Adventurer Yancey Klump

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Adventurer Yancey Klump

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Inner Sanctum Nobility
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he/him
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Yancey Klump

ALIASES
Ser Yancey, Prancey Yancey, The Bannerless Knight


AGE
Twenty-Six


GENDER
Male


SEXUALITY
Ostensibly heterosexual

SPECIES
Human, but he does claim to have elven blood somewhere in his family history.


ORIGIN
Khare by way of a basket left adrift in a nearby waterway

OCCUPATION
Knight-Errant


ROLE
Flaccid attempts at chivalry
more information +
โ €
the self
โ €
Yancey is, by almost all accounts, an anxious and timid man who has become a Knight-Errant through no fault of his own. He lives in his own head and, more often than not, has trouble speaking his mind for fear of how others might react. However, despite these obvious personality defects, Yancey more than makes up for it with a fierce loyalty towards those he cares about and a meticulous nature, precise to a fault.

ALIGNMENT:
Neutral Good
LOVES:
His psaltery. The smell of used books. Really laidback cats. Baking. A fine mixture of herbal remedies to reduce his constant anxiety. Drinking coffee at midnight like a rebel.
HATES:
Being a Knight-Errant. Year-round allergies. Really mean cats. Loud, sudden movements. Needles. Profanity. The dark.
GOALS:
If you ask him, you'll receive a nervous reply that amounts to 'fulfilling his duty as a knight', 'living an honorable existence', and 'living up to his adoptive father's expectations'. In truth, Yancey dreams of a peaceful life in Tethis; playing his psaltery, owning a cat, and perhaps opening a bakery to sell various pastries.
FEARS:
Oh gods, what isn't he afraid of? Yancey is a walking testament to the power of phobia and anxiety. Even when putting on his bravest face, Yancey is afraid of everything from the dark to loud noises to the various monstrous beasts stalking the lands. Oh, and death. Obviously.
โ €
the body
โ €
HEIGHT:
6' 0" / 182.88
HAIR COLOR / STYLE:
Black and extremely curly. His hair sits atop his head like an unkempt crown, a cloud of fluff and coils.
EYES:
Amber. They're quite pretty, honestly, once you get past the obvious fear in them.
SKIN TONE:
Brown like a mix of butterscotch and caramel
PHYSIQUE:
Lanky and thin, though the armor adds at least ten pounds.
APPARENT AGE:
Twenty-Six
VOICE:
Trembling and nervous, small and even brittle. His voice is at a higher pitch than it probably should be and he often speaks in a series of stammers, stutters, and anxious fidgets.

ATTIRE //
His 'ancestral' armor. It was passed down to him from his adoptive father with great expectations in mind. A chainmail undershirt, a steel cuirass engraved at the chest with the Klump family insignia, a pauldron on his left shoulder but the right is missing. At rest, he opts for a simple cloth tunic with a penchant for earthen colors.

MODIFICATIONS //
A small ink dot on his left bicep where a 'badass' tattoo was meant to be placed; he passed out the very second the needle touched his skin.

SCARS / MARKINGS //
A very small scar at the corner of his left eye where a small rock got pinged off his face; traumatizing. A scar on his right knee where he fell and skinned it on a cobblestone road; embarrassing. The occasional bout of eczema, though a mash of thyme, lavender, and aloe vera keeps it at bay; mostly.
โ €
the power
โ €
Most, if not all, of Yancey's actual 'abilities' are birthed from his own interests and inclinations. The few martial skills he possesses are almost entirely forced upon him by his adoptive father's training.

ABILITIES //
A musical prodigy, Yancey excels with any instrument handed to him, though he favors his prized psaltery. Yancey is incredibly perceptive and aware of his surroundings, though this is mostly a means of self-protection more than anything else. He's very good with most animals and tends to enjoy their company more than many humans, though he has a stagnant fear of bovines. Well-read, Yancey has a near encyclopedic knowledge of history, religion, and culture. While not a healer, he's also been known to whip of rudimentary medicines on the fly as needed, mostly for skincare; seriously, he has great skin. While he's too fragile to be truly skilled with a sword, too nearsighted to be great with a bow, and too clumsy to be adept with a dagger, he manages well enough through a mixture of forced training and dumb luck.

SPELLS //
None. Zero. Ziltch. In fact, Yancey shies away from magic due to a healthy fear of the unknown and arcane.

GEAR //
His family's ancestral armor, passed down through generations. His family's sword as well, named The Red Harvest. His prized psaltery which he saved up for for months. A makeshift bag in which he carries various books he likes, vials of medicine to deal with his constant ailments, and other means of comfort when away from home..
โ €
the story
โ €
Question: How does a man like Yancey Klump become a Knight-Errant? Answer: Through years of peer pressure and the siren's song of expectation. Yancey Klump was born somewhere downriver from Khare, the Cityport of Secrets, but his actual origin is completely unknown even to himself. As a baby, he was sent adrift on the river in a basket, carried to the shore of the city and found by Ezekiel and Gertrude Klump, a former knight and his pastry chef wife. They took him in as their own child and raised him as such. He was their miracle, the son they never had.

As Yancey grew in age, he revealed a penchant for the arts and other, less violent pleasures, but his adoptive father was insistent on transforming the boy into a knight to uphold the family's honor and continue a long, storied history of brave Klump men. While Yancey did his very best to live up to his father's prospective desires, knighthood came neither naturally nor easily. This led to several disputes between Ezekiel and Gertrude, but even so, Yancey continued to train, the fear of disappointment far greater than the fear of adventure.

Years later, as a full-grown man of twenty-six years, Yancey Klump has donned his father's armor and taken up the family sword to travel the lands in a misguided attempt at chivalry. As one might imagine, he holds a fair bit of apprehension at his prospect, but for the sake of his aged father and mother, he's doing his very best to live up to the Klump name and the grandeur of knighthood...

...and not doing very good at it, clearly.

INVENTORY //
A well-worn silver ring of unknown origin that was found with him in the basket that carried him to Khare.
 
Last edited:
Character Approved.​
 

Yancey Klump's Silly Little Songs
An ongoing log of songs as performed by one Yancey Klump in and/or around The Outer Sanctum

"To Thee, My City Fair"

I dream of thee, all bittersweet,
Of perfumed parlors and tangled streets.
I dream of thee, all rapt with joy,
Fair Tethis, eternal city.

Wander weary, my boot doth lay
On cobbled path and woodland way,
To light some hearth, to sleep I may
In Tethis, city of light.

O'er gilded spires and shadowed walls,
Where moonlight weeps and starlight falls,
The song of bells at twilight's call
Bids me back to Tethis.

Through endless roads, through night and day,
I seek thy warmth, though far away;
Forever lost, yet bound to strayโ€”
To thee, my city fair.



"The Knight of the Briar"
In the hollow of the heath, where the blackthorn grows
Stood a knight clad in silver, his helm full of woes
He once rode for kingdom, for honor and crown
Now, he waits by the briar where the sun never drowns

Oh, the heralds, they sing, but their songs turn to dust
For the blade, once held high, is now stained with rust

Ride, oh, ride to the hill where he lies
Where the crows wear the crown and the heather still cries
Lay down your banner, your gilded attire
And sing to the ghost of the knight of the briar

It was love, cruel love, that undid his bright days
For the rose of the court wove her thorned-branch malaise
She bid him to ride to the forest so deep
Where the briars grew tangled, their secrets to keep

Oh, treachery blooms like the wild brambles thorn
And the knight met betrayal where the oath was once sworn

Ride, oh, ride to the hill where he lies
Where the crows wear the crown and the heather still cries
Lay down your banner, your gilded attire
And speak to the ghost of the knight of the briar

Now, the blackthorn it whispers to the travelers that go near
Beware of the briar, for the knight lingers here
His eyes burn with fury, his blade drips with pain
And the rose that betrayed him shall never bloom again

Ride, oh, ride to the hill where he lies
Where the crows wear the crown and the heather still cries
Lay down your banner, your gilded attire
And sing for the ghost of the knight of the briar

In the hollow of the heath, where the blackthorn grows
Stands a knight, clad in sorrow, his tale one of woe

 
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