|Full Name:||Davram Huxley Olidan|
|Place of Birth:||Elgaria|
Huxley Oliver Olidan was a showman and a charmer; a romantic sinner and prone to fall prey to his lusts. Thus, when the proposal to cuckhold his very rich employer arose, he was quite enthusiastic with the idea, and later the deed itself. The consequences, however, became evident shortly thereafter. Never slow of thought, Huxley conspired with the mistress of the house to escape her husband's vengeance against the two of them, and spirited her away to the relative safety of poverty and anonymity. The goodmistress remained long enough to survive childbirth, and returned to the Lord's gates crying kidnap. Huxley, quite chagrined and now with a newborn baby to bother with, found himself in a bit of a bind. Still, a showman he'd been and so he'd be; finding a fair-sized tavern was not difficult, and in exchange for services he would accept food, lodging, and all the milk he could drag out of the old cow out back. The tavern's owner, a battleaxe missing her two front teeth, agreed to the accord as long as Huxley made it worth her while. This worked just long enough to bring the baby (who Huxley had named Davram, after his grandfather) out of clouts and into sackcloth. So they were put out of their first home after a few years, and sent down the road. It was a matter of short time until the elder Olidan located another tavern owned by another battleaxe with a heart of gold hidden under layers of fat, and they were indoors again. At this point, Davram's education began. His father instructed him in wordplay, and advised him that he should always be awake to the manners of speech of those around him. Mimicry, he told his young son, would take him far if he could manage it. So their lives as transients began.
As the younger Olidan grew into childhood, his father taught him sleight of hand, and Davram, being a bit of a rake, learned gambling by cards and by dice from watching the patrons of his home. Unfortunately for Davram, his father's lusty nature led the boy through a series of unfortunate mother-figures, the last of which left Davram an orphan true, due in large part to his father's continued involvement with the next-to-last. Thus, eight years young, Davram found himself rather on his own, though with the start of an immensely useful skillset. He managed to cling in one place a while, making himself useful in a variety of ways including washboy, stableboy, laundryboy, and sundry other works with the suffix 'boy'. When he was not earning a place to stay by making himself useful, he made himself a general busybody by talking to everyone and, unusually for a child of his age, listening when they talked back. He made his father's learning tactics work for him, knowing that there wouldn't be any benevolent teacher anymore, and learning through emulation. As he grew into adolescense, he found that he could make a fair pocket of coin with cards. And when he couldn't make a fair pocket, he cheated, which didn't bother the proprietors of his various homes as long as they got their piece at the end of the evening. And as long as he didn't expect them to take his part when a keen eye caught him at work. Rare as that was, it did happen, and one day it happened with the wrong fellow at the table.
Eight years after his father's untimely death, on a night when bad luck caught him just wrong, Davram found himself caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock, a hard-case soldier with no compunctions opening a sixteen-year-old cheat from crotch to eyeball with an old horn-handled knife, and the hard place being his windowless bedroom with the rock blocking the door. His guardian angel must've been listening close that day, however, for his salvation came in the form of a lean, medium-height stranger who'd been watching Davram deal cards in his showman's style from the hearth. The stranger had tapped the soldier on the shoulder, and the soldier had whirled away from Davram with murder in his eyes. Words were exchanged. Coin changed hands. Davram was tendered as property. Life after that evening became somewhat less lackadaisical than he was accustomed to. Davram didn't take much to being property, but the stranger taught him better that first evening with several deftly stinging applications of the narrow, willowy blade he carried. The stranger was a fellow named Horace, and he took Davram on the road in a more real way. All of the young man's not inconsiderable coin became Horace's, and Davram didn't have the gumption to say otherwise. A horse was purchased and outfitted.
Horace never said much, but eventually introduced himself as Horace Brutus Olidan, Davram's uncle. The characteristic copper-colored hair and vulpine face which Davram had inherited from his father were difficult to miss, though Horace advised him that his green eyes must've been a mark of his mother. He was advised to do as he was told, when he was told, and quick as he pleased. Horace also set about completing his nephew's education. The eldest surviving Olidan made his living as a highwayman, a harrier, and a killer. It was made clear that Davram was to apprentice with his uncle until he had enough sense to steal without getting himself killed. The youngest surviving Olidan was quick on the uptake, learning all that his uncle taught him. The only portion of Davram's education which remained incomplete to Horace's way of thinking was the will to take a life. "Leave it to my brother," Horace had a habit of saying, "to sire a squeamish whelp." Still, Horace found that his nephew's silver tongue made violence unnecessary as often as not, and as Davram came of age, he found himself doing all the talking. Life was a grand adventure for the two of them after a while, a growing comraderie making fair company come eventide. One day, however, Davram awakened to find his uncle gone as promised, with no sign of welcome pursuit.
The Road to Now
Pursue Davram did, though he never saw Horace alive again. He learned from one of his frequent stops in one of his favorite cities that his uncle's horse had been shot out from under him in a chase by the city watch, and Horace's neck had broken his fall. Davram, somewhat accustomed to loss by now, hoped his uncle found a shady spot to camp in the mystery of afterlife, and vowed to step more carefully than Horace had. The last surviving Olidan rode on, figuring to cover more ground than his uncle's old haunts might keep him out of the same trouble. Eventually, 'more ground' became 'all the ground', and Davram figured out that if he moved on before the watch could get a good look at him, he was clear of trouble by the next largish settlement. Drache is the most recent 'next largest settlement,' and he's finding himself growing a little attached to the place, apart from some trouble with one particular demon-infested child which sent him away for a few months. He's beginning to wonder if he shouldn't take up a better trade, or figure out how to make his current living in a more permanent locality.
Of a medium height and build, Davram maintains a fencer's physique. His hair, coppery red and always long, stays braided most of the time and his skin is pale to match it. Green eyes complete the vulpine sculpt of a face always quick to smile or laugh, which is most of the time because he finds it hard to take much at all seriously. Though his clothing varies widely, a few elements of his apparel always remain the same; a wide-brimmed hat with a large plume always lids him, supple leather gauntlets always cover his hands, and his rapier and gauche are always at his right side. These last are a matching pair, and depend from a swordbelt of fine make.
Talents, Skills, Quirks
Sleight of hand, charismatic humor, and a generally disarming nature are Davram's main talents. Quite an adept swordsman when these fail. A decent card-player and an excellent card-cheater.