<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/0c/27/7d/0c277d925f71c3f1bc2da87109dbccf8.jpg)</div>https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1219631<br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">"And the sun will still rise; it will still set. The world will go on."</span><br/><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 6pt;">Leofwine, commenting on the futility of war and meaninglessness of death, after a particularly gruesome and traumatic battle during his conscription.</span></em></span></div><br/>Given the mixture of people in and around the village, half-elves aren't that rare of a sight; the union of an elf and human, though short lived (from the eyes of the elves) happen readily enough, and they have a tendency to produce children like Leofwine. He had a fairly loving home, and though his parents have since separated, he maintains contact and good rapport with them both (it was a mutual agreement between the two some time after he became an adult, handled with an alarming amount of maturity).<br/><br/>His father continues to run one of the more successful vineyards, as he has done for the past several hundred years, carefully tending to the plants with the gentle caress and green thumb that Elves are known for. His mother, in the mean time, has found employ in the local tavern, and while she'll never quite be happy about being called a 'wench', it pays the bills, and she makes tips aplenty. Besides, her son often spends his free nights there with his soldier-friends, and it pleases her to see him doing so well; especially after the call to war, the draft, and the fear that had filled her for so many months.<br/><br/>When Leofwine had just come of age, there had been problems in the territory. While goblins are always a nuisance, and constantly in need of being thinned out by adventurers, a rather prominent war chief had risen to power some years ago. Under the banner of this warchief, two tribes of goblins united and went from being tolerable nuisances to serious threat. A call to arms went out, and some young men--such as Leofwine--were press-ganged into service.<br/><br/>The youths became men in the field of battle. Leofwine, in some ways, actually found himself in the chaotic maelstrom of the clash of steel, and the piles of bodies. The flow of the battle, the rhythm, the beat; it all made a sort of sense to him. More then that, he understood what was at stake. He cared deeply for his people; not just those at home, but those right at his side. He fought with great strength, tenacity, and a vicious cunning that eventually earned him the rank and honorifics of Dopplesoldner (Literally 'double pay'), on the premise that he was, himself, worth two warriors.<br/><br/>He made friends on those blood-soaked fields. Another half-elf, a wizard's apprentice, by the name of Alice, worked closely with him and the unit he was in, and the two actually took a liking to each other. Though they were from very different villages, they did manage to find some solace and comfort in each other's company; though nothing ever came of the brief relationship, he still has some fond memories of her, and a portrait she sketched (a favorite hobby of hers), a rather farcical caricature of him violently beheading a goblin from atop a hill of dead goblins.<br/><br/>His other keepsake from those battles is a "goblin sword"--more of a  long dagger, really--that was snapped in half. Rather useless, and pitted with rust, but it belonged to a rather challenging foe, possibly the hardest fight he had during the campaign. It occupies a place of prominence on his mantle, though he's also known to bring it out for story telling every now and again.<br/><br/>Once he came back from the war, he was fairly restless and listless. He had nightmares, and would take to pacing around the village perimeter most nights, garbed in gear he had either scavenged from the battlefield, or managed to acquire through other, less shady means. In time, he would go on to try and gather together some of the other conscripts he remembers, and some of the ruffians from the village, and try to form an impromptu militia; with the headman's permission, of course.<br/><br/>His reasons, from his own perspective, are perfectly justified. What if a threat arises? What if goblins, or something else, come back? The village needs to be prepared. They don't have to fight alone, of course; they just need to have some good, stout lads and lasses ready to hold the line until the military can get there.<br/><br/>When not seeing to the training of the volunteer militia, he some times helps out at his father's vineyard, a fair distance away. The physical labor is a good way to stay in shape, and it gives him time to visit with his father. When it comes time for relaxation, he likes to unwind at the inn with a bit of wine, and occasionally, some gambling.<br/><br/>He picked up a dice game during his stint at a conscript, known as Jack's Pot. Typically played for copper's,  everybody takes turns rolling five dice; you can re-roll once, keeping whichever dice you like along the way. You want to make a 'hand' of dice that beats everybody elses' hand. In many ways, it is a bit like poker; straights (1, 2, 3, 4, 5), twos, threes, and fours of a kind (3, 3, 3 is better than a 1,1,1), etc.<br/><hr/>While I feel like the picture is a good match, I feel like pointing out a few minor details; he wears scalemail rather than plate, he fights with a glaive (https://i.pinimg.com/736x/89/5b/d2/895bd2e038dd0598620216382c001746--armour.jpg) rather than a sword, and he has brown hair rather than black. But that is pretty much how he looks and conducts himself; that sort of grim seriousness, disciplined and determined.<br/><br/>His cabin is quite cozy looking, both inside and out (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/14/b1/bf/14b1bfa415d66f429cf72bf7873434b4.jpg).