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(Just as a note, I'll be fleshing out more stuff very shortly. I just wanted to get the CS up with all the necessary info, for now.)
Basic Information
Nicknames: Amon, Amond, Ammy, 'Daris. Derogatory names: Halfbreed, Dogboy, Mongrel, Ice Bastard. Race: Mixed Blood (Vantha & Human) Birthday & Age: 30th of Winter, 491 AV (19 years old.) Gender: Male
Physical Description
While not as strikingly handsome as the fabled heroes of the stories he so adores, Amondaris is far from hideous. Attractive in a hard, almost cold manner, there is nothing soft in his appearance, from the grim, chiseled angles and planes of his face, to the lean and wiry muscles cording the entirety of his body. He stands tall, the non-Vantha parentage of his father clearly evident in his height, as he stands at six and a half foot. His pale skin is not, alas, free from blemish, dozens of scars weaving a tapestry of a life lived in the harsh embrace of both an unforgiving combat training regime and hunting in the wilds. The most prominent of these marks is a thick, vertical scar that begins an inch above his left eyebrow, extending all the way down to the bottom of his stubborn, strongly built jaw. His hair is kept fairly long, the straight locks falling to brush the tip of his shoulders. Dark brown in colour, it lacks the Vantha's unique hightlights that shimmer in the light, instead lightening with streaks of fair blonde when exposed to the sun over a long period of time. His Vantha heritage does, however, shine through in a most obvious manner- His eyes. As with all Vantha, and some of those who share their blood, Amondaris' eyes are truly windows to the soul, reflecting his mood and emotion by changing colour to suit, ranging from a deep, vibrant purple to a cold, icy blue.
Character Concept
Stubborn is perhaps the word most often used to describe Amondaris, rivaled by cold, and a host of other, less unpleasant descriptors. His intense tenacity of spirit, coupled with his pride amount to a man who can be mulishly set in his decided path. Though stubborn, he is not a fool, and is willing to listen to advice, and should it prove sufficient to sway him from his intended course, he may even heed it.
Friendship does not come easily to Amondaris, for he does not present the most amiable of fronts, nor does he warm often or easily to people. Trusting people, especially males, is not something Amondaris does well. What he now perceives as his father's abandonment of himself and his mother, Khanu's mistreatment of his family and the unpleasant dealings with the resident pack of troublemakers when he was younger has gone a long way in forming a deep-rooted suspicion of males in general -Of which Rhanor was the sole exception. Should someone get past his natural inclination towards mistrust, they would find him to be a steadfast and caring friend, loyal almost to a fault.
From a young age, Amondaris has been enthralled with stories of valour, honour and courage, of warriors and heroes who have defied the odds and accomplished unimaginable feats, bringing much good to the world. Such tales have left a deep and lasting impression upon Amondaris, as he values honour and valour very highly. Though he can at times be almost inhumanly cold and ruthless, when the need arises, he is at heart a good man.
The Red Eyed Beast
The Red Eyed Beast is the name Amondaris has given, somewhat sardonically, to the vast ocean of rage he keeps bottled within himself. By and large, he is a calm, almost cold individual, but the truth of it is that he constantly strives to keep himself from feeling even the slightest bit angry. He does this for fear of the so-called Red Eyed Beast, dreading that he loses control to it. Such an occasion has happened truly only once in his life, and during that period of time that he cannot recollect in his memory, the Red Eyed Beast had free reign. Faced with the man that had brought endless suffering and misery not just to himself, but to his mother, the Red Eyed Beast focused of it's considerable fury upon Khanu, the end result of which was a broken and bloodied corpse barely recognisable as Vantha. Though he is only fairly recently coming to terms with it, he still has no idea what the Red Beast is. A splinter personality? Simple mindless rage, or a dark manifestation of the more malign, buried facets of his personality? Only time will tell.
Ethics
Amondaris abides by a strong sense of honour. If he has the choice, for example, he will not fight an unarmed man unless he is similarly without a weapon. If he sees someone in trouble, he will likely come to their aid, but he is not foolish. If there is no chance he will survive doing so, he will continue on his way. Life is harsh, after all. For all of his life, he has always been protective of females, having grown up the sole protector, in his eyes, of his mother and three younger sisters. Being unable to protect females, most especially those whom he cares about, is something that wounds him deeply, and such a wound is likely to fester.
Perhaps understandably, due to the amount of time he has spent around them, he holds great affection for animals of all kinds, posessing a particular soft spot for canines. With animals, Amondaris is as a completely different man, a broad grin accompanied by unrestrained, joyous laughter often gracing his features when the opportunity to play with dogs and such arises. He cannot abide the mistreatment of animals, and is prone to violence when witnessing such. It remains to be seen if this peculiar love for animals extends to the Kelvic people, as Amondaris' experience with them is extremely limited, having only observed the Icewatch's Kelvic polar bears from a distance.
The Sigil
The Sigil is an emblem Amondaris created for himself as a child. It is the physical representation of the values he holds highest in his life. Vengeance, Honour and Strength. Vengeance is something Amondaris believes in wholly. He will let no true wrong go without apt retribution. It may not be swift, and it may not even be violent, but he will make certain that whomever has stirred him to such anger will pay, and pay dearly. Honour is something that he lives his life by, day in and day in. Without honour, one is just a common thug, or worse. One must act in a manner befitting a warrior, no matter if the warrior is not a knight or a noble. Strength comes in many forms. Strength of body, strength of mind, strength of will..All of which Amondaris strives to possess. This symbol is etched into the pommels and blades of his grosse messers, located at the very base of the dark metal, as well as being dyed into the back of his cloak.
Character History
Amondaris was born from a passionate union between a Vantha woman, Alahna, and a mercenary from Syliras,Darinius Stoneblade. Amondaris grew up in the Frostfawn Hold of Avanthal, surrounded by animals of all kinds. The first two years of his life were without a father, Darinius having returned to Syliras shortly after fathering the boy, unaware that he had a son. On the second year of Amondari's life, however, he returned, and finding that he had a son, stayed with Alahna in order to help raise him and to support them as best he could.
Two years later, he left, vowing to return to be with them again. Time passed, and there was no sign of him. Alahna's father married her to a Vantha by the name of Khanu, whom with which she had three more children, all female. Over time, Khanu's fondness for drink became worse and worse, and he often returned home, drunkenly aggressive.Countless arguments were had, to no avail. When the fights occured, Amondaris would shepherd his sisters into his room and tuck them into his bed, regaling them with wondrous stories of heroes from ages past, as well as stories of an especially valourous man; His father. During this turmoil at home, Amondaris suffered prejudice from the other children he met, being a bastard child born from a foreigner who had ran away, never to return. He bore this as well he could, ignoring the taunts until one day a bully turned his malign attention towards Amondari's sister, reducing the girl to tears. Amondaris learned of this and tracked the boy down, subsequently succumbing to a frenzied rage, beating the boy quite badly until a passing adult separated them and brought Amondaris home. Not all of his childhood was dark, however. Khanu took him to a neighbour, who's family bred various types of dogs for multiple purposes, a veritable paradise in the boy's eyes, for he harboured a great affection for animals, especially dogs. He struck up a friendship with the owner's daughter, Illorha, so much so that Jarrim, the owner, invited Amondaris to return and help out with the dogs. He did so regularly, and with great enthusiasm, tackling even the simplest of chores with gusto.
Life continued in this fashion until his tenth year, when he witness Khanu striking his mother. Once again, he descended into a mindless rage, attacking Khanu. The man beat him, quite badly, and Amondaris made his way to Jarrim's, where Jarrim nursed him back to sufficient health that he could return home. Shortly after rejoining the family, a Vantha mercenary by the name of Rhanor visited, who turned out to be an old friend of his father. He stayed for quite a while, taking up instructing Amondaris in a great many things, from weaponry and unarmed combat, to hunting. During a hunting trip he took Amondaris on, Rhanor returned to where Khanu was and took him off a ways, where he beat him badly enough to frighten the man into not laying a hand upon his family while Rhanor was around.
Four years later,on the boy's birthday, Rhanor presented Amondaris with a gift in the shape of an old, worn bastard sword, which had belonged to Darinius. He took the boy on a hunting trip, in order to track down worthy game, a dire boar of enormous size. Khanu, seizing his chance, infused their rations with herbs that would slow their movements and cloud their minds. The end result of this was the death of Rhanor upon the tusks of the boar, which died from the wounds the great warrior had inflicted upon it before passing. Amondaris was struck down with a fever, and kept warm by the sled dogs they had brought with them until a search party found him. Rhanor was mourned, and Amondaris fell ever more ill, his fever intensifying. His muscles wasted away to almost nothing, but eventually the fever broke. He set himself to training and rebuilding his strength with reckless single-mindedness, injuring himself several times through overexertion. Three years passed, with Amondaris' skill and strength returning. Khanu plotted once more to be rid of the boy, inteding to kill him and dump his body somewhere in the wilds. Thus, he took him on a hunting trip and in the dead of the night, sought to kill the youth, whom he had thought asleep. Having lain awake, kept from sleep by a restless mind, Amondaris twisted free of Khanu's murderous grasp. The villain told Amondaris ofhis hand in Rhanor's death, and the boy sank into a rage the likes of which he had never experienced, retaining no memory of his actions while under the influence of the Red Wolf, as he came to call the anger dwelling within him. He woke, Khanu little more than a pile of broken bones and flesh. Thinking clearly, he set about making it appear as if a bear, who's tracks they had encountered earlier, had attacked the camp and carried Khanu off. He dragged the corpse to the den of the beast, and waited until he witnessed it carrying the offered meal inside. He fled hoome, feigning panic and great upset, and roused a rescue party to find the corpse. They tracked he bear down and killed it, bringing Khanu's knife and the bear's head back to his widow, along with their condolences.
Amondaris' mother suspected his hand in Khanu's demise and thanked him while she saw him to bed, lifting a weight of worry from the young man's mind. He put himself to training once more, though not with as much recklessness as before. He spent a great deal of time helping Jarrim out with the dogs, as well as honing his tracking and hunting skills.
Now, he intends to set himself on the path of a mercenary, hoping to become one of the greats of his profession. Secretly, he also hopes to discover for himself his father's final fate, and if he lives, to have a reckoning with him.
Full Pre-Creation HIstory :
Amondaris was born an illegitimate child, resulting between a passionate tryst between a young Vantha woman and a foreign mercenary who hailed from Syliras. His father, Darinius Stoneblade, being a mercenary by trade, was often subject to the whims of his profession and all that it entailed. Shortly after unknowingly fathering Amondaris, he departed as an escort to a trader's caravan bound for his home city, Syliras. It was two years until he returned again to Avanthal, whereupon he discovered he had a son, whom was now over a year old. Dariunius' sense of responsibility was such that he took a break from the life of a sellsword and settled with Alahna and Amondaris, for a time. Such peace was not to last, however. Alahna's family was disapproving of their relationship, a sentiment shared by the local community, which made life that much more difficult for the fledgling family. In time, when Amondaris reached five years of age, Darinius deemed him old enough that Alahana could handle him well enough by herself. And so, Darinius left, once more taking up the profession of mercenary. He promised that he would return once a year, in order to spend time with Alahna and his son, and to bring back some of his earnings to help ease the strain of supporting a child.
It was not to be so, however. Darinius left, and was not heard from again, victim to either the dangers of his chosen path in life, or the cowardice in his blood, one cannot say. All that can be certain is that Alahna found it too difficult to raise Amondaris by herself, a fact her family was well aware of. Thus, her father arranged for her to be married to a young Vantha named Vhanu, whom had had his eye on Amondari's mother since they were children.
Time passed, and Khanu fathered three daughters with Alahna. They were content enough, even given Khanu's fondness for drink, which he often indulged a little too much. On such occasions, his innate belligerence often came to the fore, directed at his darling wife. Amondaris was witness to a great many of these alcohol fueled spats, and all he could do was to gather up his sisters and spirit them off to their room, where he distracted them with great, fanciful stories of mighty heroes and beautiful women, who defeated terrible evils and lived happily ever after, to which they listened with enraptured, adoring gazes. Their big brother could do no wrong. A striking contrast to the maelstrom brewing in the other room to say the least. Such marital bliss was reflected in Amondaris' less than ideal relationship with the other children of the local community, whom often mocked and derided him for his parentage. The boy tolerated this with indifferent silence, content to let the others throw their verbal stones his way. However, on one such occasion, one of the larger of said children chose to make Amondaris' younger sister his new sport. Being of thinner skin than Amondaris, it was not long before she fled home in tears, and Amondaris was not overlong in finding out the cause of her upset. Thus, he stormed out of the house towards where the other child, a boy one year Amondari's elder, and by far his better in terms of height, was still lounging about with his little pack of toadies. Amondaris was, and still is, very protective of his little sisters, and a sure way to anger him is to upset one of them, which this particular bully had done. The fight was brief, but bloody, for all that it was a tussle between two children. The other boy was older, more experience, and larger, but Amondaris fought with a frightening ferocity, biting and kicking, doing anything to inflict harm upon the bigger lad. Luckily, a passing adult stepped in and separated the two, marching Amondaris back to his house, where he was severely reprimanded for his outburst. On one occasion, Khanu decided it necessary to purchase a few sled dogs, and so he went to the house of a neighbor who was known to breed dogs, and in an uncharacteristic show of generosity towards Amondaris, allowed the boy to accompany him. This was perhaps the best day of Amondaris' childhood. He had always been fond of dogs, spending what time he could with those that belonged to others, yet never permitted to own his own. Now, he was in an animal lover's paradise, with dogs of greatly varying sized, shapes and colours, depending on their designated task in life, be it sledding, hunting or ratting. He was permitted to wander about the impressive house, accompanied by the breeder's young daughter, to whom he chatted to enthusiastically with about this dog and that dog, and my, isn't he a big one! All good things must come to an end, however, as did this one, Khanu having purchased two respectable sled dogs. As they were leaving, the owner called Amondaris back, and, his daughter having informed him of the lad's boundless enthusiasm for the furry denizens of his establishment, told Amondaris that he was free to visit the dogs any time he wished, so long as he helped out with basic chores. Delighted, Amondaris returned home, and the very next day, slipped out to visit his newfound paradise. This was to be an oft repeated routine, the boy spending many an hour speaking with the breeder, Jarrim and his daughter, Illorha, and helping out with the myriad tasks inherent in the upkeep of a house that kept numerous energetic, hungry canines.
Life continued in much the same vein until Amondaris' tenth year. He awoke once again to the sound of yet another fight, and rose from his bed to peer out of a crack in the door. It was the typical scene of Khanu's drunken, flushed features contorted into an ugly snarl, barking the usual derogatory, slurred phrases, while his mother, her face pale and drawn, weathered the storm admirably. This time, however, something unprecedented happened; Khanu's meaty fist lashing out to strike Amondaris' mother on the jaw, knocking her to the floor. The moments immediately following this are a blank to Amondaris, as he fell into a blind rage of such a depth that he had to be knocked unconscious in order to still him. While the image of a small ten year old boy attacking a fully grown man in a frenzy is somewhat laughable, Amondaris' ferocity was such that he managed to draw blood from Khanu, not an unimpressive feat. When he awoke next, it was to a world of agony. His body was covered in bruises, and a few bones were certainly fractured, if not broken. His mother had been forbidden to dress his wounds, and thus he lay in his bed, bloodied and bruised, still dazed from the beating. Eventually, he managed to stagger to his feet and escape the house, making his slow, painful way to the door of Jarrim's house. He was ushered in and his wounds were tended to before he was put to bed. He was tended to closely by Illorha, Amondaris being oblivious the girl's obvious affection for him, though Jarrim was not unaware of such. In a few weeks, after he had recovered sufficiently, Jarrim saw fit to send him home, where he rejoined the household with sullen silence, doing his best to avoid Khanu, who seemed content to pretend as if the boy did not exist.
Some weeks after returning home, a Vantha mercenary by the name of Rhanor came to visit Amondaris' mother. As it turned out, the powerfully built axeman was an old friend of Amondaris' father, having become firm friends with him on one of the numerous visits Darinius made to Avanthal with Amondaris' grandfather. Normally, Amondaris would have plied such a man with question upon question of his father; Where he was, why did he leave and never come back, what was he like, and so on. Now, however, Amondaris was reluctant to even speak to the man, preferring to stay in his room and brood. Come nightfall, as the children were being put to bed, Rhanor took Amondaris outside for a walk, and he began to speak. Idle conversation at first, about the weather and the cold and my, isn't the moon bright tonight. Amondaris was slow to respond, and surly, but Rhanor was an amiable man, and easy to talk to, so the boy opened up some, returning the relaxed conversation with growing ease. Gradually, Rhanor steered the conversation towards Amondaris' family, his mother, was she happy and did Khanu treat her well, and how did Amondaris get those bruises, weren't they just an eyesore? And so the boy told Rhanor of how Khanu mistreated his wife, of the beating he had received and how he had run away to Jarrim's, only to have to return. Rhanor listened with an easy smile, nodding and making the appropriate noises when required. When Amondaris finished, he led him back to the house and tucked him into bed, telling him that his father would be proud of him, if he could see him now.
Rhanor stayed with the family for a while, declaring that he was homesick and it would take a while for the urge to be at home passed. However, he claimed, he could not stand playing at the rheumy eyed oldtimer who dreamed of nostalgic days, and so he informed Amondaris that he would be training him in the "finer arts in life." These so called finer arts turned out to be quite physically intensive, taking the form of rigorous combat training, both armed and unarmed, the basics of how to hunt, and all the skills Rhanor deemed necessary for a young boy to know. Every night, Amondaris would go to bed battered, bruised and completely exhausted, but he was happy, moreso than he'd ever been. The training was brutal and often painful, with Amondaris acquiring bruises in places he didn't know he had and tearing more muscles than he thought possible for a body to contain. To top it off, Rhanor was a harsh taskmaster, driving Amondaris to the very limits of his endurance and reprimanding his for even the slightest failure. Despite, or perhaps because of this, Amondaris thrived, acquiring an overwhelming desire to excel, which he actually managed to accomplish at times. During one of the hunting trips away from home that Rhanor took Amondaris on, never far from home, the axeman disappeared in the dead of the night while the boy slept and made his way back to the tavern Khanu often frequented. Drawing him outside and back to the house, he led him off a ways, and proceeded to beat seven shades of leather out of him, the physical beating accompanied by numerous verbal lashings. He warned the bloodied drunkard that if he were to lay a hand on any of Amondaris' family again, he would make sure that he died screaming, and died slow. He departed and returned to where Amondaris still slumbered, and the boy was none the wiser for it, though he often wondered at the sudden turn in Khanu's behaviour, from a surly abusive drunk, to a simpering, fawning fool.
Four years past, and on Amondaris' fourteenth birthday, Rhanor presented him with a magnificent gift; An old bastard sword, chipped and worn by years of use. Rhanor explained that the weapon had belonged to his father, and it had served him well for many a year. He hoped it would serve Amondaris just as well, despite the fact that Amondaris' favoured weapons were a pair of grosse messers, faintly curved swords of medium length, thus vastly different from such a large weapon as this. The boy cherished the gift and promised to use it well, and to make his father, and Rhanor, proud. Asking where Rhanor had gotten the weapon, he was told that he would answer that question, and any other Rhanor had previously refused to answer, after a special hunting trip they were to embark upon. They were going to be hunting much more dangerous prey than they had ever tracked before. They packed what they needed and set off, eventually coming upon the tracks of what appeared to be a rather large boar. They were coming close to where the beast lay, so Rhanor saw fit to allow them to take a break and have a little food. Rhanor, as per usual, devoured the rations they had brought with them, leaving not a speck of it to go to waste, whereas Amondaris merely nibbled on his share, being too excited to work up a proper appetite. Unbeknownst to them, Khanu had grown weary of Rhanor's restraining presence, and had gathered up hebrs typically used to ease a fevered patient into sleep. While sleep was not the desired effect Khanu intended, a small sprinkling of such a herb into their rations would ensure that their movements would be sluggish and their mind was clouded. And if such a torpor would result in them coming out the loser in a clash with whatever big game they were after, why, that'd just be too bad. Thus, when the two hunters finally managed to corner their intended prey, Rhanor was feeling a little worse for wear, his limbs heavy and his mind thick with fog. Normally, he would have cut his losses and staggered back to camp, but it was the lad's birthday, and it wouldn't do to let it end on such a flat note, and what odds if he got a few scratches? He told Amondaris to stay back and to prepare the necessary tools to skin the beast while he closed in on the enormous porcine, his longspear at the ready. The boar charged, and while Rhanor attempted to roll out of the way, he was too slow, the enraged beasts' tusk goring him even while the spear plunged into it's breast, skewering it's heart. Amondaris could do naught but stand frozen in horror as the animal thrashed about in it's death throes, with Rhanor's corpse still upon it's tusks, being tossed about like a grim parody of a child's doll. He staggered over to the great man's corpse as the beast grew still and numbly began to slide him from the large animal's tusks, carefully folding the torn flaps of his clothes back into some semblance of normality before grabbing the man's arms and dragging him off, making the long, arduous trip back to the base of his camp, where he finally succumbed to exhaustion, the emotional and physical exertion taking it's toll upon him. While he slept, the sled dogs they had used to travel the majority of the distance curled about him, as they did when he had ran away when the situation with his family became too much to bear. Then, and now, they provided the boy with much needed,simple and silent comfort.
Two days passed, and still the boy slumbered, a fever having taken hold of him as he lay on the rough bedroll, surrounded by a living, furred wall of security. The dogs stayed with the boy, driving would-be scavengers off from the steadily ripening corpse of Rhanor more than once while Amondaris lay haunted by fever-induced dreams. His mother had long since grown worried, as Rhanor had promised they would have returned a day hence, and he was known to be an extremely punctual man. Another day passed, and she could wait no longer. She roused a few of the local men who were known to be good trackers, imploring them to help find the two missing hunters.
It was nearing past midnight when they found them, Rhanor's corpse covered in a thick layer of snow, the boy guarded by his ever vigilant protectors. Working quickly, but carefully, they loaded the body onto a sled, seating Amondaris onto a separate one and bundling him in layer upon layer of furs, making all haste for home. They arrived within the day, hurrying Amondaris into the house, where the local healer was called upon. His fever was severe, the healer informed them, and his chances of surviving were very slim. He would require a great deal of nursing if he were to recover.
A rotation was set up, consisting of Jarrim, Illohva, Amondari's mother and the oldest of his sisters. They would spend an allotted amount of time with Amondaris, and see that he was kept comfortable, fed and watered. There was little else they could do but pray. As with most fevers, this one came with sickness induced dreams of vivid intensity, of a great number of things. He dreamt of his father, of meeting him, of Darinius dying on the field of battle, unable to return as he had promised. He dreamt of a world of beasts, of all sizes and shapes, where he walked among them as a great and terrible beast, with fur the colour of old blood, rending and tearing all that stood before it, drowning the world in oceans of red. Sometimes, when the boy trapped in the grip of his fever despaired, he would dream of his father, but this time not as a great hero. He saw him turn from his family, fleeing the responsibility born of impulsive passion, the cowardice in his eyes betraying all that he was. He had not died, or become prisoner to some great and terrible nation. -He had run away-. These were the dreams that caused Amondaris' ravings to reach new heights, frantically demanding answers of a man whom he had never truly known, asking why, why he had left them.
Weeks past, and though the muscle and strength on the young man's bones had wasted away to almost nothing, his fever broke. Lucidity once more returned to him, he spoke little, lapsing into long periods of time where he would simply brood in silence. Though his family, blood-related or otherwise, were overjoyed, one soul did not rejoice at the sight of the illness passing from Amondaris. Khanu's plot had only half-succeeded, and while the boy was greatly weakened, attempting to rid himself of Amondaris now would only serve to draw suspicion upon him, not to mention the task would be extremely difficult, given the constant watchful presence of the boy's various guardian. And so he chose to bide his time and wait. The boy was young. Khanu's chance to finally be rid of the half-breed bastard would come. He was certain of it.
Amondaris soon recovered enough of his strength to be able to begin his training anew, a task which he threw himself into with single-minded intensity. Every day, at dawn, he would wake and perform a series of warm-up exercises, followed by few hours of more severe activity, taking the form of running, swimming and various exercises designed to build up his severely reduced strength. This was then followed by half an hour of rest, in which he permitted himself a small meal, before he threw himself into his combat training, repeating the forms and manoeuvres drilled into him by Rhanor, working for hours on both fighting with his preferred weapon, the grosse messer, and in unarmed combat. While not as effective as training with another, or beneath the tutelage of a more experience practitioner, the sheer drive with which he went into this intense regime of training helped no small amount to make up for the lack of such, his dexterity and speed, along with the precision and skill he performed the various techniques with improving at a rapid rate. Such reckless disregard for his own health, especially so soon after falling so ill, was not without it's cost, however. He lost count of how many times he worked himself to exhaustion, falling ill for a day or two, or tearing muscles, spraining tendons and inflicting all manner of injuries upon himself that could well have been avoided. He was not to be dissuaded, however, the pleas of his mother and sisters met with stoney, indifferent silence. In time, once he deemed himself ready, after half a year or so, he ventured forth upon his first hunt since Rhanor's death. It passed without much incident, his skills diminished to the point that he found it difficult to catch a simple rabbit without alerting it to his presence. He did not grow frustrated, or impatient, as some might have done, however. He simply returned home and prepared to hunt the next day, and then the next, and the next, and so on. He began to spend more and more time in the wilds, his skill at tracking and hunting never enough to satisfy his own expectations. The reason for such single-minded actions, for pushing himself to his limit time and time again, was painfully obvious to all who knew him. In his mind, he had failed Rhanor. If he had only been stronger, faster, more skilled, he could have helped instead of standing uselessly to the side, helplessly watching his friend and mentor's life being torn from him. He had made a vow to himself, upon waking from his fever. He would make himself strong enough, skilled enough, that he would never have to stand by the wayside as someone he cared for died. Never again, would he be too weak to save a friend.
Such was not lost to Khanu, the man very much aware of the guilt Amondaris suffered under. Such could be used, if one were to be cunning enough. Amondaris, now a young man of seventeen, was skilled with his blade, but such skill would count for nothing when he slept. A simple, forceful twist of the slumbering youth's neck, and it would snap like dry tinder. He could dump the corpse down a long fall, the body no doubt acquiring a pleasant collection of broken limbs, making the broken neck look like naught but the result of a terrible mishap. Khanu would finally be rid of him, and none would suspect him of it. Thus, one day when the snows were heavy upon the ground, Khanu informed Amondaris that he felt like going on a proper hunting trip, and that he had judged the boy finally ready to accompany him. While wary, Amondaris was unaware of Khanu's designs, and he saw this as an opportunity, for while he hated the man, it was very likely he could learn something from him. He accepted, and it was not long before they had set off, travelling far from their home. Come night fall, they settle down to rest, each of them feigning sleep, Khanu plotting murder while Amondaris was simply kept awake by ghosts of the past, the dark thoughts stealing him from slumber. So it was that, when Khanu rose, quietly making his way over to the younger man, kneeling in order to place his hands on either side of the younger man's neck, that Amondaris twisted free, surprise slowing Khanu's reaction, thus allowing him to slip from his grasp. While Amondaris had always been aware of the fact that his stepfather hated him, he would never have thought that he would sink to the depths of murdering him in his sleep. Khanu, perhaps hoping to shock Amondaris long enough that he was vulnerable, perhaps simply lashing out at the young man he hated from frustration, revealed the truth of Rhanor's death; That he had poisoned their rations, intending for both of them to die. He had, he said, not expected Amondaris to survive, but it was of no matter. He would rectify his mistake. Amondaris, long being a man of restraint, had ever bottled up the rage he had felt, choosing to keep it locked inside of him rather than lash out, for in his eyes, such was shameful. A man should be able to control himself and his emotions, not succumb to them. Such concerns were swept away, on this night, the floodgates holding back the vast sea of rage crashing open, a red mist descending to fog his mind. His eyes, ever expressive of his inner state of mind, were awash with a deep, bloody red, his lips peeling back to expose his teeth in a beastial snarl. In short, the young man snapped, and lost control. He succumbed to the Red Wolf, as he would come to sardonically title the rage he kept chained within his soul, and all his years of living with Khanu, of the rage he had felt when the man beat his mother, was set free. Amondaris does not remember anything from the moment Khanu revealed his hand in Rhanor's death, drawing a complete blank when he attempts to remember what happened. What he does know, however, is that when he awoke, it was upon his knees before a bloody, vaguely humanoid mound of flesh and bone. The corpse was a horrifying sight to behold, it's flesh torn and shredded, broken bones protruding from the pulped muscle at odd angles, tufts of hair still attached to flaps of skin near the top of the fleshy mess. It was a long time before Amondaris rose to his feet, considering, of all things, what his mother would think if she discovered that he had done this to her husband. Eventually, his pragmatic nature reasserted itself, and it was not long before he had thought up a way to dispose of the body and acquire a suitable scapegoat in one stroke.
Earlier, they had come across the tracks of a large bear and decided to turn from the path, as such a beast would be extremely difficult to bring down with just the two of them. Now, however, Amondaris was seeking the great bear out, carrying Khanu's carefully gathered remains in the canvas of his tent. It didn't take long for him to track down the beast, following the signs of it's passing to a large cave mouth. Carefully, moving as quietly as he possibly could, he emptied the remains in front of the entrance, slowly backing up until he reached the base of a tree. Swiftly, he scaled the ancient branches and settled down to wait, his eyes fixed upon the cave. The smell of so much blood and fresh meat proved, as he had expected, irresistible to the cave's resident, the enormous white bear shambling forth to investigate the broken corpse at great length. Eventually, it seized the remains in it's great jaws and made it's way back to the cave. His plan falling into place, Amondaris carefully descended the tree and made his way back to the camp, where he built up a small fire. Methodically, he went about burning the clothes he had worn when he had killed Khanu as well as the bloodied canvas he had used to gather up what was left of the man, arranging the camp so that it was in a disarray. When he was done, he took the time to calmly wash the blood from his hands and whatever splashes of Khanu's lifesblood had soaked through to mar his skin. He returned to the camp and donned his spare set of clothes, surveying the camp once more to ascertain that it was to his satisfaction. Having prepared everything as best he possibly could, he set off for Avanthal, sprinting the last leg of the journey. Skidding to a halt in front of the first person he came across, he feigned panic, babbling about a bear, that it had taken Khanu, but they had been so careful, and oh Lady of Winter, what if he was dead, I should have stayed to help him! His acting proved sufficiently convincing, and a group of rescuers was hastily assembled. Amondaris led them back to the camp, all the while doing his best to appear distraught and guilt-ridden. Upon arriving at the camp, the band of rescuers were grim. The remaining items were scattered to and fro, without rhyme or reason and blood was heavy upon the ground, a clear trail of droplets leading off towards the cave where Amondaris had carried Khanu. It took little time for the men to come upon the bear's lair, where there was a thick smear of blood at the entrance, the signs all too obvious. Khanu could not have survived so much blood loss, but he could still be avenged. The hunting party entered the cave, spears at the ready, while Amondaris and another hunter remained outside the cave, the brief sounds of the bear waking to a spear piercing it's chest fading as the sun rose, chasing off the last remnants of night.
They returned home, bringing Khanu's hunting knife and the bear's head to Amondaris' mother and offering her their condolences for her loss. They did not linger, returning home to their own families, whom were all secretly thankful that it was Khanu who had perished, and not someone dear to them.
The family mourned Khanu, albeit none were overly stricken with grief at his passing. The man had not been kind to his family, after all, and with his death came a certain amount of relief. That night, when his mother saw him to bed, she whispered a simple, "Thank you." She knew, or at the very least suspected Amondaris' hand in Khanu's fate. He was grateful, in a way, that she did. He would not have to wonder if she would hate him for it, her thanks had eliminated all such thoughts. Now, life could finally take a turn for the better.
Two years passed, Amondaris' nineteenth year, and life had indeed improved for them. No longer did his mother have to suffer the cruel attentions of a petty tyrant, no longer did her children have to bear silent witness to such. Now, they were happy. Amondaris spent much of his time hunting, training, or helping Jarrim with his dogs, still throwing himself into his exercises, but without the same recklessness. He had avenged Rhanor, and he would now honour his memory by taking up his profession, and that of his father; He would become a mercenary, for good luck or ill. Whether he made his fortune or not doing such was of no great concern to him. He merely wished to become great, possibly the best, not famous per se, but respected for his skill. He had one other goal in life, one he did not speak of to anyone, one he barely thought of, in truth. He would seek out his errant father, and discover his true fate. In a way, he hoped he had died in battle, much as he had in the stories he had once told his little sisters. The alternative was too much to bear. His father, fleeing from responsibility, turning his back on his family and running, cowardice turning his blood to water. He prayed that such was not the case. Not even the gods could save his father if he found it to be true. But, all in due time. He was patient. First, he had to get his name out as a mercenary to be relied upon, and that requires a job. Now, he begins on the first steps of his life, though where that path may take him, none can say.
Gnosis and Religion
Amondaris venerates a small number of Divines. Having been born in Avanthal and grown up in the city, he pays his dues to Morwen, Lady of Winter. Primarily, though, his main three which he actively follows are Myri, Wysar and Tyveth. An odd triumvirate, perhaps, but one that fits with Amondaris' values and morals.
Myri, he venerates for obvious reasons. He aspires to live for war and battle, after all, and to emerge victorious from such things. Though he is not Myrian, nor has he ever met one, he can respect their warlike way of life, and what it is Myri Herself represents. He prays to Her before entering into any serious combat engagement.
He worships Wysar as he believes that discipline and conviction are absolutely necessary values to possess, not only in regards to training and combat, but in virtually all matters in life. Amondaris is one of the most tenacious men in Avanthal, if not all of Mizahar, and will not give up on achieving his goals as long as they are still feasible and possible.
Ever enamoured of tales and legends of honourable knights and chivalrous heroes, Amondaris naturally seeks to emulate them and the God that embodies these values. He strives to act with honour and be true in his day to day life, though he firmly believes that being honourable in combat serves only to get you killed. He is also extremely reluctant to harm females, peculiarly.
Morwen - Rank One; Ice Reaving. Minor Ice Maniuplation and Resistance to the Cold.
While he posseses Her mark, Amondaris has never met Morwen, save for when he was a babe. His mother, as is popular among those in Avanthal, brought her newborn son to receive Morwen's blessing. Morwen, ever the personable Goddess, was kind enough to bestow her Gnosis upon the baby, congratulating his mother on the child. Growing up, his Mother occasionally told him stories of Morwen and Her infinite beauty and wisdom, of how much She loved Her people and how the love was returned in full. While the mark on his shoulder was proof of the Goddess' influence over his people, and he could sometimes sense, faintly, Her presence in the nearby Palace, Amondaris has never felt especially close to Morwen. He has ever viewed Her as the one who gifts them with the snow and the cold; Both things he loves. Growing up with a life such as he did, Amondaris has long given up on being able to depend on anyone, and he would never dream of asking Morwen for help, in the same manner he would never ask his neighbours for aid, or anyone else for that matter.
The Gnosis itself takes the form of a small smattering of tiny snowflakes laid over an icy blue background, upon his upper right shoulder. Appearing almost like a magnificently crafted tattoo, the snowflakes are minuscule, being of comparable size to your average freckle and beneath the snowflakes, Amondaris' skin has a faint, frosty sheen to it.
Equipment and Possessions
Grosse Messer( Cold iron) x2 Grosse Messer (Practice, metal core) x2 Judgement (Rock Crusher) Armour (Studded Leather with Back + Breast) Axe, woodman's Sewing Kit Whetstone x10 Backpack(empty) Bedroll Blanket, Winter Brick press Ice Boots Lantern, hooded Pouch, belt Pot, Iron Preserving kit Rope, hemp (50ft) Rucksack Snow shoes Snowguards Strong ration x10 Torch Tent, four person Traveller's stock x3 Water additive x3 Water skin Horse, Frostmarch Saddle, pack Saddlebags, large Barding, leather Blanket and hood, horse, large Feed Leash, medium x5 Animal snare, small Fishing Kit Set of Clothing (cloak/coat & footwear included) Hooded Fur Cloak, White. Set of Toiletries (comb, brush, razor, soap) Food for a week Eating knife Flint & Steel
Heirloom: Stonewrack (Bastard sword). The Stonewrack, as this ancient bastard sword is known as, once belonged to Amondaris' father, and his father before him, and so on. The sword's age and trials of use are made evident in the multiple chips along the length of the weapon, as well as the tarnished, worn look of the dark, mineral-like surface of the metal itself. A plain blade, the only distinctive feature is the rough, unpolished rock that forms the pommel. The rock is a dark grey and raguely spherical in shape, about the size of a chicken's egg.
Weapons
Grosse Messer Amondaris possesses four of these weapons, though only two of them are for functional combat. The practice blades are identical to the real item, save for the fact they are constructed of metal sheathed in a thick, soft layer of wood. The proper swords are 42 1/4" in length, with the blade itself taking up 32". Simple, yet elegantly effective weapons, they are without adornment or decoration, save for the Sigil, which is delicately carved into the pommel and blades of both weapons.
Judgement is a fine example of a Rock Crusher, truly immense weapons that almost beggar belief, almost equaling the height of Amondaris himself. The shaft is long and solid, carved from oak and polished with an almost obsessive level of care. The business end of the weapon consists of an enormous metal block, decorated with various engravings and etching of skulls and other death motifs. On one face of the block lies dozens upon dozens of small, cruel spikes that glint as if eager to tear into flesh and shatter bone. Overall, Judgement makes for an imposing, brutally savage weapon.
Clothing
Typically, Amondaris can be seen to be wearing what is his usual attire; A simple, snow-white, hooded fur cloak, generally with the hood worn up. Emblazoned upon the cloak is Amondaris' personal crest, of sorts, drawn into the fur with dye as black as pitch. Beneath this warm item he wears his armour, which is constructed of white, cured leather strips woven together to create a fairly sturdy layer of protection, complimented with the white-enamelled metal armour covering his upper torso. His hands and much of his forearms are covered in rough strips of the same white fur that makes up his cloak, bound together with thin ropes of white fabric. His boots are of the same snowy white, high and thick-soled,possessing rough grips, the better to tread over snow and ice.
Last edited by Amondaris on May 4th, 2011, 11:31 pm, edited 44 times in total.
Vengeance , Honour, Strength.
Useless, to deny the flood, The Rage, the Beast we keep chained within. With slavering jaws and wicked teeth. The will that binds, so very thin, To drown us all in blood, And choke us all beneath.
Last edited by Amondaris on January 13th, 2012, 1:28 pm, edited 7 times in total.
Vengeance , Honour, Strength.
Useless, to deny the flood, The Rage, the Beast we keep chained within. With slavering jaws and wicked teeth. The will that binds, so very thin, To drown us all in blood, And choke us all beneath.
Useless, to deny the flood, The Rage, the Beast we keep chained within. With slavering jaws and wicked teeth. The will that binds, so very thin, To drown us all in blood, And choke us all beneath.
by Amondaris on August 8th, 2010, 5:25 pm 
