I turned 21 in Cosdol, beginning my life upon the road. Despite my family's best attempts to raise me into a priest of the Eternal Lantern, the first thing I remember is an urge to see over the next hill. I'm the only one of my family so afflicted; my sister and brothers all turned out properly for the faith, in one way or another.
Perhaps I should begin again.
My family is the Lanterns of Bleslelna in Crandolen; our family has served the Eternal Lantern for generations. Brothers and sisters marry acolytes of the Lord of Luminosity, and it is rare that someone not related to us is not High Lantern of Cosdol. Everyone in the family serves in some way, from questing against undead and walking the Dark Watch to making lanterns and oil. We are raised to it. So, a young man of strong enough arm and quick enough mind was fully expected to be walking the Dark Watch alert for danger, not studying the stars, not slipping off to walk the roads late at night or all through the day. My sister, Avil, and my older brother, Blesden, hated the freedom my parents gave me... I think they saw more clearly where my road was taking me, and that the road was not one fully lit by the Eternal Lantern. Their animosity rubbed off on Nurband, the youngest of the family, though Senden stayed close to me (perhaps because we're P'Baran twins, born less than a year apart). My mother and father gave me everything I needed, but even they had to turn their backs once I swore orders to the Bright Eyes. They placed a pack at the door and locked it against me.
So I set east; east or south were my options, and I had no desire to see Brandobia. East over the Elenons, and into P'Baran lands, never to see Cosdol again. I worked as a muleteer on caravans over the mountains, wintered in P'Bapar where I helped mend leather and raise houses, and now head north from the city, to walk until autumn turns again.
Description: Sevlen is what might be called "pleasantly ugly"; he's not so ugly that you call people over to look at him, but the tanning of his skin combined with pockmarks (from an early brush with cowpox) leaves him somewhat resembling an oil-spotted leather bag. His hair is brown at the start of the travelling season, but, should he lose his comfortable slouch hat (which is pretty likely), it will sun-bleach by the time the leaves turn. When funds allow, he makes it a point to buy new shoes or boots when he settles for the winter, break them in, and give away his old boots to those in need.