Sydney
Name: Sydney Carrigan
Race: Hallsman
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 170 lbs
Eyes: Dark Brown
Hair: Dirty Blonde
"What does 'getting into trouble' mean though, really? Trouble is everywhere. And if I don't get into it, it's not getting solved."
A horse bred to run must run. Kept in its stable, brushed, fed, and preened, it will long for the wind and glory of the plains. It will do all in its power to feel those things. It will break free, again and again, no matter the softness of its brush or quality if its feed.
Sydney Carrigan won't stop running now, no matter how many brick walls stand in his way.
An extroverted, loquacious, and incorrigibly confident young man, Sydney has an uncanny magnetism that makes him just plain likeable. The problem is, from the glint in his elegant almond-shaped eyes, to the flashing white of his smile, to the unearned swagger in his step, it's clear that he knows it.
At a glance, Sydney's appearance is as clean-cut as his first impression. His trim, somewhat lanky body is well-dressed in neatly patterned, dark brown cloth garb with wide sleeves. A cleanly trimmed, thin-kept goatee adorns his chin. The look is rounded out with fitted leather boots, and topped with two turquoise stud earrings and a short-cropped haircut that it seems possible someone else ordered for him. But the re-sewn seams on his shirt and pants, the scuffs on his boots, and the frizz of his hair bely the wild streak of his breed that keeps him out of that stable and thick in the deep, deep mud outside.
Race: Hallsman
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 170 lbs
Eyes: Dark Brown
Hair: Dirty Blonde
"What does 'getting into trouble' mean though, really? Trouble is everywhere. And if I don't get into it, it's not getting solved."
A horse bred to run must run. Kept in its stable, brushed, fed, and preened, it will long for the wind and glory of the plains. It will do all in its power to feel those things. It will break free, again and again, no matter the softness of its brush or quality if its feed.
Sydney Carrigan won't stop running now, no matter how many brick walls stand in his way.
An extroverted, loquacious, and incorrigibly confident young man, Sydney has an uncanny magnetism that makes him just plain likeable. The problem is, from the glint in his elegant almond-shaped eyes, to the flashing white of his smile, to the unearned swagger in his step, it's clear that he knows it.
At a glance, Sydney's appearance is as clean-cut as his first impression. His trim, somewhat lanky body is well-dressed in neatly patterned, dark brown cloth garb with wide sleeves. A cleanly trimmed, thin-kept goatee adorns his chin. The look is rounded out with fitted leather boots, and topped with two turquoise stud earrings and a short-cropped haircut that it seems possible someone else ordered for him. But the re-sewn seams on his shirt and pants, the scuffs on his boots, and the frizz of his hair bely the wild streak of his breed that keeps him out of that stable and thick in the deep, deep mud outside.