Cvante

[Cvante]

Character's Name Cvante Basic Information Race: Akalak Birthday & Age : The day of his birth in unknown, courtesy of the circumstances from which he was born. His age, according to how much his body has grown at this point of his life, puts him at around 17 years old. Gender: Male Physical Description He stands at about 6', though he slouches often and may be mistaken for shorter. Having not grown up in the rigorous society of discipline that his race is known for, he is not as physically endowed as an Akalak his age should be. This is not to say that he is not physically fit, because, through his time as a slave to various owners, he has been forced to work hard and his body shows it by being lean and strong. His skin is a shade of dark crimson. He has long black hair and his eyes are a storm colored grey. He has grown into an exotically handsome man, but, through slavery, persistent fighting, and accidents from his volatile and erratically unpredictable Reimancy, he has procured various scars that mar his face and much of his body. Character Concept Cvante is a young man that has shouldered a burden of pain that no person, no human, should survive sane, emotionally or mentally. His childhood is a worn tapestry, riddled with holes and frayed along all its edges. All through his life, he’s been under a yoke of one kind or another; he’s been a slave, a servant, a work horse, a toy for pleasure, and at one time, an experiment. His strength of will is all that has kept him going for so many years without giving into death. He sees the world through a veil of shadow, knowing that despite anyone’s belief, anyone’s hopes, there is nothing that deserves to live and be called good. He has acted for the benefit of others for so long that he can slide a mask of any emotion over his face at any time, sometimes convincing even himself that he truly feels what he is telling others. Despite this, he knows, without a doubt, that his is a soul blackened with pain, unable to feel what he truly desires. There are times when words pour from his mouth relentlessly, his voice, warm and welcoming; though, were one to look into his eyes, they would see a hollow pain, a driving darkness. Other times, he pulls far into himself, speaking to others as though from far away, a blasted land of his own making, and again, the same eyes. He lives apart, striving moment by moment to resist falling wholly into the madness that always lurks at the edge of his mind, waiting with eternal patience. Character History At the age of 15, Cvante was under the services of a master mage that saw in the young boy some potential to survive his experiments. Despite fierce struggle on his part, Cvante was made to take Reimancy into himself. The mage then forced the young Cvante to unleash his new talent in various ways; much of the unhindered practice of such a violent magic leading to horrific outcomes. One such event led Cvante to set a blaze that burned with such fury that it razed everything around his master’s home to the ground. No one was ever able to discover the source of this disaster, and eventually blamed it on the most likely source they could find. Despising his master all the more, he was eventually sold again, to a new owner, when he refused to train his new skill under the mage’s orders. The new master, a weapon smith, was kind to Cvante for two long years , treating him better than any owner had before, even going so far as to give him a seat at his family table. This table was small, for the smith had no family, his wife and children’s death brought about by a terrible error if his own. He carried a monstrous guilt on his shoulders, and Cvante had come into his life, a young man with a good heart and a bright future in his eyes, a hard worker, and had patched the gash in his old smith’s soul, earning him an eternal place in his heart. The trust and love the weapon smith had for Cvante was a weakness, one that the young man felt could lead him a path to freedom. After some careful thought and planning, he asked the master, bargained with him, for his freedom. The smith agreed that Cvante had indeed worked long enough to earn his freedom, and that he should be free to choose his own path, especially now that he was becoming a man. To show the young man how much he had grown into his heart, he crafted him a katana with meticulous care, pouring the adoration and love he had for the boy into the making of the weapon. Cvante looked at the blade, saw how much delicate workmanship it held, how much love; he saw a man that had done what no other person had attempted, to love a broken boy. He saw a father, and he felt his heart split open. Cvante fell to his knees and unleashed the torrent of sorrow that he had held dammed inside himself for so long. He told his master, the only man, only person, to show him love, of everything in his past; all the torture, all the pain, everything he had ever been through. He told him of the disaster his old master had forced upon him, of the hungry flames and the screams that still haunted his dreams… It was then Cvante felt the old man’s comforting hand grow still as death upon his head. Looking up, the young man saw a darkening rage blanket the smith’s eyes as all the facts began to click in place... It was not the fault of his own, the fault of an error in the burning furnace he had in his shop; not his fault, that his family had burned along with dozens of others in a raging flame. It was this boy, this boy who had come to mean so much to the man. The patch on the smith’s heart tore with bloody mercilessness, wrenching a wail of despair from the man’s lips. In pure terror, Cvante drew forward the Katana his master had given to him, putting the only thing he could between himself and the raging soul before him. In a rush, the smith flew at Cvante, his lips curled in a feral snarl, his hands turned to claws, reaching for the boy’s neck. He stopped short though, and looked down to see that his own blade, a sword made for love, had stopped him from finishing his vengeance. He fell there without a word, his face a mask of pain, the torment of his soul etched all too clearly. Cvante felt himself fall into a well of pain he had thought utterly impossible. He retched on the ground, his nails digging furrows of blood into his palms. The pain grew and grew, the suffering that Cvante had borne for so long had finally overflowed, twisting his soul into a wretched thing of blackness as it swept through his body. He was drowning, the misery his soul has borne was crushing him, smothering him until he wanted nothing but death. He screamed in his darkness, struggling for freedom, and in a brief moment of clarity, he cried out, calling for a savior, someone to reach through the storm of pain and bring him peace. He was answered. A young woman’s voice spoke in his hear, speaking words of promise and words of hope. He could not comprehend what she said at first, reveling in the painless blessing of rest her voice had immediately brought forth. Eventually he heard her; she was the young god Krysus, and she was promising him a gift, a small gift from her, but it’s power was great. She would take his pain away, take it all away, all he had to do was follow her, give her his heart, become hers, body and soul. Cvante, tears trailing down his face, looked hopefully up at her, saw her care, her sincerity, her love. He said yes. She smile down at him and reached out. He fell slowly into blackness. She stood then, letting the mask slide from her face, and giggled softly, a innocent sound that bled evil. Cvante lay next to his blade, and noticed a marking on the sword near the hilt, a message, it seemed, from his master. It read, Aux Ivterium Es Ovta Agonas. ‘For you who took the pain away.’ Training (Skills, Arcana, Gnosis, Lore) Katana: 20 points Reimancy: 15 points Larceny: 10 points Wilderness Survival: 5 points Gnosis: Vexation - 1 mark Equipment and Possessions 1 Backpack 1 Waterskin 1 Set of tools for Larceny (10gm) 1 Katana and sheath (Family Heirloom) 1 bedroll Ledger 490 gm Thread List