I scrambled into my doublet and hose.  I could hear heavy
    footsteps on the stairs outside.  Even from here I could tell
    him a mountain of a man.
      "Hurry!  He's coming!" she hissed.  Pretty, but not very 
    bright.
      I managed to get my clothes on enough to jam my feet into
    my boots.  There was no way I'd be able to slip out the door
    and down the hall now, he'd spot me for sure.  And I sure
    wasn't going to try and fight my way past.  I probably could
    have but I'm not about risking my good looks.  However there's
    another way out, one I've used a dozen times before.
      "Call me, Elwyn!" were the words I heard as I leaped from
    the third story balcony and hustled off into the night, shirt
    tails flapping behind me.  Crazy women.

Elwyn.

Fop, coward, pretty boy, and seducer. A disaffected son of a noble house with no future. Callow rebel looking for a purpose and not finding it.

Represented by a Bend Sinister, Argent and Vert, Azure Swan Sourant and Disclosed. (Silver and green field, divided diagonally from bottom left to top right, silver above green. A blue Swan, rising into the air with wings open but the tips down.)

      I paused to preen in the mirror.  My hair was golden
    today.  Not just blonde, but really gold, with highlights
    of pure silver.  The advantages of being a sorceror, I
    suppose.  Within a week a dozen other of the noble brats
    would be imitating me, so I'd have to find something new
    again.  But for now, it was all mine.
      I sucked in my cheeks to highlight my facial structure.  
    I'm damn handsome, and proud of it.  Beauty is not free and
    I've worked damn hard to be so attractive.   A tiny gesture
    sent blood rushing to my cheeks and lips, making them flush.
    Lovely contrast to the pale skin and brilliant hair.
      I checked my clothes too.  I'd settled for an old favorite
    tonight, huge gaudy silk pantaloons and a gem encrusted vest.
    Just bordering on tacky, but definitey attention attracting.
      A quick piroutte showed that everything was properly
    folded, tucked, and pressed.   Right.  Time to make an
    entrance.  Fashionably late, of course.

Elwyn is definitely a fop, if nothing else. He's devastatingly handsome, horribly fashionable, and a trendsetter beyond compare. Naturally, his hair is a light brown, but he almost never wears it that way, prefering to enhance it with conjuration or sorcery in all manners of bizzare fashions. His eyes are light green, and somewhat catlike, which he quite likes and thus rarely covers up. Slimly built, he could appear effeminate if he wanted to, but he despises being mistake for a woman, and thus tends to play up his masculine attributes. Describing his constantly changing wardrobe is a waste of words. By the time you were finished they'd have been long replaced by something much more fashionable. That tunic... so last week.

He's also the ultimate consumer. He acquires anything that attracts his attention, obsesses over it for a short while, then discards it without another thought. Shiny, sparkly, flashy, pretty, jeweled, glossed, or just unique, it hardly matters to him in the end.

      I glanced around the room.  Fools all.  I could eat their
    minds without a second thought and make them dance like a
    giant puppet show for my amusement.  And not a one could 
    stop me.  I'd done it before.  Only some of the Royals were 
    strong enough of mind to stop me, and not many at that.
      I weaved gracefully through the room, picking up drinks
    from trays as I went, downing them in a gulp and moving on.
    It's not hard to outdrink such lightweights.  But then, I
    can outdrink most of an army.  Lots of practice.  There.
    I spotted my prey and closed in.
      The glove barely rocked his head.  I mentally cursed my
    weakness, promising myself I'd begin taking my training
    seriously, knowing I'd have forgotten the oath by morning.
      He sneered at me, and I sneered right back.  We exited
    into the garden and he stripped of his jacket, stretching
    his arms and then drawing that meatcleaver he uses for a
    sword.  I bounced on my toes lightly, twirling my foil
    lightly between my palms.  Stupid.
      I'll give him credit, he was better than average.  He
    actually made me move from my stance once, to avoid his
    swipe.  But it was no effort at all to cut the buttons on
    his shirt one by one, slice his belt free, then mark both
    cheeks while he stumbled about like a drunken goat.

For one of non-Royal blood, Elwyn is surprisingly gifted. His mind is, indeed, quite strong. The majority of the Elders match or outclass him, but of the generation that matches his age, he's definitely among the best. He's amazingly quick, and has a natural grasp of tactics that he's honed playing games of intrigue with the other noble houses. He'll probably never challenge the even the mid-ranks of the Royal family, but he might well outfight and outmaneuver the captains of the Army. He's also relatively tough, both practiced in terms of abusing his body with endless cocktails, drugs, sleep deprivation and orgies, and a naturually fast healer.

His weakest point is definitely his strength, which is well above average for a normal human, but below that of even the most mundane Amberite. He continually promises himself he'll improve, but somehow manages to forget those promises in the face of boring physical training.

      I gestured briefly and felt the spell leap from the rack.
    It flew true, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his 
    head.  His resistence was gone by the time his knees touched
    the ground.  Dull glazed eyes stared at the ground as his 
    hands slowly dropped to his sides.
      I laughed, mostly out of sheer spite.  Well, perhaps some
    relief as well, since he was good enough to carve me into
    sushi if he'd tried.

Elwyn is a rather accomplished Conjurer and Sorceror, who fritters away most of his talents on useless summonings of frippery, spells of convienience, and other such nonsense. However, he's quite good at Compellings, and frequently uses them to accomplish his intrigues, embarrass his enemies, and find himself dates for the evening.

Most often he racks a load of fairly generic hour or two casting time Compellings as Sorcery spells.

      I stood at the center, panting but triumphant.  The power
    of the cosmos was now at my disposal.  I could go anywhere,
    see anything.  I'd read carefully, and knew my first request.
    This Pattern could now send me anywhere I wished.  I asked
    to be sent to a place with the prettiest woman I could 
    imagine.
      That was when I got my first lesson in the Break.  She
    was pretty alright.  But she also had a sword, three husbands,
    and a pair of very hungry dogs that looked like they were at
    least 3/4 wolf.

For Elwyn, having Broken Pattern is something of a mixed blessing. He despises the fact that, not being of Royal blood, he can't walk the Real thing. So his Broken Pattern imprint is a constant reminder of that. However, he's sufficiently mastered his own Break (which manifests primarily by reinforcing his natural tendancy towards cowardice) that he can do most of what a normal Pattern user can, which allows him to delude himself into thinking he's on an equal level with the Royals, despite being of only noble birth.

He knows that using BP is a dangerous proposition, though his Psyche does tend to let him get away with it. Nevertheless, he tends to avoid using it if he has other means at his disposal. Since he's normally fairly content to kick around the GC shadows, this means he can go for long periods of time without using any of his imprint abilities. Beyond Shadowwalking, he does occasionally use the Pattern Lens abilty, and if he's anticipating trouble, he'll use the Broken Pattern as an additional spell rack.

      I lunged once, then again, then a third and final time.
    He collapse in a heap, pierced armor leaking blood all over 
    and a rattling sound to his breath.  As good as dead.  
    Served him right, trying to bully noblity like that.  
    Road tax.  Fah.
      Just as I went to sheathe my blade it nearly leaped out
    of my hand, but I'd much experience with it's tricks and
    followed, spinning just in time to deflect a blow from the
    dead man's partner.

Elwyn's foil is a bit unusual for him, in that he's kept it for more than a month. In fact, he's had it quite a long time. Assuredly, it's at least moderately encrusted with gemstones, but the blade itself is very strong, razor sharp and quite supple. It's also enchanted with a variety of spells that make it quite sensitive to immediate danger to Elwyn's person, perhaps the reason he's loathe to give it up.

      I laid another charm into the ring, finishing off an even
    dozen.  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I put it back on my
    finger.  Grunt work is not my specialty, but I hate being
    caught unprepared even more.

The silver band with Celtic-style knotwork is Elwyn's spell rack. He usually wears it on his right index finger, but all the other fingers are fair game, and he's occasionally used it as a hair band or carried it on a neck chain.

      I fanned the trump, looking for the one of the House's
    warehouse.  I'd need supplies for this trip and that was
    the best place to get them.

Elwyn has a deck of trump which includes the majority of the Royal family. He's remarkably tightlipped about where it came from, and has never actually used any of the Royals in the deck. It also contains a number of his family's holdings (including two fast time and one slow time shadow) and a few of the other important nobles he knows.