Post by scottie on Aug 18, 2011 15:14:42 GMT -5
Weyr: Black Sands
Name: Rhenik
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Candidate
Age: twenty
Appearence: The one Torran got right. Rhenik is just slightly taller than average with broad shoulders, slightly long limbs and a thin build. He's leanly muscular lending to underestimated strength, lighter weight, and increased agility - he's built for the acrobatics and physical demands of a wetboy job. His features are narrow and oddly graceful, the kind that can draw attention and then be forgotten. His jaw line is more narrow and rounded then the square, solid one most of his siblings have, giving him a more youthful look. His skin tone tends to be warm, either a pale beige or golden tan. He does not freckle (thus Ruen can't play connect the dots on him). His hair is naturally a golden brown, warm and earthy, but not so much so to be considered a blonde. It is primarily straight, posessing a little wave, but not much. Soft, and light, it's typically worn more on the long side. It's always waved back out of his face due to him constantly running his fingers through it. His most striking feature is his eyes. While the rest of his coloring is so warm and earthy, giving him the look of the 'golden boy', his eyes are not. They are a cold, sharp and clear silvery grey. The color of his father's. He's been known to change his appearance at the drop of a hat, using natural dyes to color his hair or skin. The only thing that stays steadily constant are those eyes and the scars. He has faint ones from training and from conflicts on jobs that went south. The worst is the one in his shoulder where a poison on the blade effected it, leaving it looking rather veined and pink yet. Most scars aren't readily noticable when he's pale, but when he tans, they stand out like stark lines.
Personality: There is a face the world sees of Rhenik. That face is confident, charming, and professional. He seems unwavering, fearless even. He is the Shadow King, at least in his opinion, and many of his competition would gladly agree with him. There are few wetboys who can pull of hits in broad daylight in crowded areas after all. To a degree, this outerface is true. He's confident in his abilities. He's willing to take mild risks to get to rewards and complete his jobs. Once he agrees to a contract, some one will die. He will surveil the assigned deader. If he decides he agrees with it, the deader dies. If he doesn't, the contractor dies. No one who knows who and what he is is allowed to live. His conscience is there still, just locked back under layers of mental wall. He's arrogant, patient, and a bit snarky at times. He could sit in wait in the shadows for hours if he had to.
Everything he does for a contract is planned out meticulously. He has an eye for detail but just as easily can switch out and look at the whole picture. Often, he is concerned only for his own agenda, but once he swears his loyalty to some one, they will always come before his loyalty to himself. His emotions sometimes get in the way and complicate things. Inwardly, he's a little hand-shy, frightened, nervous, questioning. He's suspicious of most people, but tries not to let it turn into paranoia. There's no sneaking up on him. He's always alert. He's intelligent and likes to be three steps ahead of everyone else, always having an escape route planned or knowing exactly how to kill everyone around him. He takes no risk he doesn't have to. He has a temper, though it's well controlled. He can hold a grudge for eternity, so it's highly advised that you don't piss him off. Your days will be numbered then. He actually isn't particularly fond of dragons. Like his father, he makes his way around, but more out of biological desires than any form of romance or emotional attatchment. His primary concern in life is survival. He doesn't like to draw attention unless he has to. He is a little cocky and does have an attitude about things, feeling himself a little more empowered than everyone else. He finds it difficult to trust. He's highly secretive. He thinks that no one would understand. Dispite the training, he's still a bit wide eyed, still quivers when in the act of killing, adrenaline filling his body. He's still nervous, afraid of getting caught.
History: Never was Rhenik wanted. He was a mistake to his mother, a monster that she didn't want to care for and that shouldn't have happened. Boys were useless to her. She wanted daughters, and certainly not the son of a wetboy she paid with favors. Of the six boys, Rhenik wasn't even planned for by his father. Aestylla didn't seem the type to produce what Torran was after. Thus, Rhenik was mostly left to defend for himself. At first the other women around doted on him - he was such an adorable baby after all! But once he grew out of being a baby, the doting stopped. He was allowed to run wild.
Things weren't right. He knew that. He felt the eyes on him as he showed up dirty, took what he wanted and fought tooth and nail to keep it. His mother looked at him with disdain. He returned it right to her. He never liked the woman. She might have made him, but he wasn't interested in anything about her. She could have shrivelled up and disappeared into the ground for all he cared. The person who tended to raise him and take care of him was his elder half-brother, the son of his mother and a ferrier. Rhenik was closer to no one else, and he wasn't particularly close to Dortar either. Still, he hid under the young man's apron sometimes, stuck with him and kept him company others. Even Dortar's father cared for the rag-a-muffin child.
"When was the last time you ate, Rhen?"
"Don't remember. Long time." The child shrugged it off as though it were nothing. Being hungry wasn't anything particularly new to him. The man with his burn scars and tanned hide gave him a smile, then a portion of something to eat.
"Then take what I won't eat, huh?" Everyone knew that wasn't true. The old ferrier ate everything put in front of him. What he gave to Rhenik had been saved for Rhenik, portioned off in attempt to try and make the runt of a boy look healthier, better.
Every effort to 'civilize' the boy left to run wild ultimately failed. He didn't seem interested. Survival was at the forefront of the child's mind, how he would do almost anything for it, anything to become something more than what he was. It was seven and a half turns into his life when Torran came back to enjoy Aestylla, the pretty woman she was. What he found instead was his son, brought in from the cold because the woman that looked over Aestylla wouldn't let the boy freeze. The child sat with a bowl of some thin soup. The wetboy knew it was his boy when he saw the child - it was in the eyes. The man stood over the child, an intimidating figure, strong, healthy, and well put together as though he had never wanted for anything.
"Do you know who I am?" If Torran didn't know he had a son from the whore, then he doubted the child would know who Torran was.
"No."
"I am Torran, a shadow king, a wetboy." The child's eyes went wide, lighting up to show he clearly knew what a wetboy was, what a shadow king was. Even he heard stories after all. "Do you want to do something with yourself or are you happy in this filth? If you want out, you've got an hour to show me how bad you want it."
That was the worst thing that he could have told the boy. How did one impress a wetboy? A killer of men. The boy didn't think much. Not as much as he was probably supposed to. The blade from the forge felt good in his hand. It was heavy, sure, he was having trouble using it, but that didn't stop him. Nothing would stop him. He'd do whatever it took to get out. Anything to be something more than the child his mother looked at with disdain, that no one really wanted. The blade weighed in his hand, but he gripped it, plotted, knuckles white, eyes scared but determined. He could feel his heart in his ribcage.
It didn't go according to plan at all. The child botched it. Botched it completely. The scream was heard by Torran, almost ready to leave and by the woman who over saw Aestylla. The sight they found was horrifying. The mother was gurgling her own blood, unable to scream again and Rhenik was backing away, shaking, covered in blood, blade still gripped fast in his hands. Years and several tries, and at last Torran had his apprentice. The boy was whisked away from the midsts of chaos. The wetboy was pleased to find that Rhenik was everything he could have wanted. He had a name to fit the pattern. He was intelligent, stealthy, and already broken.
The work of training was back breaking, but rarely did Rhenik complain. He trained alongside a boy two turns younger than himself. Well, for a little while anyways. After about five turns, the other boy was taken and Rhenik didn't care. Torran focused all of his abilities on training Rhenik. Never once did he admit that he was the child's father. He taught the boy all about poisons, how to make them, what to use, how they interacted with other things. Every fighting move was taught and learned. How to be silent. How to disappear. How to set traps and disarm them. If Rhenik complained, he was told to go back where he came from, go back to what he was and he couldn't do that. He trained hard to just past sixteen turns.
Then he was given his first few missions. He was good at what he did. So Torran sent him out on a very vague mission. Rhenik followed it to the letter. He got himself selected as a candidate to the Black Sands, put right where Torran wanted him. Any training was completed alone and in secrecy. Contracts were done the same way. Then he got one curious order, an order to kill. Nothing went as planned. The deader was as good as if not better than Rhenik. He found out why when he sunk his blade into the man, poisoned. He grinned at him, teeth tainted with his own blood, laughed a deep rumbling chuckle. The man looked down at the wound.
"Congradulations, Rhenik, son... you're a master wetboy..." The blade pinning him to the wall was yanked out as the man stumbled back. Rhen sank to the ground. They were both done for. The deader wasn't the only one poisoned and Rhenik knew it. Though he didn't know the deader was his Master, his father. "What'd you use?"
"Veraetus... same as you... Master..." In the boy with less resistence to the toxin, it was acting fast. The dying wetboy fumbled in his robes. Torran gave up what he had to counteract the poison to the only son he had to succeed, sacrificing his life for his boy's, but that's how it always worked. Every wetboy apprentice had to kill their master to become one. It was the one killing that Rhenik ever regretted. He regretted that he lived past it too. Still, he was healed, he returned to his place as a candidate, played along knowing that in another few turns he'd be out of it anyways. He'd be done and no one would wander about what happened to 'Sithesti', as that was the name he was using as a candidate. After all, wetboys don't really exist, or at least aren't supposed to.
Father: Torran
Mother: Aestylla
Siblings: Ronon, Rilom, Ruen, Radath, and Rycage (half brothers by father). Dortar, Kelia (half-siblings by mother)
Pets: None.
Color Preference & Why: Something dark. =3
What Colors/Color don't you want and why: N/A.
Name: Rhenik
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Candidate
Age: twenty
Appearence: The one Torran got right. Rhenik is just slightly taller than average with broad shoulders, slightly long limbs and a thin build. He's leanly muscular lending to underestimated strength, lighter weight, and increased agility - he's built for the acrobatics and physical demands of a wetboy job. His features are narrow and oddly graceful, the kind that can draw attention and then be forgotten. His jaw line is more narrow and rounded then the square, solid one most of his siblings have, giving him a more youthful look. His skin tone tends to be warm, either a pale beige or golden tan. He does not freckle (thus Ruen can't play connect the dots on him). His hair is naturally a golden brown, warm and earthy, but not so much so to be considered a blonde. It is primarily straight, posessing a little wave, but not much. Soft, and light, it's typically worn more on the long side. It's always waved back out of his face due to him constantly running his fingers through it. His most striking feature is his eyes. While the rest of his coloring is so warm and earthy, giving him the look of the 'golden boy', his eyes are not. They are a cold, sharp and clear silvery grey. The color of his father's. He's been known to change his appearance at the drop of a hat, using natural dyes to color his hair or skin. The only thing that stays steadily constant are those eyes and the scars. He has faint ones from training and from conflicts on jobs that went south. The worst is the one in his shoulder where a poison on the blade effected it, leaving it looking rather veined and pink yet. Most scars aren't readily noticable when he's pale, but when he tans, they stand out like stark lines.
Personality: There is a face the world sees of Rhenik. That face is confident, charming, and professional. He seems unwavering, fearless even. He is the Shadow King, at least in his opinion, and many of his competition would gladly agree with him. There are few wetboys who can pull of hits in broad daylight in crowded areas after all. To a degree, this outerface is true. He's confident in his abilities. He's willing to take mild risks to get to rewards and complete his jobs. Once he agrees to a contract, some one will die. He will surveil the assigned deader. If he decides he agrees with it, the deader dies. If he doesn't, the contractor dies. No one who knows who and what he is is allowed to live. His conscience is there still, just locked back under layers of mental wall. He's arrogant, patient, and a bit snarky at times. He could sit in wait in the shadows for hours if he had to.
Everything he does for a contract is planned out meticulously. He has an eye for detail but just as easily can switch out and look at the whole picture. Often, he is concerned only for his own agenda, but once he swears his loyalty to some one, they will always come before his loyalty to himself. His emotions sometimes get in the way and complicate things. Inwardly, he's a little hand-shy, frightened, nervous, questioning. He's suspicious of most people, but tries not to let it turn into paranoia. There's no sneaking up on him. He's always alert. He's intelligent and likes to be three steps ahead of everyone else, always having an escape route planned or knowing exactly how to kill everyone around him. He takes no risk he doesn't have to. He has a temper, though it's well controlled. He can hold a grudge for eternity, so it's highly advised that you don't piss him off. Your days will be numbered then. He actually isn't particularly fond of dragons. Like his father, he makes his way around, but more out of biological desires than any form of romance or emotional attatchment. His primary concern in life is survival. He doesn't like to draw attention unless he has to. He is a little cocky and does have an attitude about things, feeling himself a little more empowered than everyone else. He finds it difficult to trust. He's highly secretive. He thinks that no one would understand. Dispite the training, he's still a bit wide eyed, still quivers when in the act of killing, adrenaline filling his body. He's still nervous, afraid of getting caught.
History: Never was Rhenik wanted. He was a mistake to his mother, a monster that she didn't want to care for and that shouldn't have happened. Boys were useless to her. She wanted daughters, and certainly not the son of a wetboy she paid with favors. Of the six boys, Rhenik wasn't even planned for by his father. Aestylla didn't seem the type to produce what Torran was after. Thus, Rhenik was mostly left to defend for himself. At first the other women around doted on him - he was such an adorable baby after all! But once he grew out of being a baby, the doting stopped. He was allowed to run wild.
Things weren't right. He knew that. He felt the eyes on him as he showed up dirty, took what he wanted and fought tooth and nail to keep it. His mother looked at him with disdain. He returned it right to her. He never liked the woman. She might have made him, but he wasn't interested in anything about her. She could have shrivelled up and disappeared into the ground for all he cared. The person who tended to raise him and take care of him was his elder half-brother, the son of his mother and a ferrier. Rhenik was closer to no one else, and he wasn't particularly close to Dortar either. Still, he hid under the young man's apron sometimes, stuck with him and kept him company others. Even Dortar's father cared for the rag-a-muffin child.
"When was the last time you ate, Rhen?"
"Don't remember. Long time." The child shrugged it off as though it were nothing. Being hungry wasn't anything particularly new to him. The man with his burn scars and tanned hide gave him a smile, then a portion of something to eat.
"Then take what I won't eat, huh?" Everyone knew that wasn't true. The old ferrier ate everything put in front of him. What he gave to Rhenik had been saved for Rhenik, portioned off in attempt to try and make the runt of a boy look healthier, better.
Every effort to 'civilize' the boy left to run wild ultimately failed. He didn't seem interested. Survival was at the forefront of the child's mind, how he would do almost anything for it, anything to become something more than what he was. It was seven and a half turns into his life when Torran came back to enjoy Aestylla, the pretty woman she was. What he found instead was his son, brought in from the cold because the woman that looked over Aestylla wouldn't let the boy freeze. The child sat with a bowl of some thin soup. The wetboy knew it was his boy when he saw the child - it was in the eyes. The man stood over the child, an intimidating figure, strong, healthy, and well put together as though he had never wanted for anything.
"Do you know who I am?" If Torran didn't know he had a son from the whore, then he doubted the child would know who Torran was.
"No."
"I am Torran, a shadow king, a wetboy." The child's eyes went wide, lighting up to show he clearly knew what a wetboy was, what a shadow king was. Even he heard stories after all. "Do you want to do something with yourself or are you happy in this filth? If you want out, you've got an hour to show me how bad you want it."
That was the worst thing that he could have told the boy. How did one impress a wetboy? A killer of men. The boy didn't think much. Not as much as he was probably supposed to. The blade from the forge felt good in his hand. It was heavy, sure, he was having trouble using it, but that didn't stop him. Nothing would stop him. He'd do whatever it took to get out. Anything to be something more than the child his mother looked at with disdain, that no one really wanted. The blade weighed in his hand, but he gripped it, plotted, knuckles white, eyes scared but determined. He could feel his heart in his ribcage.
It didn't go according to plan at all. The child botched it. Botched it completely. The scream was heard by Torran, almost ready to leave and by the woman who over saw Aestylla. The sight they found was horrifying. The mother was gurgling her own blood, unable to scream again and Rhenik was backing away, shaking, covered in blood, blade still gripped fast in his hands. Years and several tries, and at last Torran had his apprentice. The boy was whisked away from the midsts of chaos. The wetboy was pleased to find that Rhenik was everything he could have wanted. He had a name to fit the pattern. He was intelligent, stealthy, and already broken.
The work of training was back breaking, but rarely did Rhenik complain. He trained alongside a boy two turns younger than himself. Well, for a little while anyways. After about five turns, the other boy was taken and Rhenik didn't care. Torran focused all of his abilities on training Rhenik. Never once did he admit that he was the child's father. He taught the boy all about poisons, how to make them, what to use, how they interacted with other things. Every fighting move was taught and learned. How to be silent. How to disappear. How to set traps and disarm them. If Rhenik complained, he was told to go back where he came from, go back to what he was and he couldn't do that. He trained hard to just past sixteen turns.
Then he was given his first few missions. He was good at what he did. So Torran sent him out on a very vague mission. Rhenik followed it to the letter. He got himself selected as a candidate to the Black Sands, put right where Torran wanted him. Any training was completed alone and in secrecy. Contracts were done the same way. Then he got one curious order, an order to kill. Nothing went as planned. The deader was as good as if not better than Rhenik. He found out why when he sunk his blade into the man, poisoned. He grinned at him, teeth tainted with his own blood, laughed a deep rumbling chuckle. The man looked down at the wound.
"Congradulations, Rhenik, son... you're a master wetboy..." The blade pinning him to the wall was yanked out as the man stumbled back. Rhen sank to the ground. They were both done for. The deader wasn't the only one poisoned and Rhenik knew it. Though he didn't know the deader was his Master, his father. "What'd you use?"
"Veraetus... same as you... Master..." In the boy with less resistence to the toxin, it was acting fast. The dying wetboy fumbled in his robes. Torran gave up what he had to counteract the poison to the only son he had to succeed, sacrificing his life for his boy's, but that's how it always worked. Every wetboy apprentice had to kill their master to become one. It was the one killing that Rhenik ever regretted. He regretted that he lived past it too. Still, he was healed, he returned to his place as a candidate, played along knowing that in another few turns he'd be out of it anyways. He'd be done and no one would wander about what happened to 'Sithesti', as that was the name he was using as a candidate. After all, wetboys don't really exist, or at least aren't supposed to.
Father: Torran
Mother: Aestylla
Siblings: Ronon, Rilom, Ruen, Radath, and Rycage (half brothers by father). Dortar, Kelia (half-siblings by mother)
Pets: None.
Color Preference & Why: Something dark. =3
What Colors/Color don't you want and why: N/A.
