| Softhearted | Bashful |
| Humane |
| Judicious | Complacent |
| Serene | Destined |
| Wise | Ambivalent |

| Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te |
| ♂ | 5'6 |
| 24 Summers |
| Lawful Good | Homosexual |

• About

• Abilities

• Artwork

Destiny

In the blackest of nights and the most deafening of silence, a spark is all that is needed for it to break. Insignificant as a spark may be, it illuminates the never-ending darkness even if just for a moment. In that moment you realize that the shadows are weak, easily conquered by that which it fears most. A spark, to ignite the start of a new ideal, a new path, a new reason.
Shattered as the crystal of hope may be, there will always be fragments of what once was. No matter how much effort put into snuffing out every last shard, it gets smaller… but it never dies away.
Lost on the walk of life’s twists and turns, left to wander as you realize you don’t know where you are or how to navigate through. The nights swallow the days as you begin to waver and falter. Looking to the sky, wishing for a form of guidance to show you amongst the redundant roads leading through the unknowns.
A lamb without its shepherd, left to wander the perilous journey all on its own where vicious and unforgiving predators lay in wait to strike and rob it of its future. A grand, yet lonely world it roams but with no being to receive love from, receive care from, nor receive protection from.

You are the spark.
You are the fragment.
You are the guide.
You are the shepherd.
You... are hope.

Origins

S’acri was born in the Thanalan deserts and was raised in the Zu clan as a Tia before he left those traditions behind as a young adult. Their closed-mindedness and cruel treatment towards those lacking in usefulness in the tribal village setting had driven him to pursue an alternate land to grow himself, where he would better flourish. His hatred towards his clan burns in his heart even today, as much as it pains him to admit. The clan tattoos (not eye markings) that were put upon his face as a rite of passage in his clan as an infant, or "scars" as he puts it, only serve to remind him of the torment he endured for being different than dictated by clan tradition, and as a result has always had a disliking for traditions. He typically covers the tattoos up with a type of cosmetic, as he can't stand to look in the mirror and see them upon his visage.
He ended up in Gridania to learn the art of Conjury, as he felt it would suit him best to heal and protect others more capable than him. After displaying a masterful touch for the art of Conjury and showing a true pure and noble heart for protecting the Twelveswood over the course of the years spent fulfilling his duties, the elementals reached towards him with the power of the sacred art of the Amdapori: White Magic. Witnessing an extremely uncommon event of a non-Padjal white mage, Kan-E-Senna allowed S’acri to work under her and the Padjali's wing to survey his progress and ensure that it wasn't put to incorrect use- as it is still considered a dangerous lost art, no less now that it has been peculiarly granted to a Miqo'te outsider. He has since been able to, the true reason unbeknownst to him, birth new magic from his core that is unique from the power of his own spirit, heart, and power. The powers of faith, inspiration, hope, and the light had been awakening within him a little at a time- the call of something greater than the humble man could ever imagine reaching ever closer to him.

Currently

As much as he tries his best to please all of those around him, there are those in Gridania who shun the man. Their old traditions, deeply-rooted xenophobia, racism, theocracy and fear of misused White Magic leaves them forever skeptical towards S'acri. Due to being an unnatural non-Padjali White Mage, he will always be seen as unworthy of the art in many eyes, and seen as tainting the tradition upheld for so many years. The result is an internally conflicted turmoil within the white mage, for he loves what he does but at the cost of yet again being treated and seen unfairly in the eyes of the masses due to the ways of the past that people stubbornly hold onto... just like his life back at his tribe. These experiences only further fuel the dim fire of hatred in his heart towards societal traditions.
However, little does the Miqote know that there is a fate in store for him greater than the call of the forest, and may yet force him away from the routine, comfortable, and slow life he had created for himself; for there is a reason the elementals had been so quick to bond with his soul. Every passing day does the man further part from the comfort of conjury and down the path of a most feared and illegal power for centuries- his mastery over the elements of water, wind, and earth distilling into a daunting newfound and unknown power of light that is brilliant and pure. As the ancient art of the White Mages of Amdapor slowly awakens within such a radiant spirit and heart, a question could arise: could one who harbors such a powerful combination hold such restraint necessary to retain these powerful blessings? Since the Sixth Umbral Calamity has the world despised the mages for their stealing of the world's aether, and the elementals will not allow such events to occur again- though their weakened state from the Calamity allows some freedom.
And so daily does S'acri ponder the ancient teachings and nature of Amdapor: 'Our power was only meant to react and restore, never to gain power and strike first.' He reminds himself often that he must not act out of line, despite his bleeding heart beseeching him to heal every wound and smite every villain with this borrowed power... but he must learn not to play a god and go beyond nature's intended limitations, lest the ambient aether of the land upon which he calls upon turn against him.

Description

Always seen with a small smile across his lips and a warm, inviting gaze in his bright pearlescent eyes, S’acri is a quiet, tranquil, graceful, and some would say bashful young Miqo’te. Surprisingly wise for his age as well, he has become a healer for the mind as well as the body in keeping the mental and physical state of people he comes across at the best capacity he can. To some it would be a mystery as to how such a silent and timid man could instill such hope in others and some would say it’s a gift- but it’s his deeds that speak more volumes than his own voice ever could. He could not be more humble about himself though, perhaps even to a fault. He has difficulty turning down a request and often works himself to exhaustion.
He has many internal struggles, treated as an outcast in his childhood to teenage years in his clan, and now as an adult being shunned because of his art and upbringing, both because of tradition and customs. Very rarely does he feel like he belongs. No matter how sad he may get, you won’t see him without that soft smile when someone approaches him.S'acri is typically seen garbed in robes and similar light clothing, favoring colors of bright and natural-colored hues. He prefers to be covered even in hot or humid temperatures. His wardrobe changes often but he adores feathers, ornaments, and unique designs which are all usually reflected in his daily wear. His hair is a chocolate brown color and appears a ruffled and wavy medium length style, and is usually donning some sort of ornament or accessory. His eyes are a luminous, glistening white with clan markings branching off from the inner corner of each of them down each cheek. His build is not very powerful in appearance but makes up for it with a lithe figure that is decently quick on their feet.

| Tenacious | | Plucky | Earnest |
| Golden-hearted | Simple |
| Courageous | Overzealous |
| Persistent | Impassioned | Dedicated |

| Raen Au Ra |
| ♂ | | 6'8 |
| 21 Summers |
| Neutral Good || Homosexual |

• About

• Abilities

Background

Hikotsune Uzuka is a Raen Au Ra one could glance at and never arrive to the conclusion that he's of a wealthy and noble upbringing. Growing up he had always lived a peaceful life in Othard among his many brothers and sisters under their gentle parents. At Hikotsune's young adult age, the conflict that had been plaguing Doma had driven them to escape to Sui-no-Sato and shun the world above. All in the family agreed, and hastily and happily prepared for departure. All except himself.

Hikotsune didn't want to abandon a world in pain, as the Auri who escape to Sui-no-Sato very rarely emerge to the surface above. How could one shun the world that had nurtured them just because it's in pain as of now?
This statement didn't surprise his parents, as at this point they were plenty aware of the idiotic situations Hikotsune had gotten himself into trying to be a hero where he had no place being one in the first place. They were usually the ones that had to deal with the aftermath and frankly, his father in particular, had been tired of the issues his problem child had caused . They still loved him of course, but knew he had a lot of growing up to do. He left his family behind as they escaped the surface to the comfort of the castles in the depths.

As of now he does exactly what he promised himself he'd do that day: improve himself and help those who need to be helped. By doing that, he was sure eventually he'd reach the point where he can make a difference in this dangerous world. Why is he so adamant about saving people and this world? Well... when asked, you'll be met by the widest, toothy grin along with a, "The world needs heroes!". More perceptive people would be able to tell there's more motive to it than he lets on.
He always had a marvelous amount of heart and strength, but just recently he had been learning to naturally control the flow aether within him unintentionally to give his attacks more powerful effects just by sheer drive and persistence of a desire to grow. However, if you tried to explain and educate how the aether works and how better to control it, most likely you'll be met with a thousand-yalm stare with words going through one ear and out the other. It would appear he had a natural affinity for improving himself.

Description

While not being the brightest light of the crystal, Hikotsune makes up his lack of worldly and social intelligence with an unparalleled amount of heart and persistence. His true goal, while wanting to help make the world safer, is to get stronger himself to be able to reach that goal. As such, he enjoys training immensely and has quite the internal motivation to improve himself. However, he has the tendency to get himself into bad situations because of this; tending to bite off more than he can chew or rush into things he's unprepared for. He tends to run more on instinct and emotion- comparable almost to an animal although saying that to his face will surely get ample amounts of protest.Hikotsune is typically seen in clothing that leaves a lot of mobility for his body and limbs to freely move about in any way he needs. Using his own body as a weapon, it's imperative that the clothing he wears doesn't restrain too tightly nor hang off of him too loosely. As such, he wears clothing that gives his arms, legs, and torso fluidity of movement to bend any way he may need in any situation.

Abilities

Hikotsune has a lot to learn, but is still a powerful hand-to-hand combatant, especially since naturally and unintentionally learning to control aether through his body to make his weapon- himself- that much more powerful. He has a variety of martial attacks that work best with his specific style of fighting which is best described as a manipulation of his own and opponent's body to expose weaknesses and deliver nasty blows. He appears to have more powerful lower body strength than upper.

Skills

• Descriptions

| Hedonistic | | Greedy |
| Egocentric |
| Charming | | Roguish |
| Flirtatious | | Lustful |
| Self-seeking | Deft |

| Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te |
| ♂ | | 6'2 |
| 27 Summers |
| Chaotic Neutral | Homosexual |

Background

Ruto'ir at face value is a very simple man. Pleasure-seeking and coin being his major priorities, there aren't many things he wouldn't do to achieve both- so be it at the expense of others, even. One would most likely assume the man was a lowlife, a shady mercenary stirring up trouble and looking for no good deeds at the local taverns and back streets; and they would be right despite the humble beginnings of the man.Ruto'ir's parents were wanderers that migrated to Dravania, once independents who drifted from land to land- surviving off of their own competent hunting skills. Eventually, they began to make a family which was the reason they decided to finally settle down in a natural and hunting-rich environment to be self-sufficient. Over the many years, they had born six children; Ruto'ir being the sixth and only male child of the large family. The life that they had made for their children was much too slow for the youngest child, the hard work and repetition of survival weighing him down over the years.The family was a part of a tribe of hunters at a location by the name of Tailfeather, living amongst their people for many years. Growing up in this environment, Ruto had begun to lash out easily at those he worked and hunted with at a young age. He was jealous of his sisters especially, who had quite the easy workload with their mother compared to him, who had to do most of the fatiguing work with his father.Upon the Calamity occurring many years later, the devastation of such an event wracked havoc upon Ishgard and Dravania. Food became scarce, and the lands were freezing over, and dragons were much more rampant and aggressive. Most importantly, many of Tailfeather's population became deceased, including a few of Ruto'ir's own sisters and father.The situation appearing very dire for their old routine, slow life, the Ishgardian government under which Tailfeather was employed to implored the hunters to undergo a closer service to the city until the hunting colony could be rebuilt. This essentially meant servitude as a laborer and training as a scout for Ruto'ir, and he was not happy. He was unused to being told what to do by authority figures and, but he especially despised the education he was forced to undergo as routine for anyone being employed under the guard. He and his sisters would always be treated and looked upon as scum and lowborns that didn't belong in their city- and they were right, they didn't.That was until he happened upon the Brume, where many were treated much the same way. Here, Ruto felt more at home and felt the alleys were an asylum in between the draining hours of training and education that was forced upon him; despite his sisters demanding he stop visiting such dangerous parts of the city. Of course he didn't listen, for it was here that Ruto'ir truly began making friends and practicing the dirty deeds that truly give a lowlife their name. All the vigorous training and discipline would be forgotten and ignored each time he would find the time to get up to no good in the back streets of the noble city.Eventually, his luck had run out and all the mischievous deeds that he had done had caught up to him. He now had a bounty on his head and was unwelcome within any cobblestone of Ishgard, his status as a laborer and guard in training dropped; and he needed to flee. Escaping the city proved incredibly simple for a street rat, and he stole one of the black chocobos at the nearby stable- knowing how to handle one perfectly as a hunter from Tailfeather, and made his grand escape flying on the back of his onyx-feathered acquaintance. He knew he would never be welcome back again.Nowadays, he does... mostly honest work as a mercenary of deadly skill- utilizing both his past as a disciplined knight and a dirty trickster to his everyday advantage. His family, who he still communicates with quietly, is back in Tailfeather with a stronger hunting colony than before and flourishing. He mostly keeps up communication with his mother, who he is very fond of and would otherwise give him an earful if he made her worry; so he typically leaves quite the amount of detail out of his usual business. He makes decent living and coin doing what he likes to do being his own boss with excitement and fighting, so in the end- what more can a guy can ask for?

Description

Ruto is typically seen often in various leathers of darker hues, typically wearing a coat and/or garments that reveal quite a bit of his chest. The man exudes an aura of confidence and experience, his eyes sharp and keen; the scent of pine and whiskey clinging to his being. His looks would dictate him as being quite the charming rogue, though in all honesty he's quite uncouth and immature- a glutton for pleasure as well. He has no issue in indulging himself at any given opportunity, but despite that will always get a paid job done.

Abilities

Ruto utilizes the precise and dignified combat style of the Duelist, the rapier and proper form being his weapons of choice. Being trained in this style with harsh discipline and many grueling hours of stuffy combat practice, the steps and measures for such an art are ingrained into the man's mind.
However, in a form of rebellion in honor of his new lifestyle, he uses a lot of underhanded and cheap tricks a low life scoundrel would incorporate to their fighting style in order to win in a fight. It makes it hard to be able to tell what his next move will be: powerful, precise, and calculated flurry of proper strikes or a swift underhanded sucker punch or boot to the gut?

Skills

• Descriptions

| Tormented | Fixated | Quiet |
| Cold | Apathetic |
| Supernatural | Seeker |
| Enthralled | Lost | Nocturnal |

| Xaela Au Ra |
| ♂ | | 7'1 |
| 26 Summers |
| True Neutral | Demisexual |

• About

• Abilities

Background

A person born and fated to the darkness, Alakir is a cursed man. Alakir was born truly infused with the thick blood of the The Dusk Mother and naturally inherited the gifts of the shadows as a result. As he grew up living a tribal life of hunting and gathering with his people, the first thing he noticed changing about him was his vision. Every now and then he noticed it would flicker between the veil of a shadowy, dead realm where visages and spirits roamed and then back to the mortal realm. The things Alakir would see in this shadowy realm would terrify him- as the spirits would sometimes attempt to reach to him in desperate plea, even seeing the moments before people’s deaths, before in an instant flashing back to the mortal plane. Eventually it grew to desensitize him from shocking situations such as death and murder.

In his teenage years he began to be able to slip into the veil momentarily of his own will, turning essentially invisible on the mortal plane- only for a few moments. It takes an immense amount of his aether to control his essence inside of the veil.
Eventually all people around him, family and peers alike, had grown to dislike and fear Alakir. As a young man, he would scream and writhe in horror in his sleeping quarters and awaken all the tents around his own, and people never believed him when he told them that he could see the world of the dead. As a man, people keep their distance because of the way he acts. Silent, apathetic, and truthfully- rather scary. His trauma had put him in a desensitized state- as nothing shocking nor traumatic comes to phase him, and doesn’t come to show much emotion.

He’s always seen staring off into the distance, his eyes glazed over, unblinking for rather long amounts of time, and seen doing rather odd acts such as wandering about- aimlessly observing people rather too in-depth; investigating objects, structures, natural life as if he’d never seen them before- studying them very thoroughly.
Because of that, he preferred to travel in solitude, learning what he may about the dead of Eorzea- and this information he holds, to himself and only himself.

Description

The pale xaela can only be described as grim and gloomy. The man never smiles, and his eyes are hollow and apathetic. He speaks with such a deep yet drained and muted tone, as if it pained his throat to speak any louder. His mannerisms are rather lacking, not wishing to speak when not necessary. In his mind, people will end up accusing him of being a liar of his curse, or accuse him of being a demon or a witch should he prove them right. He also figured should he ever get close to anyone, they would only use him for their own selfish benefits- connecting with dead relatives, friends or anyone from the past.
It simply isn't worth it.He typically wears tribal-like garbs of black hues, making his porcelain skin stand out against the midnight colors of the clothes and his scales. His eyes are a deep violet color, though his naturally hooded eyelids make it rather difficult to see against the black tattoos that weave across his eyes and lids.

Abilities

Alakir uses two blades enchanted with dark aether and his curse of the Veil to confuse and maim enemies with dark sprits and shadow magic. He can fade between the plane of the living and the dead to appear invisible, however it brings immense pain as if swimming through a sea of razor blades and needles and thus using Veil energy takes a lot of energy out of the man.

Skills

• Descriptions

Wild Rose with Bloody Thorns

| Passionate | Deceiving |
| Empathic |
| Beautiful | Ascended |
| Unscrupulous | Vengeful |
| Repressed | Assassin |

| Half-Lupin, half-Viera |
| ♂ | | 6'4 |
| ?? Summers |
| Neutral Evil | Pansexual |

• About

• Abilities

Background

Cypress' tale began with an initiation, to forsake one's identity in the name of an oathbound duty to kill high-level threats to the world. His family worshiped a Lupin okami spirit; a spirit of passion, cunning, and ferocity, and it demanded sustenance of heavy, corrupted souls. Cypress contributes by sacrificing those that the world would be better without in an organization by the name of Shōjōhi... a group dedicated to eliminating targets such as crime lords, evil politicians, or serial killers. The spirit continues to be worshiped by his family, and he gets to kill wretched stains on this world, a win-win.Cypress himself was a dancer, a performer, an actor... a man with devilish charms and a lithe body, with the looks to be the whole package; using all of them to his advantage against his marks. After a riveting performance of dancing silk, drama, and flair to grab the attention of his marks, he would make an excuse to run into them post performance. It was all too easy from there. Promises of loving evening company, engaging conversation, private dances... all ended with a throat stained in crimson. It was like clockwork, how easy it was to manipulate and get what he wanted. He began to get a little too comfortable.

The descent down a dark path began from a bad mark from his own organization. A setup. Someone much too important to approach, even worse if killed... and yet perished he did, unbeknownst to Cypress who the nameless man actually was and that his process was observed. A leader of a rival organization, a cult of vile assassins who kill in cold blood for their own betterment, eyes now faded and jaw slacked. He got word not too many days afterwards by a cryptic note, with an attachment of noir black hair much like his own. His heart sank. How was it possible that someone would be aware of his family when they had been in hiding, sending orders out from the safety of the okami's protection? He immediately rushed to his ancient secluded home in Yanxia. He arrived to a desecrated shrine, and a mangled corpse upon the floor. His father, the last remaining member of his family, barely recognizable beneath the blood and disfigured appearance. He screamed for hours, as tears poured down his face, thinking about how his carelessness created this outcome. Once he had a semblance of composure did he stand, his eyes bloodshot. He realized soon that the information on that mark wasn't from Shōjōhi, but the nameless heavily veiled order of assassins dedicated to fostering misery that haunted the Far East's underground for too long. Cypress' father worked tirelessly to unveil and get information on for decades, the setup all a ruse to get a link to his family.

Once the despair settled, giving his father a proper ceremonial burial did a fire begin to burn within the man's heart, his soul. Pure anger, a strong desire, and the lingering touch of the spirit realm from the ceremony hung within the air. As Cypress knelt at the shrine of their ancestry, exuding raw emotion, pure despair and misery, and a flaming lethal anger. A powerful desire to achieve what he wanted more than anything in the world, other than to bring back all of his fallen family. Vengeance.

The shrine's braziers burned alight, a flickering ghostly green light. Cypress immediately turned upwards at the grand monument of stone as wolf spirit coalesced before him. It spoke to him in his mind. A contract it offered... with such bountiful and tangible emotion and dedication, it was intrigued by the man. It felt a connection, Cypress' family having been its source of sacrifices. In their time of need, it returns the favor in the form of an awakening to the desperate assassin. Cypress greedily agreed, through running tears did he agree to the contracts' plethora of benefits... and its hefty price. The awakening would consume his essence and his body, the Lupin god filling in the majority of his soul with its power and visage. Aspects of his humanity began to shift: fangs, claws, a monstrous beastly eye, lengthened and wild hair and striped markings across his body- the very same stripes etched into his god's fur. He became a feral beauty, a transformation better suited to the tasks of deception and charm he was much accustomed to.

This was easy to accept, however the true price to pay was his heart and mind. The spirit of passion overcomes him often, his feelings so powerful and violent its near maddening. Cypress' desire to vengeance and spiraling despair were so tantalizing to the spirit, the emotions only amplified when the god took root within him. The emotions are so strong in fact, he was now able to control his own akasa and adopt the spirit's manipulation in the energy. This is a price he was willing to pay, the sacrifice of his humanity and endure its conflict within. There is no trial nor any humiliation that he is not willing to undergo to bring him closer to his vengeance- and it will not be sated until every last member of that organization was left worse off than his father's corpse.

Description

The half-Lupin wild beauty is always garbed in glorious cloth and shining metal accessories to accentuate his lithe and built body that is adorned with black stripes across his always exposed torso. His hair descends all the way down to his waist in thick, wavy black locks. He sports large Lupin ears and a bushy tail. He is always seen with a scarlet rose covering one eye.He walks with an air of seduction, effortlessly oozing charm and charisma. His beauty and confidence and way of speaking could be enough to swoon any that gets caught in his sights. His performances are mesmerizing, the way his body and muscles roll with the sheen of sweat highlighted by stage fires and lights... it was a glorious sight to behold. With a devilish smile, an enrapturing aura, it's difficult to say no to those seductive lips when they ask, "May I have this dance?".

Abilities

There are many skills at the awakened assassin's disposal. His weapon of choice had always been dancing fans and throwing blades he expertly hid from sight using the fans as cover. In close quarters, he prefers using the blades as daggers. The okami enhanced Cypress' movements with the manipulation of akasa and his talented dancing, allowing him to blend his martial skills to a bewitching dance of death.

Skills/Magic

| Clumsy | Misguided |
| Haphazard |
| Wannabe | Ambitious |
| Impressionable | Delusional |
| Awkward | Endearing |

| Helion Hrothgar |
| ♂ | | 5'10 |
| 19 Summers |
| Chaotic Neutral | Homosexual |

Background

The young man had not always attempted to resort to petty crimes to survive. Living in a period of war in your homeland was not for the weak-willed or for the weak of heart... this Hrothgar was unfortunately both.

"Mailo" had no clue who his parents were. They had perished fighting in the Eastern Alliance long before he had consciousness. There were lots of young people like him, much too many who had lost their family clashing against the Garleans who had been invading Dalmasca for the past thirty years. They were taken care of, to the best of what the resistance had to offer anyways. However, they were expected to be trained to fight, and to be recruited into the Eastern Alliance. "Mailo" didn't much care for fighting, but nobody there did. It was just what had to be done, as he was told.

During a night invasion at the home camp "Mailo" resided in during a training practice operation not too far from the field of battle, he was taken hostage by the Garlean invaders- lead by a squad leader named Septimos het Manius, whom stated that every day the Resistance refused to surrender the current ongoing battle, would slay one of the captured orphans; while the remained lived in the worst state. Starved and dehydrated, treated like dirt.

It was on the cold floor of the dark holding room of the Castrum that "Mailo" decided he hated war. Not even in the way that the adults hated the war, or even his peers. He hated this war, and the country they were fighting for of which he had no attachment. He hated fighting, and didn't want to learn to fight for a homeland that was never any home of his. Being born in a place did not decide that for him, and it absolutely did not feel like one.

In the miserable days in the Castrum, he happened upon another prisoner... but a much older one, and under much tighter security. Naturally curious, he would frequently visit the cell after sneaking away from the rest of the group being escorted to and fro in the Castrum. He conversed with the man behind the bars, who seemed to be a massive specimen of a Hrothgar, named Asbrand Amailo. He seemed to keep many of the details to himself, but he appeared to be a knight who had lost the one he promised to protect, and was captured during his despair on the battlefield having failed his duty.

He was impressed that the young lad managed to sneak away from the Legatus in charge of "watching the cattle". Having shared each other's woes with one another, Asbrand let up an offer. "You wish to leave this place? This land? This war? I can help you. But you must free me from this cell, and I will stop at nothing to ensure you escape Dalmasca, and achieve the life you deserve there, little lion." Obviously, he agreed, but when he asked why the large man simply said, "You remind me of someone."

Everything was falling into place. Asbrand's information was correct, the Centurion that held the key card could be found vulnerable in the early morning as the orphans were led to their individual holding room from the public executions of each other. Now was his chance, while his belongings were scattered. The Centurion's back was turned, and "Mailo" made his move. The identification card, right next to the heavy armor that laid upon the table. A few soft steps he took, his arm outstretched and then...

He tripped. When the moment of truth was at hand, his fingers about to press against the card, he tripped on his own shaking feet and sent the armor clattering agsint the floor, metal upon hard floor echoing the halls of the Castrum. The man held eye contact with the shocked Hrothgar. They both blinked a few times, the lad smileing and gave a breathy awkward chuckle before snatching the card and bolting to the cell. The Centurion called out from the hall to stop the runt, as he dodged the hands and weapons that attempted to stop his endeavor.

Out of breath, he slammed the card into the scanner, the behemoth of a man stepping out of the call calmly, smiling. "Excellent job, lad. A true master thief." Though too exasperated to speak, "Mailo" smiled, and Asbrand took down each of the guards that charged through with ease, procuring weaponry for himself and freeing the rest of the orphans as they made their grand escape.

After nourishment back at the orphan camp, Asbrand pulled "Mailo" aside as they snuck away together. He took him to a secluded cove, where several rowboats resided on the outskirts of the battlefield. He kept his promise, and was to lead the young man away from this life. The Garleans had intercepted them, however, to take back their prized prisoner of war. Asbrand stepped forward, gunblade in hand, and bid "Mailo to sail away. "Run from here... and flourish. Do what you think you're best at, and I won't be far behind you."

Tears in his eyes, th eyoung Hrothgar rowed as fast as he could, the Garleans attempting to fire at him, but Asbrand as quick as can be holding them back with oppressive attacks. As he sailed out of earshot, the heroic gunbreaker smiled and closed his tired eyes.

"You remind me so much of him... little lion."

On the verge of exhaustion, "Mailo" ended up on the shores of Doma, where he was on his own. WIping his tears away, he took to heart what Asbrand told him. Do what you're best at, and flourish... but he wasn't good at anything. However... Asbrand had said he was a true master thief when he rescued him from that cell.

From that point on, he decided the streets of every major city would fear their wares' safety when they learn a new master thief was on the streets... but he would need a new name for them to fear first. All vendors, merchants, tradesman, and nobles would soon have this name etched into their memory, for a new famed thief swift of foot and deftness of hand had been born...

Mailo, the master thief!

Description

The light blue-furred Hrothgar with dark yellow eyes speckled with black has quite the lithe frame and a short height to boot for his kind. He often wears light leathers, as he's quite suited to since its all he's worn since he was a kid, as well as it being quite cheap compared to other fabrics.

Abilities

Mailo has a single dagger for emergencies. He will avoid a fight at any cost, as he doesn't really know how to fight or wield a weapon well at all. At most, some of the things he has learned to craft can be useful in fights, when they work. When it comes to fleeing, however, the young man is nearly outmatched.

Skills

| Melancholic | Ill-fated |
| Frail |
| Despondent | Vagrant |
| Transformation | Dangerous |
| Volatile | Two-sided |

| Half-Drahn, half-Sin Eater |
| ♂ | | 5'2 |
| ?? Summers |
| True Neutral | Homosexual |

Background

Description