Shroud
Pet Name: Shroud
Owner: Ghost
Theme / Type: Wintercursed Mericai
Born: March 19, 2010
Gender: Male
Battle Portal Stats
Hit Points: 4 / 4
Strength: 3
Defense: 3
Speed: 4
Intellect: 4
Misticpower: 1
Battles Won: 0
Battles Lost: 0
| Attached Weapons | |
Books Read
Books Read: 1/373 [ View Books ]
1. Secret Murders
Exotic Foods Eaten
Foods Eaten: 0/1254 [ View Foods ]
~~*~~
Name: "Shroud", Berze
Gender: Male
Age: Mid 30's?
Occupation: Executioner
Relationship Status: Uninterested.
Personality: A true psychopath. Raised to be normal and ending up anything but, but still able to hide behind a sociable mask. Feels no empathy for other creatures and yet agonizes about how that's not right.
Inspired By: Bad Things by Jace Everett
Pictures:
Original Demon Concept Sketches
Quad Concept Sketches
Human Form
Demon Form Concept
Info Blurb:
Berze was classed among the normal children growing up, and he never knew enough to change. Born to a woodsman and his wife, he grew up learning to heft a heavy axe and being his parents' errand boy, running most of their goods into town to be haggled with. He was never one of the smarter boys, but he was diligent, and eager to learn should it be proven useful in the future.
But when he came of age, he felt no drive. Those he talked to in the village, they called him friends, but he felt no affection for them. When his parents passed, he took up their residence, and poured his energy into shaping wood since he could not understand why he did not feel grief for them. He knew that those were the emotions expected of him, but they simply were not there, and it made him incredibly uneasy. Physical exertion removed the need to ruminate over such needless problems.
A few years past, he was removing a broken tree when a faraway king's messenger happened upon his home. Seeing the young man swing an axe and easily hack through a trunk as thick as a man's arm, the messenger was elated, and explained in a rush that they had a job where such strength was needed.
At first, Berze did not think of why this messenger would be looking out on the fringes of civilization, for those who would be happy just with wage and had no relations to be bothered by their absence, just as he was. It was only when he donned the masking hood he was given, hefted his new weapon, and hewed through the neck of another living creature that he fully understand what he had so readily agreed to. But what difference did a woodsman hold with an executioner, aside from money to support himself and not live off what he could scavenge?
At first he felt terrible about what he had decided to do, but he could not fool himself into thinking it was because he had just killed someone. It was that he had felt not even a twinge of guilt as he lifted the sword that plagued him so. If he felt anything at all, he felt...elated.
Berze set up a home for himself, taking care of the down and out travelers through the capital, putting his money to use that, in his mind, redeemed his inner demon. He was not accepted by the other permanent residents by any means; they understood what he did, and treated him as nothing more than a service to call on when a criminal needed punishment. But he was satisfied with that, for now, telling himself that helping the poor and hungry was a good deed, and it was something others would have felt proud of themselves for doing.
One night, he awoke to someone banging on his door in a panic, and as he never allowed himself to turn anyone away, he agreed to hear the man's story. A thief, by the looks of things, but Berze was quiet, as the visitor looked like he had one foot in the grave. He stayed long enough for a hot meal, telling Berze that he had been traveling far too long to escape a curse and all he requested was a change of clothes. Berze complied, thinking this an easy request, but was confused when the thief refused a bed. In fact, he seemed quite glad to leave.
When sorting the dirty clothing left behind, Berze realized why the thief had left in a hurry. Tucked away in his shirt was a small black cloth, practically dousing any cheer with the demonic energy it radiated. A chill ran through his spine as he lifted it up to the light. It was an executioner's hood.
Acquainted:
[pending]
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