A lean figure just over six feet tall, Brishan moves with a quiet grace that belies his keen eye for detail. His silver-white hair falls in loose waves to his shoulders, and a simple, dark-green hooded cloak frames bright turquoise eyes that miss nothing. He favors unadorned linen shirts, snug leather straps for his lute, and a battered satchel crammed with notebooks and quills. His lips carry the hint of a warm, knowing smile—one that seems to have heard every story worth telling.
The son of a humble fishmonger on Absalom's Lower Docks, Brishan learned early on to listen and observe. At 16 he parlayed those listening skills into a junior reporter's post at the Absalom Dockside Gazette filling out short gossip columns that combined street-corner interviews with his own je ne sais quoi. Word quickly spread of his column and fairly soon he was interviewing nobles that wanted to change the city, champions of the fighting pits, and world renowned musicians. He realized that he was being held back by his upper management and so set off on his own renting his own printing press from an uptown shop and printing his own paper filled with everything a reader could desire, even crossword puzzles to do while using the loo! As all good journalists do though, he eventually made some...well let's call them enemies. After 65 years of printing publications to the public he finally pissed off the wrong person, getting on the wrong side of a particularly large Duke who did not care for Brishan's "larger than life" depiction of him. Caricature art: not for him. Got it. He had heard around that time though that there was a portal that had opened up to a brand new world, what better place to write the greatest story ever told than by telling one no one knew the ending of yet. So at 110 years young he set out once again to be the very best...like no one ever was.
