|| Stat Page || Updated: Jun/15/16 Experience || 120
Special Attacks Assurance
Inventory
Weapons Simple Lance
Items First Aid Kit || Tattoo Kit || Change of Clothes
Posted: Fri May 01, 2015 3:03 pm
Name Illian
Species Pureblood Shifter
Gender Male
Preference Either
Path Rider?
Appearance Long flowing pants, belt sash, half shirt, gloves to his mid-upper arm, same arm bands as Issaly, and the same forehead stones as the rest of the family. He has feathered ear cuffs and his hair and tattoos are similar to this guy here. His body is covered in scars and he has one on his throat from the too-tight collar he was forced to wear.
Personality Aloof, Witty, Mocking
Illian didn't like drawing attention to himself when it wasn't needed. He was too accustomed to the pain, to the necessity of being a living shield to want more then a furtive glance in his direction. There was some days that even the weight of his siblings eyes on him was too much, and he'd retreat behind mocking words or witty remarks to throw them off.
He was disgusted with this need, this crave he had, to become invisible when he wasn't needed. He would have liked to be the statue in the room that everyone knew was there, but no one felt the need to point out. It was for this reason, and this reason alone, that he often went with their father on his increasingly dangerous 'hunting' trips. It was self-flagellation for a perceived flaw within himself, that only he could see.
Lirende
Excitable Zealot
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Lirende
Excitable Zealot
Offline
Posted: Fri May 01, 2015 3:11 pm
History Illian is the second son. As such he was both criticized and ignored by their Father on many occasions. It went to the point that the youth simply gave up caring. While he saw everything his elder brother did, how he summed it up was vastly different. One could say he became bitter. This observation would never be carried over to his interactions with his brother however, as Illian was (shockingly) the main force behind banding his brothers together as a unit. The male was always there when his younger brothers needed him. He was always at his Mother's side as she carried them to full term.
While he saw her shrinking, he knew that their Father was to blame. Resentment for the male starts with him. He both hated and loved his Father, with his twisted ways of affection towards his warrior sons. The first time Istanell handed him an infant was with the fourth son, Illian grew to adore children after that moment. While this adoration would be shared with another brother, Illian would be the one to always seek out the protection of the younglings in their group. Which is exactly what he did when the Battle started.
He did his best to protect them, even having deserted the post he had been assigned to. He was glad for it though, as he took blow after blow meant for a smaller, more fragile body. His staff had become difficult to grip, as sweat and blood made the smooth haft and body slick. He knew he was a sight, with blood between his teeth and staining his silvery hair, running in rivulets down his body. What was even more impressive was the broken bodies strewn around him, around the younglings he protected. He would continue to fight even as his last breath whistled out of his lungs.
But it didn't come down to that. The Obans stopped fighting, even going so far as to withdraw slowly. One of warriors spat at them as he left, saying that they were lucky that their leader was an honorable man. Someone had offered a trade, their life for Illian, his brothers, their village. He tried his best to offer comfort to the youngest, but he knew that they wouldn't settle unless everyone was together again. It was with a numb heart and grim determination that he stumbled his way back to where the main body of fighting seemed to be. He heard the news of his father once they rejoined the others, and that of Incanthis. Heart in his throat Illian made brief contact with one of his closest surviving friends, unable to meet his eyes with the weight of his failure dragging him down.
He didn't even wait until the younglings were calmed before he left, their grief and confusion enough of a distraction that he was able to slip away.
He followed the tracks of the Obans, what little hadn't been swept away as far as he could, before his wounds caught up to him. He woke chained to another, who told him that the Obans had been scouring the field for any who were still alive, and had a high chance of surviving the trip back with minimal care. Illian was told that they'd actually had a healer check him over, that one of the Obans in the slavers group had recognized him from his earlier fighting.
It made him want to bite his tongue and end it, before he would be used by these filthy beings. But the reason for him even getting captured, was to find his brother, and Illian was anything but a quitter. He would swallow down the bitter taste of defeat and failure and endure it until he could escape.
Time passed slowly, and Illian found himself thrown into more fighting, senseless and filled with desperation; all for the amusement of others. He was told that if he bested 100 of the most fearsome beasts and fighters he would be given his freedom. It was little more than a verbal promise, something easily revoked, but it was enough for Illian to sink his teeth into. To give him purpose and focus the poisonous miasma that had settled into his bones.
His Master owned a few other fighting slaves and Illian found himself housed with them, though unlike the others he was given a metal and reinforced leather collar to wear, instead of the usual slave brand. He would have preferred the slave brand over being collared like some animal, some pet of pleasure. His Master delighted in making him as miserable as possible and it came as a sweet surprise one day, at the end of another week of combat, that he was freed. He hadn't made his 100th kill, he'd barely made 12 when slavery was declared illegal.
His strength failed him, and it was only with the help of the others who'd he'd come to know, that he was even able to leave the home of his 'Master'. He spent the better part of the next month, doing odd jobs that no one else wanted, that paid next to nothing, so that he could stay in the area and look for Incanthis. The rumors of two shifters who looked like him reached his ears, but by then he already knew it was too late, that they'd moved on already. It hurt, to think that two of his brothers had been so close, but a part of him was glad that they'd moved on. He didn't want them to know just how far he'd fallen.
Opinion Illian is fiercely protective of them, and of his other younger siblings. He'll do anything to keep them safe and protected, even if it means selling his soul to the proverbial devil.
Memory || He was frightened of a being that was barely as long as half his arm and more delicate than glass. It came wrapped in a soft white cloth and it didn't look very happy. The tiny face was scrunched up with displeasure and soft mewls escaped from a toothless mouth. He could barely process his brother happily telling him that this, this tiny creature was his newest little brother before he was pushed into his arms.
Illian's breath caught in his throat and he could feel his eyes widening in fright. He was going to drop him, hurt him by holding him too roughly. He could feel his shoulders tensing and the babe he held awkwardly let loose a cry that both melted his heart and increased his anxiety. He-he couldn't do it, he was going to hurt the little one purely on accident. There was a warm chuckle as Istanell came to his rescue, carefully rearranging his arms so that he cradled and supported the infant correctly, instead of the unsure hold he had before.
Slowly he felt himself relaxing, leaning back into the solid familiarity of Istanell. They were in this together, as they always had been since his birth. Now they had another little one to protect and guide and this time, this time he would make sure he was around more for the little one. He wasn't going to just quietly do his father's bidding anymore, he would fight for fragments of time. He would call attention to himself, to take all the pain he could just to spare this fragile new life.
