Post by Veras Atlassan on Oct 23, 2014 22:07:17 GMT -5
[attr="class","main"] [attr="class","imgdiv"] [attr="class","name"]Veras Atlassan [attr="class","race"]Orlesian, Elf
[attr="class","infoh"]Physical Attributes
[attr="class","infoc"]Veras displays the typical characteristics of his elven bloodline, possessing fair features that would generally be called attractive, and a sleek build that is similar to most of his brethren. He stands a respectable five feet nine inches, with rather broad shoulders for an elf, and possesses a leanly muscled physique that would be considered almost brawny amongst his people, but is little more than average in comparison to the typical human male. His skin is a darker tan hue, made even darker by his time spent out under the harsh sun. His right eye is a shade of bright blue, while the left is a more steely grayish-blue color with a permanently enlarged pupil. While at rest, his features tend to appear rather baleful, as he narrows his eyes in a manner that seems at best scrutinizing, and at worst downright hostile. His hair, once a rich shade of dark brown, has taken on a steely grayish tint, and has turned light gray at the temples. He wears it somewhat longish, cut a few inches above his shoulders, typically worn bound or braided into a short tail when he needs to keep it out of his face. Veras's body is prominently etched with his personal history of violence. Most of his battle scars are minor nicks here and there, most hidden beneath his clothing but some etched onto his face. Several are more prominent- there's an extensive burn mark covering much of his left biceps, and an old scar over his left eye, starting a couple of inches above his left brow and continuing down over his cheekbone on the same side. The very tip of his right ear is obviously a couple of inches shorter than it ought to be, and there's an uneven patch of flesh on the inside of his left forearm that looks as though it has been subjected to precision mangling. Clearly he is a man who has endured some punishment in his life, but none of his wounds have thus far had any notable effect on his movement or ability to defend himself. Veras isn't a particularly vain man, nor does he concern himself too much about his appearance in most situations, but he does practice good hygiene, even if he does have a tendency to look a little disheveled at times. He sticks to dark clothing, definitely values form over function, and is as comfortable in light armor as he is in civilian clothing. His adornments are few- he wears a simple gold chain with a plain wedding band on it. The dainty thing looks as though it once belonged to a woman. [attr="class","infoh"]Personality
[attr="class","infoc"]It is evident from his rough appearance that Veras had lived a hard life, and there's a sense of imposing unfriendliness to him that tends to put off most who come across him. He's typically brusque and somewhat impatient with strangers when he feels they have nothing to offer him, and has an extremely low tolerance for people he feels are wasting his time. The man does not aim to be quite so standoffish, but he doesn't make any apologies for his behavior, either. Living as a Warden has made the general populace rather wary of him, and he has come to adopt the gruff and unfriendly exterior that they expect of him. It's much easier to use simple assertion to put off unwanted company, at least in Veras's opinion. While he is not prone to being particularly introverted or outgoing, Veras does not disdain contact with other people, and is actually quite affable in favorable company. He's surprisingly open and friendly in the company of those with whom he is familiar, and possesses a lively (if somewhat dark) sense of humor that is easily roused despite his surly appearance- he's quick to smirk and smile in a rakish sort of way, and employs his brand of sarcastic humor in most situations, whether it is appropriate or not. And while he can get along with just about anyone under the right circumstances, he finds it much easier to connect with fellow Grey Wardens and warriors on the basis of shared experiences- you can bet he'll happily pull up a chair and compare battle stories with another veteran. Veras is no longer the hotheaded, impetuous little whelp that he used to be, tempered by time into a somewhat more passive and thoughtful demeanor. He's more patient, and thus more inclined to think before he takes action, though he finds it somewhat more difficult to put a filter on that mouth of his, especially when he's irritated or when the subject in question is something he's passionate about. While the man doesn't go looking for fights these days, he's still very much in the business of finishing them, and can turn to violence with an alacrity that one might not expect for one so ostensibly passive. He can be brutal and downright ruthless when he feels he must act, allowing cold logic to drive his actions rather than raw emotion, and while he takes little joy in harming others, it won't stop him from doing what he feels is necessary. This grim resolve is a large part of his character- he is a man who does what must be done, and lives to regret or make amends with the consequences later. Beneath the composed exterior, he is jaded and world weary- but duty drives him onward, and he is dedicated to the Wardens and the task that has been set before him. And so he will persevere, until the day he succumbs to madness. [attr="class","infoh"]Background [attr="class","infoc"]Veras was born in an alienage in Orlais, the second child of Jareth and Maya Atlassan. He was the younger child in a set of fraternal twins- his brother Carris is technically older than him, and it was a slight edge that the elder child never let him forget. His sister, Deyna, was born six years later. As a city elf, his origins are quite typical. He was raised in an alienage in Val Royeaux, where most members of his family were employed as servants. He lived in a small, cramped shack with his immediate family and paternal grandparents, and a host of other family members and family friends that seemed to come and go out of the home in a regular fashion throughout his life. There was not much Veras owned that was his alone, and everything he ever had was handed down to him. There wasn't room in the small complex to allow him to have much privacy, and he got used to the generally hectic household at a very young age. Despite his untenable situation, he didn't know any better, and was more or less happy in his early childhood- his parents were loving, his grandparents wonderfully weird and wiser by far than anyone he has ever met. Veras remembers it as a more or less happy time despite his privations. But the naïve boy grew older, and became more aware of his situation, which he came to realize was typical of elves, but not typical of all who lived in Orlais. There was a class of person who lived a better life than he and his kin, and Veras became resentful of that fact every time he peered above the walls that separated his kind from the human population. The boy and his family lived a life of privation, going days on end without food or clean water and struggling to get by, while the people outside the walls thrived, unconcerned of the plight of those within the alienage. It made him bitter and angry- but he was far from alone in that sentiment, and found little outlet for his discontent. He couldn't change his station- he merely found a way to live within it. For the next few years, life went on as normal. A crafty little thing, Veras ran a number of small schemes to make money to support his family, and frequently resorted to theft to help make ends meet in addition to working as a laborer whenever he could. Life wasn't great, nor even good, but at the very least, they all managed to keep from starving to death. Anything else was a bonus. Sickness and disease in the alienage was not unusual, but it struck closer to home in his sixteenth year when it claimed the lives of his grandparents and nearly killed his mother. The sickness permanently weakened her, leaving her unable to work. It was around this time that Veras began to take more drastic measures, emboldened to commit more crimes in order to make money. Commoners in Orlais learned to hate the sight of him in his hooded garb- Veras would wear a mask to mock the nobility as he committed his crimes, and he was quick enough and knew enough short cuts through the city to avoid getting caught. Fellow elves often assisted him- he'd duck into servants' quarters and offer those who assisted him a bit of what he earned from time to time. No one saw his face, and he was able to continue working legitimately as well. But his luck didn't last. Late into his nineteenth year, Veras was discovered stealing from the house of a minor noble whom his father had once worked for, a stupid mistake that likely could have been avoided had he not been more desperate for income than usual. The man, Alden Brasseur, decided not to have him punished in exchange for Veras working for him personally. The man had a fondness for bloodsport, and forced Veras to engage in fights with man and beast alike, with bouts ending when either party was forced to submit. Veras was tough, and used to getting into spats now and again with others in the alienage, but nothing like that. He lost frequently in those early days. It didn't seem to matter to his handler, however- he only seemed amused by Veras's unfortunate situation, and seemed to enjoy forcing the young elf to do what he wished. There was little Veras could do to retaliate- the man could have him killed at any moment, and every now and again would toss him a bit of meager coin from his winnings. It kept him and his family fed, and was more than he usually earned as a thief. He allowed Brassaur to mark him with a tattoo, a small symbol on the back of his forearm that declared him as his. It seemed a small price to pay for his life. Eventually, he began to win more than he lost, which surprised Veras and his handler both. He became a vicious brawler, even making a bit of a name for himself in the organized fights, where he continued for nearly a year and a half. Eventually he moved on to death matches- it was an unspoken, unceremonious affair- he was simply informed before the match that it wouldn't end until one of the was dead. Murder was a crime he thought he would never commit. It was him or the other man, and in the heat of the moment, and in the interest of not being killed himself, Veras killed his opponent. It sickened him that he had done it. Alden was only detachedly amused. It continued for a matter of months, but Veras had had enough, and refused to fight, stating in a moment of high emotion that he didn't care what Brasseur wished to do with him, hoping the man would let him out of his service. But he was an investment that Brasseur was not willing to give up so easily. Perhaps he would not have Veras killed, but his family instead. The suggestion solidified Veras's next course of action- seething, he cut the tattooed flesh from his forearm and pinned it to the shocked noble's chest with a dagger before fleeing, thinking he had killed the man. After that, there was no way out, no course of action he could take that would save him. He was marked for death from the moment he dared even raise arms against Brasseur, and knew the only option for him was to flee. He didn't even have time to bid his family a proper goodbye- he left them hastily, and headed out of the city as quickly as he could, taking nothing but the clothes on his back. He learned, painfully, that Brasseur did not die from his wound- word came to him through a family friend that his childhood home had been burned down, and that his mother perished in the fire and the rest of his family scattered. He doesn't know what became of them. He used various contacts he had cultivated over the years to flee the city, and managed not to draw attention to himself. He was being sought by authorities- and likely by Brasseur himself, via hired men- so he stayed away from populated areas, for the most part. Going hungry was nothing new, though he had been eating a little better while under Brasseur's thumb. But he survived, and was eventually found by a group of nomadic Dalish elves as he wandered the wilds. They took him in, more or less. Veras learned more of their culture- his culture- and learned to live off of the land as they did. He made himself useful, and lived a relatively peaceful life with them for the next four years. Curiosity and guilt got the better of him, however, and it was to be his undoing. Feeling enough time must have passed that he could return to Orlais briefly if he was careful, Veras slipped back into the alienage to see if he could find out what became of the rest of his family. For the most part, he was correct- no one stopped him, no one even seemed to notice him when he went in. The trouble didn't start until he got the information he'd come for- that no one knew what had become of them- and tried to leave. While he was attempting to leave Orlais once again, he was harassed by a group of chevaliers- someone had recognized him and reported him. To this day, he does not know know who it was, and maintains that someone within the alienage was the one to report him. He took a wound to the leg that slowed him down as he tried to escape, and the authorities caught up with him. Veras was fully prepared to be killed while fighting the chevaliers- at the time, it didn't seem like such a bad way to die, as long as he killed as many of them as he could before dying himself. But it was not to be. A Grey Warden, with a number of new recruits from the Orlesian jails in tow, stopped the guard who was going to finish him off, saving Veras from a quick death and offering him a place in the ranks of the Wardens. At the time, the young man didn't know what he was agreeing to, only knew that he was being saved from death. He left with the Wardens a free man, out of one precarious situation and into another. The Joining ritual did not kill him; he drank the mixture of darkspawn blood and lived to tell the tale. After that, Veras's life became fairly routine- he killed darkspawn, and he was good at what he did, proving himself a more than worthy recruit. He has shown enough ambition in his seventeen years of service to be promoted to the position of Senior Warden, and actively engages in skirmishes with the darkspawn when they arise, as well as performing other duties as needed for the Wardens. It isn't the life that he envisioned, but he is committed to his duty as a Warden. Recently, Veras has begun to worry about the effects of the ritual. Perhaps the madness will take him soon. Until then, he will keep on fighting. |