I have to turn? How many times do I have to learn All the love I have is in my mind?
Well, I'm a lucky man With fire in my hands
Happiness Something in my own place I'm standing naked Smiling, I feel no disgrace With who I am
Happiness Coming and going I watch you look at me Watch my fever growing I know just who I am
But how many corners do I have to turn? How many times do I have to learn All the love I have is in my mind?
I hope you understand I hope you understand
Gotta love that'll never die
Happiness More or less It's just a change in me Something in my liberty Happiness Coming and going I watch you look at me Watch my fever growing I know Oh, my, my
Gotta love that'll never die Gotta love that'll never die No, no I'm a lucky man
It's just a change in me Something in my liberty It's just a change in me Something in my liberty It's just a change in me Something in my liberty Oh, my, my Oh, my, my It's just a change in me Something in my liberty Oh, my, my Oh, my, my
HEY THERE. THE NAME IS Hannah, AND I AM old enough to know better. I'VE BEEN ROLEPLAYING FOR ABOUT One year AND MY OTHER CHARACTERS WOULD BE Thomas Cromwell (on a Live Journal group). I FOUND FKAC AT The Elite list. OH, BY THE WAY, I READ THE RULES. WANT PROOF? THE CODE WORD IS CODE WORD HERE WANT TO REACH ME? HERE'S MY IM: littlebabynothing5@hotmail.com
[/align]- - - - - Full Name,Nicholas Carew
- - - - Title, Sir - - - - Gender, Male - - - - Sexuality, Heterosexual, but open to experimentation. - - - - Age, Born in 1490, he is 22, now. - - - - Place at Court, An Esquire of the Body to King Henry VIII. - - - - PB (Play-By), Who is the face of your character? Clive Owen, at the moment. That can change if it is inappropriate.
[align=center] [/align]- - - - - Loves,
Jousting, Hunting, Dancing, Ladies, Chivalry, Hawking, Cards and gambling, Serving the King, Horses, Sword play, Feasting/Celebrations/Masques etc All things French
- - - - Loathes, Commoners, Treachery, Cowardice, Thomas Wolsey, Reformers/Lutherans, Infringements upon his rights, Love rivals, Germans, Infidels, Spaniards.
- - - - Strengths, Level headed and even tempered, Bravery and iron courage, Literate and academic Strong willed, and gets things done.
- - - - Weaknesses, Fear of failure, Acquisitiveness, Prone to overreaching himself, Recklessness, Single minded, Chauvanistic, Over familiar with his social superiors, Resistant to change, Overbearing, Can make rash decisions. Will never practise what he preaches. Stubbornness. Although a Francophile, he can be intolerant of other cultures. So, mildly xenophobic.
- - - - Dreams, Carew's dream is to be inducted into the Order of the Garter. To uphold the Knight's code to the letter, and excel in his knightly duties. Including going on Crusade to the Holy Lands.
- - - - Fears, Banishment from court, Disdain and rejection, Losing his head, Foriegn invasion, Military failure, Being forced into a loveless marraige, even though he fullly expects it.
- - - - Overall Personality, Overall, Carew seeks to personify the ideals of his age. He is gallant, chivalrous, and excells in the Tilt yard and Jousts. He is constantly active, and always on the move. Fiercely fit, and conscious of keeping himself in that condition.
He attends to his soul, and is conventionally pious (one of his aims is to mount a Crusade). However, he still knows how to have a good time. He'll be the first to volunteer for masques, plays and revels. He'll bet on anything, and loves to take a risk.
Above all virtues, he values loyalty above all others. But, he still is not afraid to step on a few toes himself, if the occaision calls for it. If someone does the same to him, he does not forgive, and does not forget. Although neccessarily strong willed, his headstrong personality can lead him into trouble and he won't back down from a fight, no matter how high the odds against him.
He loves to throw a party. His hunting parties are frequent, and lavish. However, he can enjoy himself a little too much from time to time. His lifestyle has left him exposed to charges of debauchery and licentiousness.
He has a wide circle of friends, and is generally well liked. But, his headstrong, forceful nature has made him no shortage of enemies in high places. However, so long as he cultivates the King's good graces, he does not fear them.
[align=center] [/align]- - - - - Family Members,
His father is Sir Richard Carew, His mother is Anne Carew. His marraige to Elizabeth Bryan produced two children, Anne and Francis.
- - - - Overall History, Born in 1490, Nicholas Carew was the son of Sir Richard, and Lady Anne Carew. He spent the first six years of his life at the family manor house in Berkshire, alongside his older brother, John. It was at the family home that Nicholas began his early schooling. Carew applied himself to his studies, but only enough to get him through the rigorous curriculum. Even at this early age, it was obvious that Nicholas's true talents lay in more physical, outdoor pursuits. As with all boys of his era, he was able to sit astride a Destrier horse before he could even walk properly. By the time he was eight years old, he was considered to be a highly talented horseman, and took readily to all equestrian pursuit.
As soon as he reached the age of six, Nicholas was sent to court to serve in the household of Prince Henry. Being, by nature, an outgoing and gregarious child, he was well adjusted enough to take the sudden transition in his stride, and quickly formed part of a close group of friends, that included the Prince himself. Some of Carew's boyhood exploits, however, led some to question what sort of influence he was having on his peers. But, Carew learned quickly not to overstep the mark, too much.
The world of the Royal courts opened up a whole world of possibility for Carew, and he was keen to make the most of it. As his teens advanced, he had excelled in the Jousts and tournaments, received a thorough grounding in languages, classics and humanism; learned to dance and developed an appreciation of the burgeoning Renaissance artists and writers. In short, his education had turned him into the model courtier.
Once his schooling was complete, and he formally entered the service of King Henry VIII, Carew was popular among his circle of friends, and had developed a taste for entertaining the Ladies of the court. In fact, he can become a devil once his desires are aroused, and with his athletic physique, and cultivated manners, he can be a hit with the ladies, despite looks which are at best “rugged”.
At this point in time, Carew is now twenty two years old. His star is in the ascendant, and he has everything still to play for.
[/font]- - - - - Roleplay Sample,
OOC: This roleplay sample is taken from my Thomas Cromwell "Live Journal" account, and recalls an incident from his early childhood.
Along the muddy banks of the Thames, we ran. The filthy swamp sucking our bare feet deeper into it's mire the harder we ran, slowing us down and dragging us under. The tide is out, but the stink of the river rises and settles upon us, clinging to our skin like the mists of Avalon. I suppress a laugh at the thought of any mythical lady dwelling in the murky depths of the River, and instead turn my attention back to the matter at hand.
In hot pursuit of us is the sheriff of London. If the look on his face is anything to go by, my interchangeable paternal parental unit has been running too many sheep on the common again. Rather than cause a scene with Walter, my some time step-father, the sherriff rather thinks that I will be easier to deal with. Well, I am not bearing the bad news to him. I am not bearing the consequences of Walter's actions.
I chance a glance over my shoulder, and through the wispy woodsmoke that drifts across the mud flats, I can see the sherriff has given up the chase. Hollering after my erstwhile comrades, I finally slacken my pace and clutch at the stitch in my side. I knew the bastard wouldn't dare chase us if we ran this way, and I congratulate my seven year old self on a wise, tactical decision made in the heat of the moment.
Whooping and hollering, we make our way back onto habitable land at a liesurely pace. Back onto the streets where I was born, we walk in formation. The Tanners' son is the leader of our little group, and he leads the way. He has picked up a large stick, and delights himself in hammering it on the tin roofs of pig styes and listening to the echoes reverberate around the darkening streets, and making the pigs squeal in fear, causing their owners to shout and curse.
I slow down, dropping to the back of our little formation, and eventually will be left behind. It is what I want. I am not with them. Not really. Not in spirit, only my physical being sticks with them. I watch them as they go on ahead towards their respective homes, if that is where they intend on spending the night. I, however, debate what to tell Walter. He will have to be told that the authorities know about his surplus sheep. If he does care, it will be me who bears the brunt of it.
I come to a halt by Fishmonger's Row, and sit among the detritus of a thousand dead fish. The smell would make the strongest stomach queasy, but I have lived here all of my life. Not among the fishguts, but nearby in Putney. I am London born and bred. Nothing makes me queasy, anymore. Except the thought of my step father, when he finds out that the sherriff knows he is running too many beasts on the common. Or that they know he has been watering down his ale, again. With one last look around the dank, emptying streets that I call home, I get up and move along. Just as I step forward, a vice like grip clamps around my upper arm and drags me backwards.
"There you are, you little fuck!" A man's voice hisses in my ear. My head jerks back and my eyes lock into those of the Sherriff. In a moment of panic, I realise he has routed me after he made an educated guess at the route I would take.
There are a number of options available to me now. I could pretend to have the plague, again. But that excuse is wearing thin, now. I could kick the man in the bollocks. I could even cry rape, but no one would care, anyway.
"You're going to take me straight to that bastard, inbred father of yours, and you're taking me to him now!"
I sigh inwardly. "He's not my father, He's my step father" I reply calmly, cocking my head inquisitively at him. My demeanour throws him. He looks back at me with something between a sneer and grimace on his face and I seize the opportunity to sink my teeth into the arm that grips me, and place a well aimed kick at his balls. His yells of pain echo around the houses, but attract little attention. While he hops around, shouting and cursing, I run like a bat out of hell and do not stop once.
[align=center] THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY THATSNOTMYNAME ! @ CAUTION EDITED BY LANIE OF FKAC [/align]
|