[Its not usual a slave of Tevinter gains their freedom for being excellent at pure, unrestrained violence, but the fates aligned and here is Gannicus. He has a famous name and a relatively famous face, if you’re one of those nerds who follows the arena fighters, but here he’s nothing more than one more man drinking in a bar with the slightly hunted look of someone who crossed over from Tevinter. He must have lost his shirt during the trip, or something, because all he’s wearing are his boots that come up to the thigh and his altogether inadequate loin piece along with a belt holding a pair of swords.
He does not, that being said, look uncomfortable.
He is sitting at a table when a fight breaks out and decides why the fuck not; he fights like a demon, so when the fight is over and someone has a broken nose and another someone has a rapidly swelling eye, he looks all the better for it, smiling like the sun as he’s spit along with the rest of the brawlers out onto the street.]
Is that all? No one died!
[If he is worried about getting banned, it doesn’t show. Somehow, he still has a jug of wine in his left hand.]
Chantry, etc
[Gannicus is not what anyone might call a “joiner”, but he does know that he’s going to need a job and he’s going to need an income. The only benefit of slavery was not worrying about where his next meal was coming from, and even that was a dubious proposition.
He hasn’t spent every coin he earned on the sands but he spent too many of them. He was told to come up to find a job here. So.]
I’m looking for a man named Flint.
[Its the only name he has, given to him by a mutual acquaintance; former and rebel slaves have a network. It doesn’t matter that Gannicus found his freedom in some legal loophole, because he has a slave brand and he is a man who knows how others look at him.]
wildcard;
[Meet him somewhere else? In the street? In a bar? In a bed? Dealer’s choice!]
Gannicus | Spartacus: god of the arena | native au
[Its not usual a slave of Tevinter gains their freedom for being excellent at pure, unrestrained violence, but the fates aligned and here is Gannicus. He has a famous name and a relatively famous face, if you’re one of those nerds who follows the arena fighters, but here he’s nothing more than one more man drinking in a bar with the slightly hunted look of someone who crossed over from Tevinter. He must have lost his shirt during the trip, or something, because all he’s wearing are his boots that come up to the thigh and his altogether inadequate loin piece along with a belt holding a pair of swords.
He does not, that being said, look uncomfortable.
He is sitting at a table when a fight breaks out and decides why the fuck not; he fights like a demon, so when the fight is over and someone has a broken nose and another someone has a rapidly swelling eye, he looks all the better for it, smiling like the sun as he’s spit along with the rest of the brawlers out onto the street.]
Is that all? No one died!
[If he is worried about getting banned, it doesn’t show. Somehow, he still has a jug of wine in his left hand.]
Chantry, etc
[Gannicus is not what anyone might call a “joiner”, but he does know that he’s going to need a job and he’s going to need an income. The only benefit of slavery was not worrying about where his next meal was coming from, and even that was a dubious proposition.
He hasn’t spent every coin he earned on the sands but he spent too many of them. He was told to come up to find a job here. So.]
I’m looking for a man named Flint.
[Its the only name he has, given to him by a mutual acquaintance; former and rebel slaves have a network. It doesn’t matter that Gannicus found his freedom in some legal loophole, because he has a slave brand and he is a man who knows how others look at him.]
wildcard;
[Meet him somewhere else? In the street? In a bar? In a bed? Dealer’s choice!]