Arthur Gibbs

Name: Arthur "Art" Gibbs
Age: 12-ish
Race: Human
Place of Origin: Farmlands; Vienda

Backstory:

There was nothing remarkable about Art's family -- except, perhaps, his mother's staggering, unending ability to bear children. He was the sixth child of a simple farmer and wife on a piece of land near the river, and the constant baby making was probably more out of necessity than passion. It takes quite a few hands to run a place like that, and kids are loyal for a low price.

Mostly.

Except for the little smart ones.

Art was the sixth child, but certainly wasn't the last. By the time he was five, old enough to help with chores like carrying milk, feeding birds, and other light task, he had a solid eight siblings. By the time he was around ten, working the place proper, and absolutely certain of his own brilliance [pfft too bad it was missed by everyone around him and especially by his bully older brothers], there were a dozen Gibbs kids from two months old to nearing twenty. All of them, he decided, dumb as dirt and totally devoted to it.

So clock'em. There were so many kids he was certain that he wouldn't even be missed. And, since he was the center of the universe, everything would come together for him in the end anyway. Next cart that came through for pickup, he hitched a ride with only the clothes on his back, a couple days worth of dried meat from the stores, and a loaf of bread.

This was, of course, overly idealistic. Especially since the cart's secret, small passenger wasn't discovered until they reached Vienda, started unloading the turnips and found him among them, chomping happily, without a concern for hiding it. All the worse luck that these were people with woefully little sense of humor, who viewed this not as a funny story to tell later but as a massive inconvenience -- and as thievery, of course.

Fortunately, Art was a small child with big eyes. Instead of getting tossed to the Seventen, he was dragged inside and put to work in a store room doing something disgustingly like what he'd been doing at home...except the food was worse. And the bed was less comfortable. And when he mouthed off, people got angry and violent instead of grumpy. It lasted a few weeks, maybe, before he'd had it. Saw enough of what went on around him that he could figure out what was best to steal, and maybe even where he could sell it, to get enough coin to sustain him for a while.

He learned quickly, over the next year or so, that he wasn't as brilliant as he'd previously assumed...but was bright and resilient enough to amend this. He hopped from one place to another, whatever quick work he could find, frequently snatching and running near the end. It was hardest in the beginning, when he was still a little soft and all people heard when he spoke was a long country accent. He was mouthy, and it took him a few times [a few black eyes and a few scars] to learn -- not to button his lips but to duck and run after a pert comment. Made himself a home among the barrels and supplies on the dock, took on odd tasks for a bit o'grub or shine, and generally [in his head, anyway] took over Vienda.

So what if he was just another urchin to everyone else?

Personality:

Truly, Art is bright. He is smart, he is clever, and he is capable. The problem is that his ego is bigger than the frame that houses it; he forgets, sometimes, that he's a kid not even into his teens, that he's small, that he's untaught, and that he's human. He can cuss like a sailor, make big gestures, threaten or coax or whatever else it takes to get him through the day, but when night falls he will still be a child.

Full of sly comments and clever remarks, be they insight or insult, Art doesn't hesitate to let his own 'witticism' spill out. It seems obvious he thinks of himself as a king, and no name-calling like 'stop, thief!' or 'mangy street rat!' or 'I'll show you clever!' seems able to break this belief. What do they know, anyway? They're adults, and adults are untrustworthy, humorless fiends. Never trust'em and get yer coin upfront!

Physical Description:

Even for 12-ish, Art is undersized; he could easily pass for nine or ten, with a little slouching and pouting. His skin is naturally fair but tanned from the sun -- and he has freckles everywhere. They powder his upturned nose, clump across his cheeks, litter his throat and shoulders and scrawny collarbone and elbows and knees and anything else that sticks out. His face is round and young, cheerful and pleasant except for a crooked, dark scar down his left cheek by his ear. Didn't duck a steel-toed boot quickly enough; clocking adults!

His eyes are big and hazel and wickedly cheery as well, his expression usually one that most call 'cheeky' and that has a tendency to get him in trouble. He smiles wide, with dimples and one tooth missing toward the middle on the left side. His hair is a mess, a mop of dirty, dark brown curls around his face, hacked roughly down by some generous soul and with a hat pulled down over it to make it a less tempting handhold.

All his clothes are battered and patched and piecemeal and too big.

Inventory:

Weapons:

Two tiny, gloved fists!
A mouth with only one tooth missing!
Oversize boots on quick feet!
Sharp tongue!
Poorly balanced slingshot!

Stuff:

Collection o' rocks an' things wut they won't give coin for but are still trig.
Some mighty fine paper scraps wif dem squiggleys all over.
Rag pile, an' one nice coat that ent TOO too big, fer special occassions.
A coupla hats wifout th' corners too beat in.

Career

Self-employed; others say 'thief' or 'urchin' or 'for hire'

Knows most of the hidey-holes and alleyways and back paths
Can't read, so discreet messages are safe in his hands; he also has a good memory for oral messages.
Quick hands and feet are useful for pinching what he can't get legitimately.
Sometimes he fancies himself a pickpocket and gets walloped for his attempts.

Goals

Art would LOVE to learn how to read. As he is brilliant and clever and King Material, it should be a snap for him to learn. Right? Right? Even if he's only handled a couple books in his life and they were really just gibberish...

He's also fascinated by the resistance, and has a tendency to follow suspicious-looking people about until they notice and chase him off.

Mostly, though, he just wants to be recognized for how great he truly is. A kind word from the right source is likely to leave him star struck with hero worship and striving to live up to every expectation. Pretty girls, even better.