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His sister liked t’ call ‘im Jo. Dunno if y’wanna try doin’ the same.
He’s a boy.
Skjoldur’s a human.
The boy seems t’ be some sort of Wild Child [+1 Strength +2 Brawling +2 Athletics +2 Natural affinity]
Kid was born in Hyrule
Here’s his rundown:
- Strength: 4 [Wild Child]{+1}
- Agility: 3 {+1}
- Intelligence: 3 [Human]
- Magic: 2
- Charisma: 2
- Striking: 0
- Brawling: 2 [Wild Child]
- Endurance: 0
- Athletics: 2 [Wild Child]
- Ranged Combat: 0
- Defensive Combat: 2 {+2}
- Medicine: 0
- Puzzles: 0
- Spells: 0
- Casting: 0
- Potions: 0
- Magical Item Use: 0
- Sincerity: 0
- Inspiration: 0
- Natural Affinity: 3 [Wild Child]{+1}
Skjoldur an’ magic don’t mix. Don’ let ‘im touch that bauble, please. [Magical void +6]
The kid’s driven t’protect those around ‘im. He just can’t help it. [+3]
The redhead is a tough cookie. Jus’ try an’ break him. [-3]
The boy’s description ain’t that excitin’. He’s a tall an’ lanky 17 year old redhead. His once pale skin has bin kissed by th’sun an’ don’t look too pale no more. You can usually see ‘im wearin’ a pair o’ heavy trousers, cut ‘round midcalf an’ held up wi’ a belt covered in all sorts o’ pouches an’ the like. If he’s got somethin’ coverin’ his browned chest, it’ll be light an’ sleeveless, and the kid wears his long crown o’ red loosely pulled back an’ tied with whatever he has on hand.
Some people use their hair t’hide themselves from the world, but this kid is different; he uses his face t’ hide his face, if you know what I mean. Untying the boy’s personality is like pullin’ thorns out o’ yer own flesh. He don’ like crowds pressin’ in on him, an’ prefers fresh air an’ the sun’s smilin’ rays to buildings an’ the like. if yeh had to sum ‘im up in a word or two, it’d be quiet strength. He doesn’ like seeing others come t’harm, and always seeks t’protect those around him, whatever the cost. You’d think he’s a real charmer from his looks, bu’ he’s as cold as Zora’s domain in Ganondorf’s malicious fist.
He don’ talk about family much, ‘cept when askin’ for his da. Mentioned a sister once, though.
He don’t got any magical talents, best you keep ‘im away from yer precious Lens of Truth.
Skjoldur don’ have any orthodox weapons, but he’s got plenny o’ talent. He likes t’ cary a shield an’ gauntlet with ‘im, an’ is a real terror with the pair. He oughta know his wildlife, only lived outside half his life. You should see ‘im with a wolfos; they get along real good. Amazinly, he’s quite the virtuoso on his viola. Too bad the kid can’t read music.
The boy shore got strength. He might be lanky, but his frame hides steely sinew. Wish I knew where it came from. He don’ let much pass with ou’ his noticing, an’ he plays his viola like a champ. He’s got his weaknesses, though. Th’ kid can’t let off his emotions well. No’ well at all. Once they get pumped, he’s gotta let it out in his music or pop. An’ y’don’ wanna see ‘im pop. He don’ talk much, but when he does, it’s usually a good idea t’listen.
The kid don’ like t’talk about it. Good thing I ain’t the kid.
Born in northwestern Hyrule, Skjoldur never was afraid o’ nature’s fury. The desert’s harsh heat was never more’n a day away, an’ rain, when it came, was hard an’ fierce. Anything that found the space t’grow there grew thin an’ tough, an’ this kid ain’t no exception.
Growin’ up in a tent, his li’ll family moved around fairly often, always skirtin’ the desert’s heat. Skjoldur never did know what his da did fer a livin’; only knew it kept ‘im away from their canvas home fer days on end, an’ whenever he got back, they’d pack up an’ move camp again.
The kid lived a carefree life. There weren’t no garden t’tend to, an’ certainly no cattle t’be had in the barren waste. ‘Stead, the kid spent ‘is days wanderin’ with ‘is sister, learnin’ tricks fer survival, an’ how animals lived. Insteada tryin’ to curb the pair’s wanderins, their mum encouraged ‘em. Taught ‘em what she knew, an’ gave the pair her musical talents. It was all fine an’ dandy…Until it wasn’t.
Wha’ happened next… Well, it’s just one trouble after another. The kid spent a day wanderin’ the dessert, only t’find his fabric world in shambles. Ma dead, Sis torn asunder… It was too much for anyone t’bear. Th’poor kid was marked speechless. Th’only thing ‘e could do was voice ‘is sorrow on his instrument. An’boy, did ‘e. The world ‘as never heard such a song before, an’ I pray it never has to again. Th’kid poured everything inta it. All his sorrow, all his anger, all his confusion, all his soul. Th’kid mighta had a li’ll magic in ‘im, but no more after that. No, after that song, the kid didn’t have anything inside o’him. He wen’ an dumped out hisself into that music. I doubt he’ll ever be the same.
All tha’ was left was his wild instincts. No emotion, no thought, nothin’. The poor soul spent th’next few years wi’the monsters, more'n half crazy. When ‘e finally woke up, ‘e found ‘imself in the Southern Swamp. ‘Is heart was dead, but ‘e had found reason aggin. He felt driven t’find his father. ‘E knew it was hopeless, but ‘e had t’do something. The kid knew 'e couldn't let his past break 'im, but he shore let it define 'im. He's not lettin' anyone hurt those 'round him now. No, sirree.
‘E couldn’t protect ‘is sister. But ‘e kin protect others.
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