Beren

[Beren]

Name: Beren(My character doesn't have a last name.)

Age: 22

Race: Human

Allegiance: The Riders

Physical Description: Beren has soft brown eyes, and short black hair, a fit build. He prefers a simple, common garb over something fancy. He holds himself standing tall and proud, often with a fierceness in his eyes. He's 5'10", and weighs in at just under 165lbs. He's got the muscle for maces, and manages to weild them with little difficulty, however, he's real skill is in sword combat, focusing more on defensive fighting than offensive, letting his opponents wear themselves down. To put it simply, his real ability lies in speed and stamina, not brute force, though that's a fall-back if it's necessary.

Personality: Beren is a humble individual, and often puts others before himself, a trait he picked up from his mother. His own belief in the corruption of their country led to his own savage rebellion against the system. He hates the Empire nearly with a passion matched only by his belief in the old ways, the stories that are now punishable by death just to whisper them. His greatest dream is to see this new Monarch fall, his secondary dreams being to meet a Rider, with little hope of actually becoming one.

History: Where to begin? This lad's life has been riddled with pain, his mother had been the only parent he had around, his father having been killed in defense of his property. As a child, he knew what it was like to be oppressed, his curiousity was snuffed out, he saw it as cruel then, but looking at it now, he knew his mother was trying to protect him. He never once stepped out of line, like most black sheep, he feigned being a follower, bending knee when he was told, never questioning orders. He knew that's what he had to do to protect his mother, and he didn't regret any of it.

That changed on his eighteenth birthday, his mother had saved up enough to buy him a sword, knowing how fond he was of his swordsmanship, and feeling particularly sad that he had been using a stave until that point. It was quite the celebration for them, never once had he recalled her spending that much all at once. It had been that frugality, the saving that had caught their attention. They barged in as he was looking at the blade, shoved aside, and pushed against the wall by a lone guard, he was questioned as to where he got the money to pay for such a well-made sword. His mother, ever the protective woman, broke the silence, her voice desperate in tone as she explained that it had been her who'd saved for it. Beren had maintained a calm expression despite his unjust treatment, it went without saying that the moment he saw the man's expression change, spying his mother's worn hand on the guard's shoulder, that he knew what was about to happen. His whole body tensed, and he watched in abject horror as the man turned a brutal backfist across her face with a crunch that could still sicken him to this day.

And then he drew his sword, a moment of hesitation before he saw red, he couldn't just stand by this time, he grabbed the back of the guard's armor, and pushed the blade straight through him. He felt a faint guilt at the joy he experienced snuffing out the man's life, throwing the corpse aside, before kneeling down beside his mother, panting softly. His heart was hammering in his chest, but even then, as he leaned closer to her, he couldn't even make out breathing. He rolled her over, finding her usually vibrant eyes dull, he set his jaw, a faint knocking drawing his attention, turning his gaze on the new guard. His eyes darted to his discarded sword, his right hand finding it's grip in an instant. He'd like to say he heroically wiped out the town, but he barely managed to best the soldier standing between him and his exit. He wanted more blood, but his lunge forward scored him a dagger buried in his abdomen. He dispatched the guard, alarms were raised, and he fled, later finding that he'd been charged with the murder of his own mother, and two of the town's guards. He nursed his wounds in the mountains and forests, seeking any opportunity to remind the empire of the suffering they'd caused him. He took on the position of a dark Robin Hood, slashing the throats of the tox collectors before taking back the money they'd stolen, leaking it back piece by peice to avoid raising any eyebrows.

He took to rememberance of the old stories during this time of darkness, the righteousness of the Dragon Riders, envying them for their prowess, but becoming so desperate for that life that he would dream of joining their ranks, awakening to find the same forest, his same life as a fugitive, his family gone. Eventually the wariness of the town's guard and the ever-increasing vigilance in the forest forced him from home, he wandered the world for four years, hiding, biding his time, waiting until his 'crimes' were dismissed in the effort to find new people to arrest.

He chose instead, now, to find those that would call themselves Riders, just one opportunity to become a Rider, one chance to become something more than he was. No longer a boy with no skill aside from some above average swordsmanship, but a man with a purpose and a devotion to the good of this world.

Roleplaying Sample: Beren pushed himself harder than usual today, he'd found that he was exhausted by a little past noon, forced to make camp earlier than he would have liked. He cursed under his breath, his pack had grown light as he travelled, he'd have to scavenge and gather a bit, perhaps set a few snares while he slept to restock his meager supplies.

He dropped the bag, tugging a few snares out, moving a good few hundred yards from his chosen campsite to set his traps, tying them neatly, tossing a few morsels that rabbits might enjoy. He sighed, repeating this process several more times before finally settling in, unwrapping his bedroll. He laid down, finding sleep engulfed him quickly. He dreamed of home that night, finding that the nightmares of his eighteenth birthday would haunt him for the rest of his life. If he had spoken up, would his mother still be alive?