Player Name: Josh

AIM Contact: Angrydurf

Character Name: Vidrik "Rick" Verlendson

Date & Place of Birth: ~500 CE Närke Sweden

Character Type: Half-fae

Character Occupation & Skills: Vidrik has been many things: Knight, king, soldier, sailor, pauper and prince. He currently holds the position of Edging Specialist at Bader's Cutlery in the Westfield Shoppingtown, which is to say he sharpens knives at a cut-rate mall store. He is an above average skill with a blade, and master of metal-craft. He also has an encyclopedic knowledge of mechanical obscura, and akin to PhD level of understanding of mechanical engineering (self-taught). His grasp of history is staggeringly poor given his age, as myth, legend, and truth tend to mingle within his mind.

Abilities: Rick is unaging -- or close enough, to his mind -- a gift of his father along with the fae's resistance to permanent harm (though it still hurts). His wounds will close with a short rest. He lacks most of the preternatural speed of his kin, though he can complete most crafting tasks at speed, though only does so when not observed, and while strong by human standards his strength is well less than even a weak lycanthrope or vampire. He has an innate knack for metal and all things mechanical (electronics may as well be magic as far as he is concerned). He is a master smith of the fae capable of making wondrous and terrible weapons that are unbreakable and slice through steel, flesh and bone with equal ease (though he has vowed to never again craft a weapon). Also, he is a friend of metal, thus the traditional bane of the fae -- cold iron and lead -- is not his own and no blade of his make can harm him at all. He is not without banes of his own, however. Salt works on him as well as any of his full-blooded relations. Oaths can be particularly binding, with any broken ones being especially nasty. His Norse heritage gives him a special weakness to the mushrooms and toadstools that once ringed his forebearer's faerie rings. It's something like the worst allergen in the world crossed with a nasty flu. At best they'll wrack him up pretty bad, at worst, they very well could kill.

Appearance: Rick isn't a tall man, coming in well under six feet tall and slight of build at that. He has deep brown eyes and a russet brown mop of perpetually unkempt hair. His features are fine, even pinched, which he tries to soften with a variety of styles of facial hair. His dress is most politely termed eccentric, and more often less polite terms though he takes comfort in his unique style.

Personality & History: Vidrik is the son of the smith Volund (Weyland) of myth. Volund was captured and maimed by a the King of the Njars, then forced to work for the King. In his escape, he laid with the King's daughter, extracting a promise from the king that the issue would not be harmed. Thus Vidrik was born a prince and even served, though briefly, as King. Weyland Smith, as he is still known, was one of the fae and a masterful smith whose talent and gift with metal was inherited by his son. Vidrik did not know his father until he left the kingdom of the Njars, seeking adventure in the wider world. At this time his father came to him and bestowed to him his own sword Minmung. Vidrik had many adventures in the following years, many of them told in the tales of Dietrich of Bern.

After these travels he spent time as a journeyman smith, eventually mastering the craft of his father. As a master smith skilled in the craft of the fae, his skills were in high demand by fae and human alike and for love of his creations he worked without hesitation. During this time he armed great hero and terrible villain alike without pause. War swept across the continent as empires gave way to kingdoms and nations. It was a dark age indeed though much of it passed as a blur for Vidrik.

As the wars raged, Vidrik took once more to traveling. Sometimes as a smith, others as a beggar or soldier or knight. In his travels he saw the destruction and pain brought on by weapons of his craft and others and began to realize the horror wrought from Iron and Steel that had been unleashed upon the world. War was without morals and without care. It would kill and starve, laying waste to man, woman, child and civilization alike. He began to judge the character of those he armed, hoping to turn the tide by arming the good. Needless to say, it was a moral quandary not so simply answered.

It was thus that Vidrik came upon a great battle, he knew not who fought who. He watched as men of both sides fought and died by the sword and spear and arrow. The good soil of the fields were turned to charnel mud, and shades wandered the night. In that battle he knew the futility of it all and came to a decision. He would no longer feed this beast of war for no good came of one man slaying another. He instead traveled as a tinker mending pots and shoeing horses. His creations would be to feed and harvest not to reap the bloody rewards of war. He was a wanderer and a self-styled jester errant. He would bring something to those he visited be it a pot or a scythe or a smile.

The years marched on, as did the wars, as Vidrik was but one man and always more were ready to step up and build the engines of death. As the continent dragged itself from the bloody wars into a new age, Vidrik watched, fascinated as the age birthed all manner of mechanical devices, gears and looms and clocks. As his world was reborn, so, too was his interest. He apprenticed himself to makers of these wondrous devices wherever he went. His fascination with elaborate mechanics continues to this day (he considers electronics inelegant at best). New lands were found across the sea and new materials flowed into the markets and shops of the continent. Vidrik watched as printing overtook scribes and factories grew out of craft houses. He watched and learned as the world changed once more. New thought toppled old and Vidrik watched and learned and spread word to those who needed to hear, whether they wished to or not.

Then came the new wars, wars of ideals. Wars fought with word and sword and gun. New nations were born and old empires fell and the terrible beast of war unleashed new and more terrible horrors onto the battlefield. The machines that had so fascinated him now were turned to weapons more bloody and horrific than any sword. Gunpowder and worse took war to a whole new level. Amidst it all Vidrik continued as he had pointing out the foibles of the mighty and low alike. He found the continent, however, growing too small and his friends too few, so he worked his way across the sea to the United States. Here peace and industry reigned and Rick was content.

It was not to last, as expansion led to war and war into war again. A growing nation was not without conflict and call him King or President or Czar, leaders lead for themselves first and foremost. Rick kept to the streets satirizing and helping where he could, and always watching for more advances. His sense of humor really solidified in these times, a dry humor with a touch of satire, and where he found injustice he would wield it like a finely crafted blade. Oil baron or political boss he would see embarrassed and lampooned. His respect for the 'powers that be' continued to fall as they continued to fail to live up to the potential of his new home.

He came to New Orleans after Katrina and the failures of so much more than levees. First he came to help rebuild and later to watch how the people continued on, perhaps to add a laugh or two along the way. He took his current job as it amuses him to no end to think that he sharpens scissors and knives for housewives in the back of a shop that sells such gems as real movie replicas of Sting and 'real katana'. He waits here to see what the world will do next.

With regards to personality, Rick is unusual. He has seen more than most and much of it pretty damn horrific. He came to that battlefield centuries ago and made a choice not just to stop adding to the horror but to fight it. He lives a joyful life and tries to add a little to those that cross his path. One day he may do a Chaplin-esque routine in the mall food court for a child, another he'll take a co-worker to see the singing anamatronic Huey Long at the capitol. Mostly he tries to ensure important people don't take themselves too seriously, and the unimportant have something to lift their moods from the mundane.