Ryhs The Burned (Rise)
Paladin
He stumbled his way out of the mists into the clearing before the causeway. The slick stone threatening to drop him off the edges into the swirling clouds below. Neaves whispering grew louder, paying it no attention. "Stop, fool! Turn back we would spare you this fate."
The Human in the heavy sweat drenched leather spun to see Pyria holding a spear above his head a few dozen feet skyward, Erlin, his bow quivering from the strength to keep it drawn for so long, stood just outside the fog letting himself be seen. Neaves wings glowed an irie blood red in the murk, putting a show on for the man, her eyes bright points of light.
"You people killed my father, I want my vengeance!" He bellowed back at her, knuckles white on the Greatsword in his hands. Small pistol still holstered on his hip, seemingly forgotten.
"Your Father was a thief and a trespasser, never allowed he was to set foot in the village."
"Shut it, Bitch." He turned finally, noticing me. His face went pale, they all did. Few ever made it to the gatehouse of the Village, fewer still lived to tell the tale.
"Do you believe in the gods, Child?" I asked, as I rose from my prayer. The ash from my torn wing sloughing off my shoulders from the movement.
"What does that matter?" He questioned, brow furrowing as he raised into a high guard. A pointless gesture, he wouldn't be able to keep his footing for long.
"My duty is not to judge the dead. Though I will send you to meet those that will." I said quietly, my own Greatsword feeling like an extension of myself. Effortlessly swinging it as I lunged forward, the fire in my bones propelled me faster than the human should have been able to react.
He skillfully deflected my first strike with the flat of his blade. Though my wings were torn, the heat from them still made his skin blister. "I am sorry, I cannot control it like my siblings." I spoke devoid of emotion as my elbow caught him in the ribs. My second swing he parried but threw himself off balance.
His eyes went wide, the light of my wings reflected in them. The light of the damned as Erlin liked to call it. My third swing he tried to deflect, though he blocked poorly, sending his blade careening off the side of the causeway. "Will you not leave? Will you still maintain this mortal trial?"
"Not until I have found who killed my Father." He grunted, trying to reach for his pistol.
Not fast enough, the arcing electricity weaving its way down my blade, an after image of the motion. His hand fell to the ground, bloodless. Cauterized the moment of contact, just as Mother taught. He was a threat, he needed to be dealt with, I wouldn't allow this human to return to his world with a horror story of our people. My fifth strike took his head, lifeless, his being fell from the bridge. Into the clouds below.
Neaves' voice echoed out from the murk again, "We would have spared him this fate."
"I dislike my duty as much as you. Neaves."Mental characteristics
Failures & Embarrassments
Because Ryhs wings were torn, one of his four being completely severed during his botched ceremony, his ability to use the ancestral magic of Mistwalkers is both extremely unpredictable and entirely uncontrollable. His well spring of fire that leaks from his wings in an ever present fire that breaths out from the wound in his wings, is something to be feared. As the fire continuously leaks from his wings, it burns anything it comes into contact with, when Neaves and Pyria had first began learning how to use their fire, they tried to teach Ryhs. Only his ability to channel and control the magic was... ill suited for anything beyond limited capacities.
He was teased constantly by the other children of the Clan, where his sisters would defend him. Erlin would pick fights with the other boys who would dare make fun of his brother. Though, each time this happened, it only made him feel worse. Only reinforcing what his Master had been teaching him during their "sparing" matches, that he was broken, that he held no value beyond that sword in his hands, and the prayers on his lips. The teasing stopped when one of the boys had caught him alone, and that boy was never seen again. Only Ryhs holding his war sword, bloodied, and the earth around them burned and glassed for several dozen feet. A crazed look in his eyes. It was nothing but a sheer miracle the amount of damage control Mother Afjie needed to do in the wake of the event.
Ryhs refuses to watch Neaves and Pyria practice their magic, though Ryhs and his kata's are a village spectacle as lightning arcs across the land with each strike. His wings a glow in fire making him seem as if he wears a cloak of flame itself. He feels less than the others of the Shrine Guard, of even the rest of the Clan for his inability to use the same magic that everyone else seems to be able to use without effort. When he tries, he either can do nothing or cause an untold amount of damage. Despite Ryhs being a stalwart defender to the Village, (in his mind it's for the others of the Shrine Guard and Mother Afjie), a truly massive brute of a Mistwalker and peerless swordsman of a devotion unmatched by anyone except Mother Afjie herself, he feels no pride in anything he can do.
Mental Trauma
Due to his and the rest of The Shrine Guard's intense loyalty to Mother Afjie, that being she is their adoptive mother, the clan rejected them in their infancy from their failed baptismal ceremony. As the Mistwalkers traditions demand, the High Priestess is tasked with raising the Embers. Though, as like the Priestess' of old, the Embers also became the Shrine Guard, Afjie coerced, guilted and bribed the members of the clan to teach her children everything they needed to know to get where they are now. A demand of the Priestess holds no weight when trying to benefit the outcasts.
Ryhs had learned this at a very young age, he was large as far as children went. A warriors build through and through, though, sadly his sword master was a cruel man. Earning him the innumerable scars along his arms, with each failed block, parry, feint and strike, his master punished him with a cut from the sharp swords they always used. Mother Afjie could do nothing except to heal his wounds after each lesson, admonish his master for his actions, and console her crying child. Afjie's word held much weight when it came to decision making, for all the slights and cruel treatment given to her Embers, when trials of law and faith came to pass, she returned the gestures. His sword master eventually was banished from the clan for a crime he had committed, but not before seeing the fury in Afjie's eyes.
Ryhs learned to bottle that hatred, that scared little boy who feared the lessons of each new day. Afjie would give him the time and patience, the understanding of the situations involved, yet... Ryhs would never fully open himself to anyone, never show emotion, for he was always told it gave away his next move. His Sword master had taught him that any weakness would be exploited, any notion of fatigue would be punished, that a Warrior of the clan was a stone. Immoveable, Silent, and impassionate. Ryhs very rarely speaks, let alone show any emotion to anyone except to Afjie and the others of the Shrine Guard.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
"So why don't you come with me? Why?" Neaves rested her head on his chest, jumping slightly as Ryhs wrapped an arm around her. "I haven't seen you smile in ages. I know you're just as unhappy as I am here."
He was silent for a long time, merely enjoying the moment of feeling wanted. His voice was as devoid of emotion as the others, years of training etching it's way into enything the Embers did. "I waited for you at the mouth of the Valley, didn't I? But, I can't. Neaves, we grew up together, but I will not abandon Mother Aafjie."
"Then why even bother? Why wait for me, break the Order form the the Father to speak to me. I am an outcast now. I can't return after today." She pouted though mixed with genuine anger.
"You are no outcast, you wanted to leave. Mother made that happen, I can't blame you. I do want to join you, I want to feel like you do. But, I can't." Ryhs said, something like a waiver in his voice.
"You didn't answer the question, Ryhs." She said flatly.
"Because I am going to miss you, not-sister of mine. I didn't want the others see me cry." He spoke softly, as he wrapped his other arm around Neaves. She felt his hot tears drop on her shoulder as his shoulder shook.
"Taking shape and growing skin, Layer by layer it's peeled away. Exhausted."
Current Location
Species
Conditions
Ethnicity
Other Ethnicities/Cultures
Age
29
Children
Sex
Male
Gender
Male
Presentation
Very Masculine
Eyes
Dark red, like a hot coal
Hair
Short Burnt brown hair, faintly tinged charcoal black, his short beard had strands of red.
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Sun Bronze skin with numerous scars down his forearms
Height
6'8"
Weight
350lbs
Belief/Deity
The Ascendant Butterfly
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