Piersons Shavteli
Sorcerer
Piersons Shavteli
Species
Human
Appearance
Piersons is a thick-necked human whose shoulders have been rounded by years of bracing against wind and ship movement. His weathered face is broad and ruddy across the nose, with salt dried into the fine creases beside his mouth. He moves with a sailor's rolling balance even on solid ground, but his hands remain unnervingly still, one resting near his whip and the other loosely covering the pommel of his sword. His yellowish-brown eyes give sailors the impression that he is measuring how long they could survive in deep water. Despite his hulking frame and rough hands, he keeps his fingernails carefully buffed and smells faintly of violet perfume beneath the sharper scents of tar, brine, and wet rope.
“His voice is a deep, controlled baritone with a rasp like wet rope dragged across a cleat. He speaks slowly enough to make silence feel deliberate, then becomes startlingly quick when issuing orders during a crisis.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
His yellowish-brown eyes seem to brighten whenever he hears a lie or senses nearby magic.
The silver embroidery on his purple tunic is formed from tiny, exact copies of Bellwater's harbor knots.
He carries an ornate whip with a violet glass handle that feels cold even in summer.
He maintains perfect balance during sudden movement, yet becomes visibly tense whenever he cannot hear water nearby.
A faint scent of crushed violets follows him through the damp harbor air.
Voice
“A low harbor-master's baritone, roughened by salt air and years of shouting through wind, with a soft Georgian-Caucasus lilt on names and a sudden thunderous clarity when he gives orders.”
Clothing
Weather-worn brown leggings disappear beneath a tailored black trench coat with brass toggles and a high storm collar. Beneath it lies a dark purple soft-velvet tunic embroidered with tiny silver waves and curling dock chains. His boots are practical, scarred, and freshly greased, while his gloves are fine gray leather with the fingertips cut away.
Body Language
He stands squarely with his feet planted wide, as though expecting the floor to tilt. His chin rises when challenged, while his left thumb rubs the sword's guard in slow circles. When someone earns his trust, he turns slightly sideways to them, offering the vulnerable line of his shoulder without seeming to notice.
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