Tristan Delacroix

"Hah? Don't make me think about such troublesome things."
User: Masterly
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Role: Striker
Class/Level: Swordwaltzer/1
Tristan is a tall, sharp eyed young man with a fierce glint to his expression that is reminiscent to that of a shark's. He wears a light, black silk tunic decorated with red trimmings over a tight-fitting hide shirt, bound again by tight bandages over his torso. His skin tone is fair, speckled by the sun in some locations but free of scars or dark pigmentation, likely a result of noble breeding. Rough black hair juts out from his head, unruly and clearly uncared for. Taut muscles pulsing with sinewy strength stretch out over his lithe frame, belying a dangerous grace to his deadly movements.

He's easy with his smiles and stalks about with a natural confidence that seems to exude from his very pores.
Tristan is the bastard son of Victor Delacroix, premiere duelist and personal fencing instructor to the royal family itself. As a result of his considerable reputation, Victor expected a certain excellence in all of his children, even the baseborn Tristan. In what was something of an upset in their family, Tristan was the one who took to the sword most aptly, and through tests of steel became his father's favorite. Having suffered numerous abuses from his trueborn siblings all throughout his life, Tristan took great pleasure in holding this fact over his sibling's heads.

Eventually, having grown satisfied with Tristan's progress over the years, Victor invited his son to the palace as his assistant instructor. Things went well and for a short time it seemed as though Tristan's future as a royal instructor had all but cemented itself. Of course, if the backstory ended there I wouldn't have a character to play. So obviously, tragedy had to strike.

It always does.

A courtier, jealous the bastard's sudden rise to prominence staged an accident, and Tristan was indicted with a plot to kill the young prince. Fearing for his life, he escaped under cover of night and eventually found work as a sword for hire, perverting and fine-tuning the fencing he learned from his father into a more practical, and subsequently more deadly style. Fencers are practitioners of the gentlemanly art of sword-play, where a man might keep his honor intact in an organized duel. What Tristan has learned however, is how to kill another man with a sword. It suits him well enough, he thinks.

As a bounty hunter, Tristan is about as hopeless as they get. Despite possessing an almost ungodly talent with the blade, that skill of his means next to nothing when he is unable to find his target. Hopelessly unable to read maps or follow trails, his career as a hired sword has hit a dead end so to speak. He drifts from town to town, using his easy charm and roguish confidence to earn jobs.

And if the task is simple enough, he may actually get around to getting them done. You can never really tell with him.
Tristan is something of a brat, with more skill with the sword than he has sense. One would think getting framed for a murder plot and being forced into fleeing the country would put your life into perspective, but not Tristan. Life on the run has treated Tristan well enough, and outside of the Ferizan court he no longer has to live with the social stigma of being the bastard son of Victor Delacroix.