Yshvold
Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2021 3:59 am
Yshvold
Details
Full Name: Yshvold
Race: Lysanrin (Ashborn)
Sex: Male
Age: 13
Height: 4'04'''
Weight: 95lbs
Birthdate: 42nd of Glade, 108
Birthplace: Kalzasi, The Midden
Profession: Servant
Housing: Yshvold had never known the worth of a warm bed or proper roof over his head. During his time as a orphaned street urchin he crawled into whatever hole or crevice available to him in his aimless journey to survive. Day by day he'd spend day light to look for food and a new place to sleep in case the other unfortunate souls around him discovered where he was hiding to take what he has stolen for himself.
Whether it was happenstance or fate he found a benefactor to house him. Their kindness, in his eyes, knows no bounds and the mercy of a comfortable floor, chair, or closet gives him more than enough space for a relaxing nights sleep. Decor mattered little to him, even if their housing spoke of extravagance in comparison to the slums he had known for all his life, the scrolls and papers from her research were scarcely disturbed by his presence as he softly walked in and out of their room.
Partners: Yshvold held no relations during his time alone. Anyone he came across was a threat to his well being and thusly was avoided. Once or twice he was approached by others of similar age and he could feel his spirit weaken as he yearned to join them in whatever they were doing but he knew his place, he was meant to survive and be alone.
That lifestyle began to weigh on his soul as he found it harder and harder to leave his resting spots after morning. Some days he would leave it and go find another immediately after, bearing no motivation to find food or water for himself. He wouldn't allow himself to die from malnourishment but a deep emptiness in his life made him question the value in his continued existence.
One day he found his motivation. Yshvold mindlessly walked through the streets, paying no attention to his whereabouts, and slumped against a wall in an alleyway. He expected no one to see him, or care, and thought it would be nice to sleep there for now. He did not expect someone to offer him food. Petra's radiance blinded him, and he silently followed them home, swearing to protect them until his dying breath.
Titles: None
Factions: None
Fluencies: Common is all he has ever spoken or read, there has been no desire to learn new languages that did not bolster his chances for survival.
Ineptitudes: Yshvold's social skills are lacking for now as he learns to adapt to his new environment.
Magical Quirks: Siphoning aether can sustain him but leaves him with a lingering hunger, as he spent much of his time hungry anyway. After reaching his fill of aether, the magic within remains unstable and will manifest as black and white sparks around his hands and horns. These can be fairly well hidden if he remains under his cloak, but can be heard should someone be listening for it. Now that he has grown further his body has issues holding so much power in his small vessel. Crack-like fissures appear on his body when he gets fuller but otherwise cause him no discomfort.
Appearance
Yshvold takes no stock in his personal appearance. Without being told to wash or perform personal grooming he would go days covered in dirt and unkempt hair. When he is told to wash his pale white skin shines brilliantly with the white shoulder length hair framing his face. The horns that curve back from his temples are easily covered by a hood without giving away what he really is when he goes out in public. To hide himself he will wear a long hood and gloves of average make but wears a plain white mask with only holes for him to see out of.
Embarrassing his savior is the last thing he wants to do. To compensate for his lack of cultural poise he will merely mimic what they do if he should have to accompany them, otherwise he will simply stay hidden and move with them from a distance, stepping softly and quietly as he surfs through crowded streets. Although one might call it graceful the way he can move, his average poise is anything but as he clumsily fuddles his way through his new life.
Personality
To see his face is to earn his trust and to see his face you would see a quiet distaste for the world around him. A smile may never break his lips and his tears have long since dried up as he learned what he needed to do to stay alive. Isolated from a person of trust will cause him to go silent and unresponsive to others around him as he looks for any means of finding the people he knows. In the company of the person he adores he softens and quietly waits for them to ask for his assistance, even if it never comes he is happy to be there.
Be quiet, don't speak unless spoken too, don't cause trouble for others. These are doctrines he holds in his heart as he serves. To survive he will go to any lengths, even take the life of someone with what he needs at the moment. The survival of someone he holds dear will cause him to go to more extreme lengths. No matter who it is, he will do whatever it takes to make them disappear.
History
An orphaned street urchin for as long as he's lived. Yshvold found no enjoyment in the things he did or the people he hurt as he scrounged for food, water, or whatever scrap of wealth he found. The day to day routine became mundane as he fought, ate, and slept wherever he thought was safe, but it was his life. His parents, friends, anyone with any relation to him were decidedly absent from his early memories and thus did not matter anymore, save for the name he remembered being given. The only thing he had for himself, that no one could take away, were the gifts of his race and he knew he needed to exercise them to keep himself safe.
As Yshvold grew from a child to his teen years he could feel the emptiness of his life grow inside him. Killing, fighting, surviving, it wasn't enough anymore but it was all he knew. The world outside of his slum was distant as he shunned himself away to the dark alleys and the thought of escaping never came to him. Perhaps he instinctively thought it impossible to be as free as he was here, or the lack of motivation to seek something more, it stayed his feet.
The depression that grew in him affected his instincts for survival as he would go days without food, sustaining himself on whatever aetheric source he could find and releasing it to starve for only a little while before venturing out for his next meal. He became almost feral in those days but that soon died off as each day was the same. The thrill of battle, joy from a successful theft, content in a safe hole in the wall, all of it was gone.
He doesn't know why he walked out of his stomping grounds and into the light of civilized society, but he found himself sitting in an alley near a more sophisticated place. Somewhere where he would be found and perhaps executed for his bloodline, perhaps this is what he wanted. He did not expect to find a bright soul giving him something he never thought possible. Food offered from the hands of some angelic being. Petra Sophia Cormorant became something of an idol to him, someone to protect and serve. The empty hold in his soul yearned for change and he found it.
Now he serves her, helping however he can, and swears to do right by her for her small act of kindness. To wield his power in her name and prove himself useful to her cause, whatever it may be.