Profile
Purchased for $30 USD
Name: Verek Als'taire
Age: 42 years (old man)
Gender: Male (He/They)
Species: 50% horse, 50% pegasus
Faction: Lordveill
Rank: Outlier -
Affinity: Lightning
Personality: [Loyal] [Capable] [Confident] [Rude] [Calous] [Disinterested] [Paranoid] [Guilty] [Remorseful] [Selfish] [Bystander]
Capable and confident in his own skill, thanks to a rough life, but hiding behind a gruff and disinterested exterior. This stallion is everything but sociable, even if he used to greatly enjoy socializing. He's got pretenses and ruses to uphold, and a desire to keep his business his.
Its also unwise to expect his help, with or without copious complaint, should you find yourself in the forests of Lorrdveil, and not after he spends plenty of time letting a hapless soul persist in their own mistakes...You might be dead by the time the old man decides to throw away his paranoia… and perhaps by his own blade… or by something that fells travelers in his path... There are that which linger in the swamps… maybe it was cultists? He’d never tell. Habit of lying grew quite comfortable in the passing years. And telling the truth.. well that brings about its own consequences.
Either way, he hides many things, dances around questions, and prefers to give what he gets, albeit his might not provide so useful of information, its not his responsibility to ask the right questions. He dishes out the same philosophy with slights. An eye for an eye seems a fair trade…
History:
Son of one of the notable families of Lorddveil, 'Verek' was an astute child, rule abiding, quiet, but respectful, and loyal to them in every way, however, fate and circumstance saw otherwise. His father disowns him, for the crime of another, the blood on his feathers, and the innocent then he fled.
Life was unkind, unforgiving, he acted in same to those he met. For the better part of 23 years he became solitary, distrusting, remoreseful, and filled with fear... The swamps and forests of Lordveill contained horrible things, many of which were not like the stories he was told as a foal. It changed him, he changed himself. He had to survive, he sought forgiveness, but time made him forget his wishes, survival made him forget the one thing he wanted more than anything else. She deserved an apology, she deserved a better son.
As everyone else may or may not know, the rough and rather grumpy “hunter” has lingered like a persistent tick at the edges of the cities, scrapping by with waste tossed out by the denizens of the Veil, and just as soon as he arrives, departs into the shadows of the trees, much before any guard can investigate. That's too much trouble and his bones are old.
♦ Youth – when everything went sour. A young colt got ahead of himself, ended up in the wrong place. Perhaps it was meant to be, but family be damned. He would rather strike out on his own, with his dignity and stupidity than be thrown aside. Trodden over and disowned. The crook ended up with the better hand to deal that the once lavished child of prosperity.
♦ Young Adult – Forest life wasn’t so hard, until it was. Plenty of injuries, his wings to be one of many. Soon those were hidden, more than they had been. The young exile had grown accustomed to the mud and blood staining his coat. Anything to hide his features. Anything to divert an eye.
♦ Adult– A horse learns a thing or two after a decade out of proper society. This is the familiar. And a certain ‘old’ horse decides to make use of his acquired skills, starting to advertise as a hunter of the dark beasts of the forest, and a teller of stories. Most often mockeries of the actual events. Life alone has hardened his heart, and he considers the chance of fortune smiling on him again.
♦ Current – Nothing seems to change, the old life… thats long gone, welcoming the life that has been dealt…, still hard, but now manageable. Sometimes he thinks on his mother, those cousins he was so fond of. Why does life do this to the innocent. Why make them monsters to their own selves?
Extra: He doesnt like to use his family name, his current name is a made up one. He prefers to be ignored, and for the love of the gods don't ask him anything personal.
He has wings hidden under his leathers and old armors, albeit he clips off the primaries, or even pulls his own feathers. He'd rather look beragled and ugly than be recognized. Perhaps its been time enough. Perhaps he's the only one left of his birth name. And who would be around to remember...
He usually wears an eyepatch at night, to keep his vision when traversing the wilderness, or as a backup in the event of lights ruining his night-vision.
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