Personality

Avoidant || Abrasive || Envious || Hypocritical || Principled || [Situationally] Kind || [Specifically] Playful ||

On a good day he'd meet eyes with a taciturn scowl–unwelcoming and wanting little to do with strangers. The next few words out his mouth would nail the impression, be they curt and vague in impatience or biting with some mocking grin. Either way, Iarlaith at heart isn't one for witty eloquence nor social niceties and would sooner avoid interactions if possible; he chooses who and how he engages at his own comfort and deters the rest with the abrasive front.

A front borne out of long-nurtured inferiorities, that is. What others have and how others compare– or what they never lacked to begin with–
The respect this youth lades on his dark elven peers shares the same prickly cast as his envy, and his quick offense to any sliver of condescension is more a reflex than a thought. At the very least he knows his place only too well and would sooner concede than risk the consequences.

Strangely enough, perhaps it was because of his unfortunate lot in life that he is not entirely without morals, ingrained with some hope of being more than he is. While he has few qualms about theft and all that one can take with a blade, Iarlaith sincerely believes all favours regardless should be reciprocated and all work must be accomplished without fail. The absolute sense of duty to his purpose and the odd kindness expressed to children stem from a multitude of lessons he's kept close to heart–if only because they gave him his own direction.

History

[Linhian childhood]

Stitches' younger years offer little for recollection, but life on the streets of Linhythe wasn't so bad for an orphan whose ambition rivaled that of his wallet. As long as he could get by, he was content with simply developing his sleight of hand, keen to avoid the darker dealings of the city despite the lure of riches. Temporary wealth came at a cost he knew was beyond him.

However, as he aged, his interest in exploring beyond Linhythe grew the more he learned about the world from snatches of conversation and news. Reluir and its entirely dark elven host, brimming with history and refined culture struck him in particular. Someone else struck him not long after, too–another dark elf, who just so happened to be his passing target for thievery. He was lucky in one regard: if not for their shared race he would have lived a rather unfulfilling and short thirty-something years. Effortlessly thwarted, the shock of this close call simultaneously frustrated him and fostered unbidden admiration. And because of the other elf's supposed pity on a petty stray, he took the chance to inquire about her professional skill and the Relan State.

Though she divulged little else aside from a name, Eithne Ó Ciardha was more than welcoming of that curiosity towards Relan culture. If it helped guide a young fellow, so be it. She gave Stitches some coin and clue to seek the mountains and vaguely permitted his company for part of her own trek there. Perhaps the older elf just found it amusing to give what couldn't be taken by force in some light-handed condescension. He would understand it that way, anyway.

[Reluir to present]

Arriving in the Reluir State long after Eithne had disappeared from the journey, Stitches took to the cities to learn about the heritage and ways of this land. But for all of his fascination over the years, he still remained an outsider. Without a goal in mind or a place to go after his extended visit, he sought out the Ó Ciardha household to repay the initial favour in some way.
Eithne wasn't impressed by his aimlessness, and yet to seek her small estate after all this time to offer whatever compensation for her 'kindness' was laughable in its contrast. Although she found that dedication immature, he was impressionable, and at the very least he had potential. And so she tasked him with the most pointless errands as repayment... It was only when Stitches' deepening interest in her covert profession became blatantly obvious that she ventured taking him under her wing.

After being drilled with Relan thought and bettering his techniques, by his fifties Stitches–or rather Iarlaith– was able enough to be inducted to the Assassins' guild with the gift of a new name as well. But truly, despite his ability, he reaffirmed how humbling and envying it was to be among elite company. On a subconscious plane he'd grown more and more attached to being part of an organization so effective, hidden, useful... and yet on that same level he had his occasional doubts about this new direction in life, especially with his worthless roots in question and the constant struggle to curb his distasteful personality.

Save for a crippling mishap in his late fifties–to his mentor's endless chagrin–that was no doubt fueled by the poor judgment of lesser experience, he was steady in his work and adapted as quickly as he could to his new shortcomings to regain faith in his skills. If anything, bitterly damaging as it was, that was a driving point in his still-rookie career: the last thing he ever wanted was to be useless to the cause that gave him purpose.

Current:

More concerned with state-domestic issues than the Empire's misfortunes over the years, those two situations came to a head and clashed when their dear Crown Princess undermined her guards' trust and fled to Koben– shortly before the Queen sought possession of Iadlain. Much has happened since then and Stitches has found himself with fewer friends than he'd realized. Nevertheless he remains steadfast on the side of Reluir even after coincidence brought them before the princess once more, and especially after witnessing the devastation of the adabrene poison against their kind.

After the momentary reprieve in St. Beitris' Feast following Balla's recent misfortune, Stitches was taken by surprise as much as everyone else by the Queen's subsequent ambitious plans. With the towering _{mr. spooks} shadow Reluir summoned attacking indiscriminately, Stitches inwardly contended with others' decisions and the duty the guild ordered in the face of forces well beyond any of them.

In the end, what came out of those arduous weeks and the ones after was not further doubt of the heads above; instead it cemented a will that he had carefully cultivated over his short long years in service. And that was why when Princess Lorna's rebellion and the Red Torcs' gathering came to light, despite the increasing absurdity of what the Queen ordered of the guild against her own people, and in spite of their harried plights that he understood far too well, he stood by the monarch's rule. His loyalty rooted deep in selfishness, not out of some grander altruism.

now look where that's got them. aw heck. well uh. no hard feelings right

Additional Info

• Blossoming characteristics: Black sclera, nails, mucosa
• He tends to refer to others by nicknames (...or insults), or anything but their given names except in business and appropriate situations. The same goes for himself hence his preferred generic-word handle, a habit from his Linhythe days. He'll only lean towards proper names around comfortable or respectable company, especially dark elves.
• Is missing his right eye and ear. Most of the scarring is hidden by the eye patch. He also wears a glass eye underneath and likes to take it out to play with sometimes.
  • (monocular eyesight; his lacking ear's hearing & balance had not been damaged to the same extent but he is slower to pinpoint sources or focus in crowds compared to other scout-class)
• Likes to carry around a red piece of cloth from his mentor. It's just a rag but it has its uses.
• Favours poison, daggers and closer quarters. Makes use of alchemical concoctions otherwise. He keeps wires and garrote in his right gauntlet and various throwing blades throughout his form–but his long-range depth perception is still less reliable with one eye than he'd like to admit, even after several years of retraining.

• Never needed nor developed a taste for magic to any remarkable extent -- but the occasional influence does lend his handling of his choice of wired weapons an assurance otherwise unwise. [mage base]
• While still not devoutly religious, he wears an Atros halo earring for some gesture of belonging and identifies with Reluir as his home. In a sense he's more devoted to the 'idea' of the guild and monarchy themselves.

Relationships

Eithne Ó Ciardha [ family, mentor ]

A more moderate assassin in her mid 200's; usually a laid-back joker, if a condescending and somewhat whimsical-aired rogue. Iarlaith has looked up to her as his mentor figure since a younger age. He's definitely been disappointing in her eyes after crippling himself, and is still working to recover more of the trust she had placed in him as a student.
When referring to her to strangers, he calls her 'Alley' since he met her in an alley.

Alison Mac Dhuibhinse [ baby brat ]

Sweet little lamb, if an overly enthusiastic firebug. He'd hate to see the day she actually grows up past munchkin size.

Marischal Maxwell [ friend, supplier ]

A consistent civilian supplier and what he'd call a friend, few as those are. The two get along in similarly enough fashions, Iarlaith's mischief aside.

Phéarel Hadreth [ guildmate ]

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