Meloran Dowell

((This character and his story are still a work in progress and may be rewritten as the writer gets to know him better.))

First impression

『 Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme 』

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats

A man wearing many faces stands before you...—Meloran’s façade begins as a tailor’s apprentice; by day, his nimble fingers work precious fabrics into even finer garments. He preens himself with pleasant things to wear, taking an obvious pride in being well-groomed, clean, and presentable. The boy’s looks may garner a glance at a distance, perhaps even a second when drawing close— a decent enough excuse alone for seeking him out.It is a face familiar to those who frequent the seedier sides to Ul’dah in the evening. For, to know of The Sultana’s Minaudière, is to know of the precious jewels that offer themselves there. And, in turn, of the youth with the slashed lip whose duty is to guard the girls. Laying a hand on them without coin is akin to begging for a swift right hook to crack against one’s jaw.In the night, however, he becomes nothing but hushed whispers and a quick exchange of hands. Shady back alley dealings, too keen on pleasure in small bags. Smoke fills his lungs; fine powders etch levin bolts in his fingertips and teeth. Craving more, and more, and more excess— until he loses himself.Until he's finally able to forget.—... in his hand, a crisp, delicious looking apple.
ripe and ready for the bite of pale teeth.One need only stomach the worms at its core.