17 year old troubled troublemaker
Chris Miller is 17, and everyone knows that he leads a group notorious troublemakers, terrors of the town if you listen to the rumours, a bunch of no-good rabble-rousing agitators.
Who’s in Chris’s group? well… that’s hard to say. Everyone Knows there’s a bunch of them, but it is well known that Chris is the ring leader, who comes up with all the schemes, all the plans all the ideas. It’s aaall Chris.
At least, that’s the perception that the group had painstakingly woven. Chris’s main talent was being sneaky and notorious, so much so that once they realised how much they could get away with behind people’s back whilst they focused on Chris, he became the go-to fall guy, who would publicly gleefully attention seek for the harmless pranks of the group as a whole.
In recent times the group has fallen into disrepair, the responsibilities of adult life, death, and so on have taken most of his friends from him. Chris’s reputation grows purely from momentum. If anything comically unlucky happens to someone, “That Chris Miller’s behind this, I’ll bet my walking stick!”
Still finalising the growth stages of puberty, Chris is of medium height with raggedly cut short brown hair. After the great poisoning of session 1, and the attonement quest, Chris cut it as a sign of a commitment to leave behind his troublemaking ways. It has since started growing back.
Of his band of rogues, only one remained close to him in Burnside: Trixy Wellstead. His relationship with Trixy was a nebulous one. They wrapped themselves in so many flirtatious bluffs and feints that honestly to the bystander it was never clear if they genuinely were attracted to each other, or they were playing a constant game of it. It’s entirely possible that they themselves couldn’t tell you either.
The destruction of his village and more importantly his home had quite an effect on Chris. His troublemaker tenancies began a steady slide. Trixy expressed concern in the weeks that followed as the rebuilding began, Chris failed to explain that it was a coping mechanism, that arranging a series of delicate events with precision timing to cause a local cat to knock a can of whitewash over its owner gave him a sense of control over his life.
Whilst his first set of travels to hunt for the village brought with it a sense of peace, almost a feeling of purpose in the world, his second set have been far less kind.
Walking through the streets of a charred village like his, the stench of burned flesh filling his nostrils, the charred corpses superimposed with involuntary faces of friends and family seared itself indelibly into his mind. The smell of charred wood or meat brings the memories of that place into horrific clarity.
The city isn’t much better, so crowded and busy, the sheer volume of people… as he walked through the gates it looked like an amazing opportunity for him, a place where no one knew his name or face, save his companions. Maybe, just for a bit he could put aside the nauseating stench of the dead, the echoes of a horde of bandits destroying his home whilst they cowered helpless below ground.
An opportunity yes, but a barbed one.
Chris refuses to think about his first night there, a blurred series of confused memories, emotions, and excitement. Feeling almost at ease in the Whorehouse that James grew up, Chris was approached by a someone who reminded him forcefully of trixy, the way she did her hair, the smile, the eyes… but older, more beautiful. She gave her name as Trixy and led him unprotesting away for the night.
It passed like a waking dream, everything unfolding before him with no conscious action required, or even possible against the dream. And on waking in the morning alone in a strange room, Chris was beside himself with a mounting guilt and confusion. Who was she? Why did she look like Trixy, and how did she have that name?
Confusion was overwhelming, the only possibility that made sense was that someone had slipped something into his drink, that the similarities to her were imagined, that the name was misheard. That only made the guilt over the betrayal in his mind worse.
It didn’t help his mood when later Serra, observant that she was, lashed out verbally, accusation and malice in her tone, a brutal jibe about the night he’d spent with a whore named Trixy.
Chris’s opinions of his companions as a whole dropped notably the next day when Brody made comments about Chris’s parents, how they’d done a poor job raising him. Chris’s cracked mask of jocularity and lightheartedness shattered and he more or less fled amidst the now unleashed vortex of terror and guilt in his mind.
In joining the army Chris is desperately hoping to both flee from the irresistible reminders of destruction, slaughter, and betrayal, and to find a manner of shelter, protection.