5'11"
"Aye, I used to think it best to travel alone. But I learned that the hard way - ye cannae rely on just yerself. Ye need someone to hold your hair back when it all goes tits up."
Bran Lewis
Age: 34
Race: Human
Nationality: Lidan
Class: Arcane Ranger
Weapon: A longbow, along with two kinds of arrow - some standard, wooden shaft and steel headed arrows, and two cork headed, wooden shafted arrows. The cork tipped arrows are used in conjunction with his magic, due to their non-piercing heads.
Appearance:
Bran is a fair and freckled man, with a pleasant smile despite his heavily scarred right side.
He walks with an air of certainty and purpose, past arrogance tempered with horrifying failure leaving him a much more rounded man. He has a reasonable amount of lean musculature, especially around his legs, and his left hand is rough and calloused through wear and tear. His right arm is missing a few inches below the shoulder, around halfway down his upper arm.
He however does wear a somewhat primative prosthetic, at least when he feels he needs to. It's bulky form is not suited to fine motor control such as writing or tying knots, but enables him to wield his bow just fine. He claims it irritates him however, so will go without during times of rest.
Background and Personality:
He didn't want to die.
Well, nobody wants to die. But right until this point, Bran felt... invincible.
Naive. And now, here he was, dying anyway. His entire being was screaming against this fate, his mind running a thousand miles an hour, his heart smashing itself against his ribcage. But his body just cooled as his blood pooled beneath him, as he clutched at the mess which used to be his arm.
He screamed out in defiance. He could barely even move, but he
had to. He was not going to die. Not here. He willed his body to stop what it was doing and move with every fibre of his being. At the time, with the adrenaline running, he didn't realise what he was doing. He hauled himself up and dragged himself, half dead, away from where he had fell. It was supposed to be an easy job. Sure, the creatures were dangerous here, but he had always been fine before. He knew them. He knew what they could do. Until now. He kept moving, forcing each impossibly heavy foot in front of the other. He couldn't die. Not in this wasteland, to be devoured by beasts. He lost track of time. Five minutes stretched into eternity, a foot into miles. He stumbled and slipped, unsteady by the lack of balance as he moved.
A shriek pulled him out of his haze. A girl cradling a bundle of wheat to her chest in horror, a farmhouse behind her. Oh. He managed to make it. Huh. He blinked a couple of times, before looking down at himself. He stared at his bloodied hand in a glazed daze, at the pale pinkish mist softly eminating from his fingers and permiating his stump. It was strange. The familiar warmth of an old friend he had never met. Oh, he thought numbly. That... explains a lot of things. It was at this point that he lost consciousness, crumpling into a heap as the bloodflow resumed to full strength from his wounds. And that was how Bran discovered he had a gift in the healing arts.
Since then Bran had forsaken the lone wanderer life he had until that point. He commissioned a cheap arm with what little money he had, one he could take off at will. And he began a new life as a mercenary. He enjoys travelling the world, but would quite like his chance of revenge on the creature that got the jump on him.
In terms of personality he is somewhat well balanced, difficult to get a rise out of even when insulted. He is also somewhat amicable and has a pretty decent sense of humour, even the self-depricating kind. He had come up against the terrible monsters of his homeland and
lost, leaving him with a more realistic rather than optimistic mindset. He is still a little proud and a tad stubborn, and dislikes having to ask others to help with tasks he thinks he should be able to do by himself. He has a particularly strong sense of self-preservation, and will struggle to hang around for a losing battle. He really likes cats.
Abilities:
Bran is first and foremost a highly skilled archer. His talents have been dulled somewhat by the loss of his arm, although his prosthetic allows him to continue to wield the bow. He still possesses a somewhat uncanny ability to read the winds, as well as an above average keeness of sight. He is more likely to miss these days, but he still knows how to spot a target.
His secondary ability is more unusual - his magic is an unrefined but restorative faint pink mist he can manifest from his remaining hand and transmit through touch. It can slowly close small wounds, and can help prevent larger wounds from deteriorating provided that touch and concentration is maintained throughout. This limit does mean that he cannot actively heal a larger wound by himself, and obviously his magic has limits with how large a wound it can even stablise. His magic cannot prevent scarring, nor can it remove toxins, diseases or foreign bodies... at least as he is now.
His magic however posesses a quirk which he exploits as much as he can. And that is that his magic can cling to a small object, allowing him to effectively use it as a proxy. An object such as an arrow. These charged items can only hold the magic for a few seconds, and the potency of the magic is weaker than if Bran touched them directly. He cannot close wounds with this ability, but he can slow bleeding in smaller wounds or give himself a few precious seconds more to reach the target himself with larger wounds.
Higher quality arrows can hold hold the magic for a second longer. Refined metal, such as a crossbow bolt, cannot hold it at all.
Extras:
Has a bit of a gambling problem, and is prone to losing all his money. As such he complains about the cost of pretty much anything.
Coincidentally, he's very, very good at living off the land.
Likes his alcohol, his resistance to it is nothing special though.
If it isn't already apparent, he has a Scottish accent. I'll keep it mild, because legibility is a thing.
Despite his freckles, he does not get sunburn. Psst, it's because of the magic.
Bran is designed to be weaker at shooting than Faora and weaker at healing than Vivi - with the idea that he can compliment them both without ever overtaking them as he finds his place in the group. Please let me know if you want to talk about it!