Bram Sedge
Commoner
Bram Sedge
Species
Human
Appearance
Bram is a weathered, narrow-faced man whose presence feels more like a shut door than a welcome. His skin has the rough, salt-dried texture of old sailcloth, and fine white lines gather around his mouth from years of squinting into harbor wind. He moves with economical patience, never hurrying unless a lamp is in danger of going out. His clothes hang slightly wrong on him, as though each garment was inherited from someone broader and then carefully altered by hand. The contradictory detail is his immaculate left cuff, embroidered with tiny blue flowers despite the grease, soot, and fish stink surrounding everything else he owns. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice that he keeps one polished brass lamp pressed against his ribs like a cherished instrument, while every other object on his person bears the honest grime of daily work.
“Low, dry, and deliberate. Bram speaks as if every word costs lamp oil.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
His left cuff is embroidered with tiny blue flowers and kept spotless despite the rest of his work-stained clothing.
He carries a polished brass lamp with a thumb-worn crescent on its handle from years of rubbing it while thinking.
His boots make almost no sound on stone because he has replaced their soles with layers of old sailcloth and tar.
He smells faintly of lamp oil, rainwater, and rosemary ash.
He lights each lamp with the same three motions, never varying the order.
Voice
“A gravelly baritone softened by long nights of speaking gently to mourners. His laugh is brief, surprised, and usually followed by a cough.”
Clothing
A patched charcoal watch coat with salt-stiffened seams, a faded brown waistcoat, wool trousers tucked into tarred boots, and fingerless work gloves. His left cuff is carefully embroidered with small blue flowers, the only decorative thing he owns. A broad leather belt carries oil flasks, wick trimmers, a striker, and a ring of mismatched keys.
Body Language
Bram stands squarely with both feet planted as if on a rolling deck. He keeps his shoulders slightly hunched against an invisible wind and rests one hand on his lamp hook. When listening to grief, he lowers his chin but does not look away. When suspicious, he begins polishing the brass lamp in slow, repetitive circles.
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