[WIP] Zythulic

[Zythulic]

Zythulic Appearance Race: Human Gender: Male Age: 18 Years old Appearance: A tall, wiry young lad, no more than eighteen years old. His unkempt chestnut brown hair hangs in his face, covering his hazel-green eyes. Eyes that dart to and fro with every movement around the boy. To the untrained eye, he comes off as nervous or twitchy, but those unfortunate enough to know him, he’s keenly aware of what is going on around him. Everything about the boy is unassuming, all except for his eyes, as if he’s looking for his next prey, the weakest link. Zythulic, a name he gave himself from one of his favorite books ’ The Terror Within’, a character he had felt, spoke to him. Consistently, the human will dress in the varying colors of gray, black or brown and if anyone were to ask the street wretch, he would simply reply, “ The better to hide secrets in.” The boy’s most distinguished mark about him, which any passerby would easily recognize Zythulic out of a line up, would be the heavily scarred gash and missing portion of his cheek that ran from the left side of his mouth to his cheek bone. The wound itself had almost tore all the muscle from his cheek, which would’ve left the boy incapable of speech, much less been able to eat on his own. He had been ‘lucky’ that day, a simply twist of a wrist or a wrong angle, Zythulic would’ve been much different than he was now. Now, he had hatred to fuel, and that fuel had driven him. Character Concept The idea behind this character is to be a cunning sociopath, a behind the scenes villain. He's weak with no capability of using magic, the only weapon he uses and uses well is his wits and how well he can out-maneuver his enemies, with attaining wealth to the ends of ending up on top. He has no qualms about using anyone to attain his goals and could care less about helping those in need. Of course, I can't not make him a total monster, but even those who wear the face of a beast, still have the heart of a man. His coincidence will only affect him a handful of times, but it is possible to pull at his heart strings. Just be sure it isn't an act to lull you into a false sense of security. Character History What would’ve been a stand-up citizen who would’ve been a cobbler or peddler of fruits, in the pursuit of a better life for him and his family? One act from a person who was supposed to love and care for him, changed his bright future to a life in constant state of paranoia and misery. His father and mother were well off academics and could afford to live a larger apartment in the city. Until his mother miscarried that Winter season. It affected his mother like he never seen before, she took to laying in bed, crying constantly, muttering his unborn sister’s name over and over to herself, ’ Sasha….Sasha..’ Pretty soon, she never left her room. Her position as a teacher had to be filled due to her absence. His father, on the other hand had amplified and projected every emotion and by that time it was anger. With his wife falling deeper and deeper into her sorrow, Walt, took to leaving for the night to spend his time and wages at the local tavern. Almost every night he would stumble back home and pass-out on the couch. Pretty soon, even his position as an academic was terminated, when he got into an altercation with the dean of the university. That was the bitter night that haunts his dreams, and left him in his deformed state. That night several seasons ago, when he was no more than nine years old, playing by the small fireplace. His mother was upstairs as usual, moaning to herself. The lad had made it a point to leave her food by the chair of their room, but she would hardly touch it. That night his father had came home early, the stench of booze washed over the room. He spotted his son playing by the fireplace, a menacing look to his eyes came over them. “ Hey boy! Wh-what’d I tell y-you about stayin’ up so late ?!” The boy feared his father more than anything on Mizahar, but for some reason, he decided to reply back to his father,” But father, you never given me a time to go to bed” the boy replied back meekly. Like the strike of a viper, his father had grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and held him down, the smell of alcohol was almost too much to bear,” Ye-ye lyin’ to me now?! I’ll sh-row you to lie te yer father!” Walt had grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace, the tip smoking as he lifted the tip to the boy’s face,” T-t-this is what hab-pens to liars. Open yer mouth! I SAID OPEN!” His father had let go of his collar and in that instant he began to squirm, determined to escape this punishment. His father grabbed under his chin and forced his mouth open and pushed the tip of the poker into his son’s mouth. It was at that moment that the boy had wretched himself free of his father’s grasp, which forced his father to drop the poker. If by fortune or misfortune, the tip of the hot poker had missed his tongue, but had misfortune would’ve had it, didn’t save him from his punishment. The moment his father had dropped the poker, the tip flipped up into the inside of his cheek, scotching the inside of his left cheek. The boy screamed in pain and tried to wriggle away from the pain, but his father still had him pinned and even his father seemed to snap out of stupor for a moment to be shocked at what he had done. When his father had finally got off of the lad, the tip of the poker had seared through the thin membrane and fat of his cheek, and begun to blister and burn through the skin on the outside. Only a few chimes later, did neighbors pound on the door, trying to find out what had happened, until the guards came breaking down the door. What they had found was his father sitting in a chair, staring into the flames of fire, while a little boy lay sobbing, holding his cheek with gentle care. The boy never saw his father again when the guards hauled him away, and never saw his mother again. While he was recovering in the hospital, he had received news from one of the nurses that his mother had past and asked him if he wished to see her body? All the little boy did was turn over. Something inside the boy had died, and everything about his past life he chose to forget and leave behind, even his name. After his release from the hospital, it became apparent he had no place to live and no one to care for him. So, it was arranged for him to stay at an orphanage. It was a very basic arrangement. The boy lives in the orphanage, is fed, clothed and even schooled. The head master was an old man named ‘Doc Clemons’ and he was wily old man. He would teach the kids various ways to survive the streets, even showing them how to make a living doing some of the tricks he had taught them. The boy was never any good at that particular skill craft, but he did have a knack for listening and knowing things that weren’t meant for him. Maybe it was his father’s drills of ‘attention to detail’ that allowed the boy to uncover other people’s secrets and sometimes exploit them. Doc Clemons recognized this in the lad and took him personally under his wing to teach the boy to better refine his talent. As the boy grew up, Doc Clemons helped the boy, who had taken to calling himself ‘Zythulic’, enroll into school to further his education. Already having a basic knowledge of reading and writing, Zythulic excelled at school, the only place he felt truly at home. Soon the other kids ostracized him due to his facial deformity, which only drove him into his studies. Language Fluent Language: Common Basic Language: Poor Language: Skills Skill EXP Total Proficiency Intelligence 15 RB+5 SP 20 Novice Cryptography 10 SP 10 Novice Law 5 SP 5 Novice Forgery 10 SP 10 Novice Philtering 5 SP 5 Novice Intimidation 5 SP 5 Novice Subterfuge 5 SP 5 Novice Investigation 5 SP 5 Novice Lores Lore: Zeltivian Street Rumors Lore of Religion: Akajia Possessions 1 Set of Clothing -Simple Black Shirt -Simple Brown Pants -Simple Undergarments -Simple Black Cloak -Simple Cattlehide Boots 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack which contains: -Comb (Wood) -Brush (Wood) -Soap -Razor -Balanced Rations (1 Week's worth) -1 eating knife -Flint & Steel 100 Gold Mizas Heirloom: Black Silken Scarf. (25 SM) When his mother had died, his neighbor had visited him while he was in the hospital. Because no one could pay the taxes on the property, the kingdom had taken to repossessing the property. His neighbor had borrow the scarf from his mother and had forgotten to give it back. In the end, that’s what saved it from being taken. It’s the last thing he has to link him to his mother. He wears the scarf over his face to hide his deformity from others. Housing Location: House: Flats roughly 20x20, includes a hearth, bunk, chest, chair, table and Bookcase (Average) (-8 GM) Ledger Purchase Cost Total Starting +100 GM 100 GM Lock, Very Simple -20 GM 80 GM Key, Very Simple -4 GM 76 GM Alembic -50 GM 26 GM Scale, Merchant's -2 GM 24 GM Brazier (Elaborate) -1 GM, 5 SM 22 GM, 5 SM Bookcase, (Average) -8 GM 14 GM, 5 SM Thread List Link your current & past threads here!

[Zythulic]

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