Yeah, it's long, but please read all of it or he will look hopelessly stereotype…
The deep night lay thick over Mossflower Wood and velvety black clouds draped the sky, hiding the light of the moon and stars through a thin veil. Cheery and bright by day, but shadowed and still at night, a orchard sat beside a small farm shack, guarded by a meager wooden fence.
Fireflies blinked in the darkness as a soft cacophony of crickets serenaded them from the distant undergrowth.
It went on, serene and peaceful, as though nothing had changed. But out of the woods a dark shadow stole slowly forward. It was so stealthy that not even the insects went still at his presence. In daylight, Sijra was a fox, but little more. At night, he was a shadow, as silent and ethereal as fear itself. Invulnerable, fleeting, and ominous.
The beauty of his surroundings was lost on his twisted mind, his empty heart. He saw his unsuspecting prey and his mind narrowed to his one goal, his one task. Growling gently from within, he vanished into the dark again.
Several minutes later, someone screamed. Then someone else. Then it was over.
The woods froze as a tall shadow passed through the orchard again moments later, now obvious and foreboding. Sijra licked his dry lips and bared his white teeth, a frightening disembodied set of glittering white fangs against solid black. Contrary to his desires, whom he sought had not been inside. Still, he knew he would find him. He would die. they all mice would die, and suffer. They were his prey. Without anything to desire, without any way to love, they were his one way of living.
He passed on, melting into the dark and vanishing once more.
Nickname: "CrowFur" or "The Fifth Horseman"
Age: 42 (Human Years)
Species: Gray Fox
Motives: Besides self preservation, he has no motive except the satisfaction of witnissing fear in the eyes of his victims.
- Incredibly proficient with all sorts of knives; trowing, longsword, broadsword, short-sword, dirk and dagger.
- Hides extremely well (but only at night)
- Agile and strong, fast runner, physically fit all around
- Incapable of feeling fear (Will be explained)
- Sticks out like a sore thumb in daylight
- Can't climb trees for the life of him
- Can't use bow and arrows or polearms
- Cannot read or write
- Has never found any form of relationship with anyone except his sister and his employers.
- Does not care much if he lives or dies
- Almost entirely lacks emotion, except occasional and conditional satisfaction
- Does not value life in any way
Sijra has flawless black fur that glimmers slihhtly when he moves, like a blackbird's feathers (a known melanin disorder). It earned him the nickname of "CrowFur" when he was born. He wears a black cloak to match so he will be practically invisible at night. The cloak more like a robe, in fact; The sleeves droop down past his paws and the cowl falls down over his face, shadowing his eyes against the glare of the sun and to prevent other creatures seeing the glinting of his eyes in the dead of night (Foxes have eyes that reflect light back at you at night, just like deer). Underneath this large, but lightweight cloak he wears a black leather tunic with a snakeskin belt carrying his weapons. He wears a short-sword, sling, metal beads, a dirk and his black longsword is strapped over his back. He carries no shield or armor of any kind except his hardened leather bracers. He relies on his skill with a sword and his ability to hide as his defense.
It's a strange word with many meanings, but none with as deep a meaning as what Sijra has accomplished. Many creatures allow hate to fester within their breasts and seek revenge, but even this seems to have some reward to it. Evil creatures work for themselves, serving their own ends, but Sijra works for no one. Not even himself.
Sijra slays with only one aim: Sport. In it he finds no joy, only relief from some itching desire. It is not revenge he seeks for. It is only the desire to be feared which he feeds most from. He is lonely and deprived of the simplest of all gifts: emotion. There remain only three forms of emotion that exist in his cruel heart at any given time: Love and Jealousy and Loneliness.
- Jealousy because he sees that other beast can smile and make merry. He sees them dance and love in a way he cannot. It deepens the pain within his own breast such that he wishes only to rid the world of what they have and he does not. He slays them and sighs in relief as their laughter fades in the depths of his memory and is lost.
- Loneliness because he finds there is none like him, who is locked in the world of jealousy and lonliness. He knows he cannot be loved and is unable to love as others do.
- The remnants of love because of his childhood. This will take some explaining:
When Sijra was a child he was a normal fox with the lust and greed experienced by a budding vermin child. His fur, however, is what marked him as different. His fur was an unnatural color, a scar on him that could never heal. Black like midnight, but glimmering purple like the feathers of a crow's feather. His mother named him after the crow chieftain of the pinewoods near where he lived: Arjis.
As Arjis grew older, it was noticed that he was smaller than his three brothers, as was his older sister, Myra. During hunts and pillages, the both of them were treated cruelly by their family whenever they lost their prey. Myra and Arjis would be blamed because of their size. In short, they were easy to blame. They were smacked across the ears and shouted at for scaring away their quarry even when it wasn't their fault.
Far more often however, Arjis would be blamed for not hiding well enough. His brothers would exclaim that his black fur was a curse on them because he was so hard to hide properly. Myra was the only one who treated Arjis fairly, loving him like the mother he never had. His blood mother, if 'mother' is indeed the term to be used, hated them both. The two misfits were bonded by their struggles into a loving companionship that few vermin could indeed recognize. It was a deep love felt rarely except within the walls of a good home, where creatures were kind and fair to one another.
One season, the hunting was particularly bad. Myra and Arjis were beaten cruelly almost every day and even told to stay in the den and starve to death rather than follow them on the hunts. Myra didn't listen though, she hunted on her own and tried to catch an injured swallow. Unfortunately for her, her hunting brothers were nearby, going after the same bird. In the confusion that ensued, the bird escaped and yet again there was no food to be had.
Myra was dragged home and beaten cruelly. Arjis tried to protect her, throwing himself in front of the whip and crying like a babe. Nothing could stop them, however. He too, was beaten wildly to within an inch of his life and tossed aside like a tattered rag. Mercifully, his head struck a rock and he felt no more pain.
When he awoke, his lips were parched and his throat was dry. The sun scorched his back and his wounds bled and throbbed. And yet, somehow, he didn't care. Pain was somehow no longer a burden.
Myra was dead and the brother were gone. Arjis mourned Myra's death for some time, but could not cry a single tear. Then even the sorrow was gone, swallowed up by the deep consuming wrath he felt. Only one goal existed in him now; to slay his hated brothers even if he had to follow them to the ends of the earth to achieve it.
Retrieving a rusted knife he had kept hidden from his family for years, he cleaned it, sharpened it, trained with it and then went to find his family. It wasn't until nearly two years later that he finally found them. When they saw him they thought he was some form of demon and shied from, fearing for their lives. Giving them no quarter, he killed all but one, his eldest brother who narrowly survived.
Then When Arjis had slain all of them (or so he thought) he realized that had accomplished his life's remaining goal. He had suddenly achieved everything he had ever wanted. All he could wonder at this pint was what would he do now?
He was hired as a mercenary and renamed himself "Sijra" ("Arjis" spelled backwards).
He fought and killed then, wanting only relief from his deepening spiritual pain. The last time could could remember feeling a true emotion was the day that his brothers beaten him that one last time. After he struck his head on the rock, something had damaged him permanently. Never again would he laugh, become angry or frustrated. Never again would he fear, hate or even miss the diversity of emotions that make life meaningful. He couldn't even become bored with the constant monotone way of living.
But somewhere deep inside, somewhere deeper and more essential than the emotions that he had lost, one lost memory of love existed:
He still loved Myra.
It is a strange word with many meanings, but the one with the deepest meaning I know is the presence of innocence, the lack of intent to do evil. Even when the evil of a creature';s doings is obvious on the outside, who can blame his for meeting the needs which exists inside if he has no conscience to guide him. Perhaps Sijra in not evil after all, but who can refrain from fearing the most terrifying enemy of all? A beast who does evil without even knowing it.
Note: Sijra was exiled by his last employer. since then, the employer has died, so there is no one left to enforce the exile. He's free to roam.
ooc- OK, so if anybody wants to be his evil long-lost brother, they can be. Just make sure he meets the criteria here.