Post by Westley Roberts on Nov 16, 2017 3:16:02 GMT -5
Westley “The Dread Pirate” Roberts
SETtheSCENE
Name: Westley Roberts
Nickname: Wes, The Dread Pirate Roberts, Captain Roberts, The Man In Black
Gender: male
Age: 32
Sexuality: hetero
Fairytale: The Princess Bride
Year: Teacher
Face Claim: Matt Czuchry
SHAREyourSTORY
Personality:
Still optimistic. Still unfazed by the threat of death - even more so - which recurs as often as ever. Still every bit as quick to offer wit, solicited or otherwise. And still loyal to the death; precisely why he’s here.
Appearance:
Dapper as ever. Black remains his color of choice, and he never strays far from it. Time has added a formality to his wardrobe here and there, but on the whole, he’s changed as little outwardly as inwardly. His eyes still flash with the same mischief. He’s no taller or shorter. Moustache still thin, hair still blond – albeit shorter than last we saw him. You could say he’s returned to his truest self.
History:
Where on earth to begin.
The beginning is easy. It reads like a telegram. Poor farm boy. Stop. Dead parents. Stop. Fell for farmer’s daughter. Stop. Sought fortune; presumed dead instead. Stop. Became pirate. Stop. Returned to liberate farmer’s-daughter-turned-princess from pig fiancé and resume happily-ever-after. Stop. Enrolled at magical academy with true love to recapture sense of adventure. Stop. Killed at a dance; got better; etcetera. Stop. Called away repeatedly to aid ship’s crew at sea. Stop. Volunteered to commandeer school’s armada to protect perimeter when magic war waged upon town. Stop, for the love of God, stop.
It was the war that proved to be the ending. And the beginning.
The last he remembered, he was aboard a ship off Trenale’s shore, giving orders to volunteers, the water growing more and more volatile, as if it, too, had joined in battle. Then, an engulfing light. When he awoke, he was stunned to find himself back in Florin, and the portal closed, with no way to return again, or to contact those he’d held dear. Della, his sister in bond if not blood. Alyss, his saviour, still with child. He sailed far and wide to find another portal, but found no luck. Even the local Miracle Man could do nothing (and he’s very good).
Ten years passed. Luckily, Buttercup had been summoned home along with him; he found her hours later. They spent a very happy decade madly in love (in direct spite of Humperdinck, who tried to foil them more than once), living on a sprawling farm with their friends Inigo and Fezzik – and their daughter, Waverly, now seven years old, with her mother’s beauty (and father’s wit, not to brag, of course, simply an observation).
But one thing still nagged at him.
Which is why, when the portals reappeared (with some delay in Florin, as always), Westley was packed within the hour, leaving his wife, daughter, friends, and home behind for one last adventure. The only thing that could possibly be so important.
He owed it to the place he’d once called home. To the people he’d known. And loved. It was time to go back to Tintagel.
Magic war cannot deter loyalty. All it can do is delay it for a while.
Other:
First and foremost, he’s here for answers and reunions – but he’d love someone to mentor while he’s here, should anyone be in need. Fatherhood has given him this terrible urge to impart things.
(GUESS WHO'S BACK. BACK AGAIN. ;] Also I pre-wrote the sample post in October, so let’s pretend I posted this app Monday like I was gonna/RIGHT before the last of the town was officially clean, y/y? I like my men confused.)
TELLtheTALE
Sample Post:
In all its mayhem, never had the place looked so disquietingly hideous.
Westley dropped his bag upon emerging from the portal, looking up at the vine-entangled structure that had once been a coffee house. And there, over that way; that had been part of the shopping centre. Something akin to a wildebeest was there now, fruitlessly scavenging the dry bones of what he dearly hoped hadn’t once been a student.
At once he knew. War had not done this. Something else had happened here, and possibly for a very long time.
Instinctively, the fingers of his right hand grazed his sword, sheathed at his hip. It was still there. The small reassurance was all he needed to move from astonishment to action. He shouldered his bag, and his feet pointed him toward campus. He started forward.
Della had to be here somewhere.
