Name: Sevejar Locke of Port Nirav
Sex: Male
Age: 24
Occupation: For the last decade of his life, Sevejar considers himself a rogue – a man with no steady job, no wife waiting for him at home and definetely no place to call “home”. Sevejar has trained in the art of stealth, delivering death and using his weapons, thus having made quite the process in the prestigious art of the assassin. Instead of waiting for work to come at him, though, Locke makes his work come to him – be it through force or talk.
Status & Rank: Sevejar was born a commoner in both status and rank, but he carries noble blood in him.
Roots & Origin: “It was 24 years ago that my mother spread her legs wide for that son of a dog to which I own my last name,” answers Locke when asked about his origins and is drunk enough to let it slip. Although his rather bold statement is true, it was not an act of passion, nor money, but love. His mother, Thrande Ju’ein, a sixteen year old servant to one of Olencia’s many royal courts, had indeed fallen for the local lord’s son, one unique Ixidor Locke, the man that would be Sevejar’s father.
The two actually realised each other’s existence in the celebration of Ixidor’s coronation as a heir and, with the young lord being drunk and joyous out of his mind and with the young servant being taken for a princess and unused to getting sweettalked, the two celebrated their meeting the way only a man and a woman can celebrate.
The next morning the two met, Ixidor was neither furious nor screaming absurd things about being seduced; on the contrary, he was encharmed by the young servant. After their initial meeting, Ixidor started showing his affections to her by sending her gifts and raising her salary. She kindly denied everything, thinking that the lord was teasing her. Little did she know, Ixidor, that relatively young person, considering he was in his early thirties, had actually fallen for her. Ixidor finally confined her and told her the truth after three months of “playing”, and she was finally happy to fall in his embrace, as was he. The same night, the happy couple would conceive their son under the cruel sight of the spymaster’s.
Normally the spymaster, a half-elf going by the name of Darren Shier, would let the whole ordeal slip; however, hidden in the half-floor above the heir’s room, observing, Darren heard Ixidor propose to Thrande. Being the empath he was, Darren knew that Ixidor meant his words. Something had to be done, and swiftly as well.
He and Ixidor’s father, Lathos, discussed all night and all morning on the course of action that had to be taken. Lathos was old, soon to die due to his sickness. He could not have his only-son marrying a servant and he would not. Finally, the plan was lied down. One of Thrande’s acquaintances was paid a handsome in order to play one specific role; that of the woman who had fallen for Ixidor in the past and all that she had got was a baby she had to abort and a fist of silvers. Thrande, her dreams of marriage to the prince crashed, decided to leave. Hiring a place in the caravan to Port Nirav, the young but now mature servant left her home, never looking back.
Finally, after settling down in Nirav, she had her baby, who she named Sevejar, and was the cutest thing in the world – you see, he had his father’s eyes.
Appearance: Sevejar Locke’s height stands at exactly six feet. He weighs a vague ammount of 160-170 pounds, and he possesses a built body, obtained through the harnesses life tossed at him, along with exercises he forced himself to undertake. Despite a good 80% of his body being muscle, he is by no means a brute of strength.
Locke’s eyes are a dark blue, two endless pits of nothingness, which are always quick to portray his feelings. His face is lean and, in case he has shaved, smooth. If one judged on facial expressions, then one would be at a loss, with Locke almost never showing an emotion – all that needs to be shown can be deciphered in his eyes with a bit of good sense. Sevejar’s hair are a (admitedly strange) silver color, and reaches the base of his neck, sometimes falling in his eyes. They are smooth and slithered, much like silk and have caused more than one woman to make a double take on him.
His attire consists of a black studded leather armor, with the pauldrons, gaunlets and boots being made out of steel alloy. Underneath, he wears a black shirt and loose pants. A black cloak, which bears a wide hood is always strapped on him, and more than once will it’s hood be covering his features. Depending on the weather, Sevejar may also be seen wearing a scarf or similar item. Tied in his belt are the scabbards of his trusted swords, their given names being Tuska and Poena, meaning Agony and Pain in a long forgotten dialect respectively. The two swords are roughly two feet long each, made of steel, and both bear black cloth tied on the tips of their hilts.
Strengths:
Ambidexterity – as the name suggests, Locke is good with both of his hands on every field, be that an area of expertise or not.
Ataraxia - Ataraxia is a disorder which causes Sevejar to be incapable of worry. However, it is not a known disorder. It is a condition characterized by freedom from worry or any other preoccupation, which, needless to mention, is the most useful trait Locke has.
Awareness and reflexes – His sense of environment having been used again and again until prefected, all Locke had to do was do the same with his body. While that does not that he can walk out of a dark room he has never been in before without making a noise, but that his skill in surviving is top notch.
Poison use and alchemy – As long as it is lethal, Locke can gather the components for it, brew it, and use it. The mastery in alchemy is coming from honing his skills in the art for the last decade.
Weaknesses:
Lack of diplomacy and no etiquette – Sevejar’s demeanor is one of rudeness and violence, which can cause the very wrong person to get angry.
Unarmed combat – While Locke is by no means a push over, he simply does not manage without his sword, never having really bothered with non-lethal means of combat.
Mild addiction to alcohol – Sevejar enjoys the casual tavern drink a tad bit too much for his own good.
Area of expertise – For good or bad, Sevejar is an actual assassin, taking people out for money. That can backfire more than easily.
Haunting past – With his mother suffering, his “father” never there to support him, and quite the wrong person and place to be brought in, Sevejar is still overwhelmed by his past, a thing that usually happens after the fifth or sixth cup of wine, “usually” being the key word.
No talent in crafts – Be it cooking, sewing, or anything else in order to pass time. While that is not quite the bad thing to happen to a person, it also means that Sevejar is not going to drift too away from a city.
Magic: While he is aware of “the supernatural”, Locke brushes it off as an illusion caused by alcohol or the things he is brewing in his basement.
Personality: Years ago, even with the pressures of life, Sevejar could have been considered happy-go-lucky on his good days. He had his fair share of bad days, certainly, but never let it get to him. Yet, over the years, that changed. In his time as a thief, he grew somewhat callous, arrogant and rude. He had his good moments, but suffice to say, Sevejar became almost anti-social and violent. He became a killer, and to his own dismay, he enjoyed it. He even killed innocents, though, technically, one may say it was in “self defense”.
Sevejar always had a violent temper, which only worsened with the years. In his worst states, Sevejar becomes a near-psychotic killer, bent only on bloodlust and violence. He even loses the greater aspect of higher reasoning. He acts primarily on instincts, both battle-bred and honed, and survival. This is not to say he becomes mindlessly chaotic – years of life training honed his natural instincts to the level of razor sharpness. Fortunately however, this “rage state” is only in extreme cases. Usually…
On his good days, Sevejar is quite arrogant, especially to those he views as inferior to himself. He stands generally aloof by choice, and is somewhat uncaring and rude. He has a strong like for any insulting gesture as well. This is with the small exception of people Sevejar has come to care for. However, this number can easily be counted on one hand. When he has to be, Sevejar can manage a friendly, cheery demeanor. This disgusts him however, and is the root cause of his “I hate my life” attitude on most days.
History: Dear Sevejar, this isn’t easy for me to say. You’re going to be on your own for some time. I’ll be gone for a while...
Sevejar never read the rest of the letter. He never had to. He had known what it said, and knew that he would never see his mother again. All that he had left in the world was taken from him. He was alone. Utterly and completely alone in the whole world. Nobody to love him. Nobody for him to ever love. Not even random travellers stayed to converse, but kept on going towards the port, passing the forest cottage in which young Sevejar was residing, never stopping.
He spent the next few days crying. Alone and scared. He was the seven years old, but he was still a child without a family. Day after day, loneliness ate at him, wearing him down. Every room of the small cottagewas filled with memories. Memories brought him emotion. Emotion brought him pain. He started sleeping outside in the garden, not wanting to go into any of the cottage’s rooms. He’d sometimes spend whole days sitting on the grass at the very edge of the forest, and look down upon the “living” world. A poisoned and crippled version of the paradise his mother had given him. And that was where she was now, and she wouldn’t ever be coming back.
Sometimes, Sevejar would look westward to the port, and see the lights burning in the villages of the city. He thought about all the people living there. They were probably afraid of him, and with right to be. After all, his complexion was just too pale and his hair whiter than snow. But maybe if he pretended to be somebody else, he could walk among them, maybe even find a place among them. Maybe he could find somebody to love. Somebody to love him.
The thought became an obsession, so one day, the child decided to bid farewell to the cottage, and make his way down the hills towards Nirav. He left his past behind him, taking only commoners clothes to wear.
He made it to the city, and became lost in awe. A society without leadership, destination or future. People just involved themselves in their own lives. Here he was, wanting to become their subject. He slept rough for the first few weeks, but he was well used to sleeping outside by now. He grew his silver hair long and unclean, and kept his head hung a lot to cover up the his face. Food was not a problem, either. Like the other guttersnipes, he resorted to theft. And never once did he use force. Not even when some of the bigger boys assaulted him and took his food. He could have killed them, he had realised the first time he stood his ground and was often tempted to, but his willpower was stronger. Every time he wanted to make a bone snap like a twig, it was like something scratching at his soul, screaming at him that all mortals were inferior. He knew his mother would never have approved of this life of his. Sometimes, when he was all alone, he could imagine her voice whispering to him. She would tell of her hatred of this life he was leading, and that he was born for grander things. And that there was no such thing as unconditional love anywhere in the world other than hers, and that he would never find it.
The voices stopped when he joined the orphanage. A nun of the order of Lelahiah had found him and taken him in. Finally, he began to feel like he belonged somewhere. The other children didn’t mind him, and the nun made sure he was well cared for. She knew how special he was. For one thing, he was well spoken, he could read, and she knew who the silver hair belonged to. Sevejar never said anything about them, so neither did she. She accepted him for who he was, and made sure he was well protected against anyone who might try to harm him. No matter what the sins of the parent were, the child still had innocence.
She could have been the loving mother he never had, had things not gone disastrously wrong.
Angela was her name. She had long, flowing dark hair, pale skin and Chinese eyes. She had no children of her own and no family. She had joined the order of Lelahiah and ran the orphanage herself, single-handedly. Even though she and the children were poor, they survived, and they were happy most of the time.
One cold winter, she found him by himself, hiding away in one of the smallest rooms. He’d been crying. "What’s wrong?" she asked. "Were they picking on you?"
"Why do they have to be so cruel?" he whimpered. "I only want to loved for who I am, what’s so wrong about that? Why can’t I just be normal? I’m sure people would love me if I was like them..."
"You mustn’t think like that, Sevejar." said Angela. "You’re very special. I saw it in you when we first met. You have the power to change the world for better or for worse. That’s what makes you different from everyone else. You have that power, nobody else does. It doesn’t make you hated, child. It makes you special."
Sevejar tried to keep those words with him the rest of his life, despite knowing that they were just words of consolation.
When Sevejar had been soothed by her words, there was a knock on the door. It was Anerice, a man Sevejar had seen talking to Angela a few times. He was a well-built powerful figure with long blonde hair. He owned the property to which the orphanage belonged, and charged Angela the rent ruthlessly. He knew she would do anything for her children. There were no conditions to her love for them. Anerice knew this, and sometimes used it as leverage to gain more from the rent Angela paid. One might have wondered why Anerice was so consumed with greed. But it had been a bad winter. Angela had spent half her money (given to her once every two months by the order of Lelahiah) on just keeping the children warm so they didn’t freeze to death, And she’d spent half of what she had left on feeding the children. What was left was nowhere near enough for what Anerice was asking for.
Sometimes there would be arguments. Sevejar would sit outside Angela’s office and listen. He was still only a child, and they used words he still didn’t understand yet. Angela talked differently when she talked to other people, Sevejar noticed. When she talked to the children, it was with loving, soothing tones. When she talked to other people, it was like she was pleading against a cruel world. She was trying to be a human barrier for her children, taking all the cruel slings and arrows for them.
But that particular week, Anerice showed up right on time, and there was no money. They had resorted to burning furniture to make a fire.
Anerice had seen this, and reminded them it was furniture he had paid for, and was going to have to take it out of the rent money. But there simply was no money at all. Sevejar knew she had even tried begging, and she had made a little, but had been mugged on the way home. That night, she was pleading, actually on her knees to him. But some people have the capacity for cruelty that goes far beyond any tyrant. She begged that she would do anything for he children. Anerice picked up on this almost instantly.
Anything?
Angela was an attractive woman after all. And chastity was such a rare thing in this world. She had said no almost instantly, and Anerice had reminded her just how cold a winter it was. Angela prayed silently for forgiveness for her coming sin. Religion was her life, but her love for her children went beyond all of that. For the love of her children she would be Satan’s concubine.
She told the children to go the park, and play in the snow. She told Sevejar to go play with the other children. He didn’t want to go play with the other children, he told her, but pretended he had gone. In actuality, he had sat out in the garden, climbing up a large dead tree and watch the sun give place to the moon. When it was gone, for the first time in a long while, Sevejar could imagine his mother’s voice again.
It goaded him, telling him to go back inside and see what his precious Angela was doing. He didn’t want to, but eventually resigned himself to do so. And just like that, his mother was quiet.
He wandered the orphanage, following the strange sounds that echoed down the halls. And, after reaching a crescendo, they stopped. Sevejar walked up the staircase, holding his breath. The silence was deafening. He reached for the doorknob, and tried it. It was unlocked. He stood in the doorframe, and pushed the light wooden door open...
There was Angela, naked, sitting forward on the bed, tears rimming her eyes. Anerice was getting up, over on the other side. He didn’t see Sevejar standing there, but Angela did.
"Sevejar!" she whispered, in shock. He stood there, his eyes wide in an emotion that was a mixture of terror, disgust, betrayal and rage. It swelled up inside him, screaming for release. Somewhere, on the edge of hearing, he could hear his mother’s laugh. She was laughing in victory, that everything she had told him was right all along, and he could see it. There was no love in this world, only cruelty and suffering. There was no love, only betrayal and abandonment. No love, only hate. Sevejar’s life cracked like glass.
"Sevejar!" Angela gasped. "No! This isn’t....Oh Sevejar!"
She began to cry. And for the first time, his blue, innocent eyes found the motivation they needed.
She couldn’t bear to look at him, to have the only one she considered the closest thing she had to a true son see her like this. She didn’t see his eyes mold all the hatred of the world toward Anerice. Fighting her tears, she looked at him. Sevejar’s fist was trembling, and it began to rise, almost involuntarily in grace. Smoothly, swiftly, Sevejar grabbed a dagger that was normally used for cutting bread. His eyes flared bright now with no humanity found looking in them.
Sevejar would never know if it was really her or his imagination, but he heard her say "I forgive you, my son."
A practice leap, and a clean cut at Anerice’s neck, and the man dropped dead instantly.
When his eyes returned to their normal look, Sevejar looked into Angela’s eyes. And, slowly at first, but building to a heartbreaking level, he began to cry like never before. And he would never cry again.
He abandoned the orphanage, but not before helping Angela by commiting every sin in the book regarding the landlord, from relieving the body of it’s pouch, to burying the man in the back yard. Not even a goodbye, and he was gone, just as he had come.
The twelve year old Sevejar found theft to be suiting his way of survival well at the time, until he overheard of a consiparacy being planned against a noble visiting Niraj. Perhaps this could be the chance he was looking for? Not thinking it over, he approached the two would-be his employers, and told them that he would gladly kill the man for the right price.
What could cause those two men to come to an agreement with this strange brat would never be know to Sevejar. Following his briefing, he found himself climbing down from the inn’s roof and in the room the noble was staying at. Slowly but steady, he prepared his dagger, and struck the man down with it, never even blinking. The sleeping man, with his life escaping his clutch, opened his eyes and looked at Sevejar, and the assassin instantly knew – those eyes were the ones he sported himself.
Sevejar had killed his own father.
In his mindset, the decision was made – instead of disappearing, and perhaps giving an end to his life, a decision that would be done thanks to guilt, Sevejar exploited the situation. He turned himself into a ruthless person, who would be trained constantly in order to be the very best there was.
With the money actually given to them by the two conspirators, Sevejar started rebuilding his long collapsed heritage in the forest, the parting gift of his mother. The cottage back in the forest, where he was free to do anything.
However, instead of doing “anything” Sevejar trained. Trained in order to become an assassin. After all, that area of expertise had money to give.
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| Right. So, that's most of it. Should the mods/admins find anything missing, let me know. |