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MOBY d**k RICHARDS




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DERPDERPDERPDERPDERPREGION Born and raised in a little village in Auvinus, however, the winds takes him all around Panymium.
DERPDERPDERPDERPDERPAPPEARANCE isn't too particular on his appearance, wears clothes stolen from drunk people on the street,
DERPDERPDERPDERPDERPDERPoccasionally from sober folk. Usually doesn't have shoes for whatever reason. Loses them often, sometimes to people,
DERPDERPDERPDERPDERPDERPsometimes to misplacement. It's a running conundrum.
DERPDERPDERPDERPDERPLIKES Small things, especially small animals. Meat above all other food. If you want to bribe him... meat is fantastic material.
DERPDERPDERPDERPDERPDISLIKES sharks... they are the devil's spawn. In his mind, all the terrible things come from sharks, to the extent that he
DERPDERPDERPDERPDERPDERPbasically worships sharks in a god fearing way.


✤ uncouth ✤
Perhaps once upon a time he had a wealthy, well-mannered, educated ancestor, but for the most part, the Richards are known for their lack of manners, their rowdy behavior and their impoverished education. His family worked and lived on a farm, and the education they did receive was knowledge and tricks on how to farm. Family life was often filled with fist fights, and wrestling for food, so learning 'proper' mannerisms was not exactly part of everyday routine. The motto was, survival of the fittest, which often left Moby in the dust, behind his brutally strong oldest brother and his fast-as-wind second brother, however, he did have one thing working for him, his cleverness.

✤ self-interested ✤
Living in the seediest parts of every nation in Panymium for the better part of his life, Moby developed a socially unhealthy distrust of anyone who is classified as human. He doesn't believe that any person is innately kind or generous and that every action has an ulterior (possibly immoral) motive. In turn, he's not afraid to take all that he can get. If there is a pocket left untouched, he will certainly leave it begging for more. If there is a naive woman, hoping for some help carrying her luggage to the ship, she will only find out he never took to the luggage to the ship too late. If there is a drunkard on the street with a nice coat, vest or even pantaloons, he will no doubt find a way to squeeze them out of whatever he desires. If a label is necessary, the closest one would be a pickpocket, but he's rather more... elaborate than that at times.

✤ dyslexic ✤
Illiterate as he may be (due to his dyslexia though that won't be determined until someone in the future tries to teach him how to read), Moby is actually pretty sharp otherwise. Problem-solving and quick thinking are his two main abilities. It was the only reason why he was even remotely able to survive in the terrible dredges of the city slums. Although he is not as brilliant as the MacGyver of our world, he's got some of the same skills. Though, he really doesn't put it into practice as well as he could.

✤ soft-hearted ✤
Despite his very best attempts to look fierce and tough, no matter how many scowls he depicts, or words he tries to flay people with, inside, he's just a terrified little boy who just wants to have some peace in his life. His soft side often emerges when he finds stray kittens and puppies and anything on the adorable side (that isn't human).





It wasn't a quiet morning when Moby Richards was born. He came a tad too early, antsy to be born into the world. The midwife even claimed that his eyes might have been open the moment he left the womb. But that's probably just the old woman's delusional mind playing tricks on her. For a very long time it was just Darwin, Manilow, and little Moby with Mr. and Mrs. Richards. They were a happy little family, the boys always out playing somewhere or another.

It was on one of these adventurous days when Moby ran off by himself, no more than 5 years old, when he met his first adversary. It was a big dog, with a big slobbery mouth, and big large teeth. Looking for a playmate, Moby attacked the dog with his youthful innocents, and somehow managed to irked the canine enough for it to snap its jaw around Moby's head. Struggling when the pain kicked in, he screamed and screamed until one of his brothers came and scared off the dog. They hurried Moby back home, his head bleeding and his parents wondered if the child would survive. They cleaned him up and put some bandages around his head since they didn't have enough money to get a doctor. He was good as new before anyone even knew it, except for the ring of scars that runs around his head. He likes to tell people he got it from a shark. Sometimes they believe him.

Then when Moby turned 12, the family grew two more members. A pair of cute little twin girls, Levi and Luci. He loved his new little sisters. He thought they were the most wonderful things in the world. Then came Pence, four years later. By that time, Mrs. Richards was too busy taking care of things on the farm with Mr. Richards, Darwin and Manilow that the responsibility of raising the twins and the newborn fell on him. And it's safe to say that when baby Lilli was born, he also took her under his care too. In essence, he became almost a second mom.

Life was good and merry for a little while when tragedy began. Their father had left to go into town to sell some crops, but then never came back. They didn't know the details, but they knew he had somehow died. Now left with no profit (since Mr. Richards took most of the harvest with him), food and money became scarce. There were just too many mouths to feed. So Moby decided since both Darwin and Manilow were helping in the fields with Mother, and the rest of the kids were too young, he would take the responsibility of leaving.

He left home on his way to Mishkan where he heard there were many jobs due to being a trading hub. Along the way, he changed his name from Moby Richards to Moby d**k, simply because he didn't know how to spell Richards, there were way too many letters. Well, he didn't know how to spell anything, but he figured the shorter the name, the less he would have to write if the event ever arose.

When he arrived at the ports, he had no money, was starving and had no idea what he was doing. Thankfully there were sailors screaming on the top of their lungs that help was needed. There were also fliers posted on the town board, but since he couldn't read, well... those opportunities were left unnoticed.

For a while, it was okay living as he was, just getting random jobs here and there on ships, but he often found himself just barely skimming the surface to survive. Many times, due to his naivety he was paid half the normal rates because he was so young. Other times, pick pockets or thieves got a hold of his money. And of course there was always the hovering doom of the Black Plague. He was lucky so far.

All these circumstances changed him. He quickly forgot about his family, worried more for his own survival. He quickly learned how to pick pocket, con, and steal. He did anything just to survive. He became distrustful of everyone around him.

One time, he tried to get off of Panymium to escape the encroaching fingers of the Plague by hiding away in the hull of a ship due to leave the coast for Ardenth, however it never made it there. Instead, he was forced to sneak back onto land without getting caught and assimilate himself again to his nomadic scoundrel tendencies.





✤ In my head, he falls in love with a 'proper' lady and tries to win her love by basically changing himself into a 'proper' gentleman, so he goes searching to figure out a way to become a gentleman
✤ I'm hoping in the future, someone is able to teach him how to read and he gets over his dyslexia to impress his romantic interest.
✤ Joins Scientist Faction... after realizing he actually needs to accomplish something before wooing a lady

The perpetual frozen winds of the Northern Sanct travel down to the rest of Panymium from the frigid mountains.
Jack Frost's breath whips and nips at your dainty flesh, whether you be human or Plague. A harsh Winter, this one
will be, and all folks poor and rich, comfortable or homeless, will have to work hard to survive. How does this Winter
go for you and your Grimm? What hardships do you endure and how do you overcome them?

"We've run out of food." An inevitable doom this time of year, especially for those such as Moby who has no settled job, nor a real place to stay. Currently he was living in a shack, or rather three pieces of wooden covering a little section between a rock and a collapsed dead tree trunk. It hadn't been the best of places Moby had ever lived, but it was at least better than being out in the open. At least in the forest, they had some protection against the snow, although, the rain was a different story.

"You mean, you've run out of food, you brainless git." His ... shelter mate or more accurately, his verbally abusive pocket denizen was never short on insulting names. "Since you've forgotten, I'll remind you that I don't eat, therefore it couldn't possibly be my fault the rations have just about run out. It was your own careless fault for not rationing your food carefully. Figures that I'm stuck with one of the stupidest people on earth." He rolled his eyes. Prion was right though, he did do a lousy job of making sure the food would last as long as possible, but he was hungry and the jerky was tempting him. Besides his stomach didn't appreciate when he didn't give it enough attention and love, it often verbalized it's own feelings and thoughts on what Moby should be doing. Oftentimes, Moby couldn't exactly ignore his own stomach, therefore he had run out of food early in the game.

He would either have to hunt for it, or set out and try to get to the nearest village where he would possibly need to steal some butcher's meat. However, he wasn't quite sure which way was towards a village and seeing as how he could easily walk for miles in the wrong direction, that wasn't a very good idea. Better to stay here and hopefully last longer than walk away and probably die sooner. Or at least in his mind this was a better idea.

Then the little voice in the back of his head chirped up, or wait, it was actually coming from Prion who was currently picking at the threads on the shoulder of his shirt. "If you're thinking of hunting, you are going to die slowly of a painful death of starvation and fatigue. There's nothing out there to hunt, obviously. Or were you not paying any attention to how quiet it is out here?"

"Then what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and die patiently?" He was glad he actually managed to grab a few layers of clothes from drunk men sleeping in the alleyway when he was in town last, or else he would be tired, hungry and cold. And luckily, he also had some shoes this time. And they hadn't mysteriously disappeared. "I need to eat, y'know. And I actually don't want to die."

"Well you should have thought about that before you decided to go on your search for this 'Wickwright Finch' when there was obviously a storm coming." Prion grumbled loudly in his ears, yanking painfully on the longer strands of his sideburns.

"Ow! Stop that, Prion." He swatted at the little hands, accidentally shoving the little Plague from his shoulder completely. Moby had been sitting down in his shelter, so the fall wasn't very long, but it still riled up Prion.

"Fine, see if I care if you die out there. Go on and hunt for your food. See how successful you are then." Prion grumbled, crossing his arms and turned his back on his Grimm.

"Man, you're nothing like Hopkins. I bet Hopkins would have helped me out." He recalled the warm memory of his two only 'friends', if he could even call them that. "Fine... I won't go hunt, but at least help me build a fire."