F E R I S
Details
Full Name: Feris
Race: Awoken Humonculi (Sinorad)
Sex: Male(ish)
Age: 1960 Years (18 Awake)
Height: 8'02"
Weight: 244 Lbs
Birthdate: 41st of Glade, Year 320 of the Third Age
Birthplace: Indorin
Profession: Therapist
Housing: N/A
Partners: N/A
Titles: N/A
Factions: The Bloodless Kin
Fluencies: Kokolath, Vithmi
Conversationals: None
Ineptitudes: None
Appearance
"I am a fabrication. A product of science and magic. Yes, I have the blackest fur you'll ever see, and bleached bone for a face. Here are my horns, my tail of wolf, and here are my ribs, exposed for all to see. How tall I am, or rather, how little you are... Stop looking upon my claws! No, pay attention to these blue eyes of mine instead! Where are you going? Pah! Cowards..."
It can be difficult to see Feris as anything more than a masked Rathari, for he has worked to blend into society as well as possible. He wears flowing, open red and blue garments that cover his ribs and thighs but expose his chest, with metal claps serving to fit the clothing closely to his form. At his hip, there is usually a satchel for books as he is often returning from the library with a new piece of knowledge to digest.
Feris carries himself with a certain regal eloquence, oft holding an elbow and keeping his back straight. When he moves, he does so with poise and confidence, almost mechanically or reptilian with carefully rehearsed motions. His voice is soft and rasping, layered with unearthly resonance.
Runes
Feris' runes each lay beneath a thick hide of fur upon his chest, hidden from view. They are set into his flesh side by side, and cannot be seen without first shaving the area, or prying the fur apart and taking notice of their existence.
Rune of Animus
Taking the shape of a Dreamcatcher tattoo woven with primal elements such as teeth and claws, this rune sits almost squarely upon his sternum.
Rune of Masquerade
This peculiar rune resembles a staircase triangle advancing towards itself, an optical illusion. It sits upon his right pec.
Rune of Mesmer
Resembling a bloodshot eye with red lines escaping the whites to knot and twist together, this rune sits upon his left pec.
Personality
Curiosity
Oh what secrets, what joy there is to be had in knowing the truth behind things. Art, majesty, minds, and magic. Everything has such beauty. Da da dee dee dum. Da da dee dee dum. Follow the rhythm, the weave of fate, and hop strings along the way. You never know what you might find.
Detachment
We are not cut from the same cloth. Sometimes your kind feel like mewling cats fighting in an alley, or insects laboring on the detritus of the world. Animals, curious and complex, yet nothing like myself. I am alone in this world. Maybe someday you will be a loyal pet to fetch me my desires, or useful game to hunt for joy.
Whimsy
The music, oh the music. What's that? Ahh, it's nothing. All in memory. Songs playing since the whimsy came into my life from being in five places at once, in six different states of being. My mind is healing, but I am young. If I can avoid thinking to my past, I won't be so ...haunted. For now, dance and sing for my amusement, and perhaps I shall join you.
Weary Romantic
What passion, what wonders await in stories of love. Perhaps I am jealous, perhaps I feel I deserve more. It's a confusing feeling, but one that makes me shy from such a direction. After all, who would seek to know me in that way except to betray me? It seems so counter-intuitive to sever pieces of yourself so that others can run off with them. What lunacy. For now I shall only maintain love for the father I know I must have cherished long ago... and myself.
.
History
The Taste of Red
I'll never forget the taste of this era, when I was birthed again to a cauldron of stone.
It was the taste of red. And I knew, at first thought, that my father was dead.
I awoke to a wild, beastly man with a lecherous grin, eyes full of greed. I was the answer, I came to learn, but he cast spells upon my mind to make me march to his tune, but I was indifferent. He thought I knew the secrets of the times before from a past life, that I would make him a wealthy man from ancient secrets. His name was Shalk.
A grueling session of the finest torture ensued, a concoction of herbs and poisons fed to my body until he could draw forth my Purpose. He was wrong to think there was anything of use in my mind.
"This is the last will and testament of Irn'hau De'tout Evangrys."
He pressed further. It goes like so.
"In the event of my death, I am to be interred with this Sinorad as witness. Arniere Evangrys, my eldest, shall receive the Evangrys Estate. My material wealth shall be split equally among my other sons and daughters, held by my eldest until the event of his siblings graduating a prestigious academy or acquiring a title."
There it ends, my life purpose, the simple means by which a strange body was manufactured with a mind that cannot forget. Some might think it cruel, but I know better than to look for answers to such profound questions. This is a new era. A new me, and I am free to learn, now that I have served, though the thought lingers... what of the ancestors of Arniere Evangrys? Is it my Purpose to find them? To share with them the will to an estate of nothing?
What torment awaited me when I divulged an unwelcome truth. Shalk flew into a fit of rage, and when he calmed, I could do nothing to appease such a flawed, powerful mind. It invaded my own, snatched at my emotions, and cast away my sanity day by day, mistake by mistake, until I grew to hate the man. For all his venom and ire towards me, he felt I had owed him, and so kept me, raised me in this new world. I learned to speak the Vithmi and Kokolath tongues.
Shalk was old, you see. He sought to leave his name upon the world, but all he had done was progress in the field of hedge magery. His daughters hated him, and so neither would serve as his apprentices. I, he named Feris, was chosen in their stead, made to study the avant garde. Masquerade, Mesmer, Animus. Each rune marred my soul with an affliction that ran deep, experiences that still haunt me. Now I feel detached, like an animal of the mind, living somewhere between this world and one that is not real.
My mentor died, in the end. Poison, they say. I had not a hand in it, but he owed money to men who thought him a charlatan. Thereafter, the daughters took hold of the estate, and cast me away. In all that time, I had never set food outside of the building, but a kind man gave me a thick cloak to hide my face. He was of the Bloodless Kin, and so helped to guide me through this new world, and invited me into their ranks.
What a strange, strange world. More must be done to study, to understand it. I want to know more. I want to be remembered, and not as a vessel for knowledge from a dead man. Where will this curious journey called life take me?
