Full Name: Zerstoren
Species: long-tailed weasel
Description: Zerstoren in unusually tall for a weasel, but is more sinewy than bulky, and his muscles are more akin to whipcords than anything else. His fur is white as snow, save for the tips of his tail and ears, which are black . Although it's barely noticable, numerous scars are present all along his body. His eyes, alert and keen, are a deep sapphire blue. He wears a red tunic, gauntlets, and a black cloak.
Personality: Zerstoren is usually quiet and withdrawn, coming off as aloof and stoic. Usually never the first to initiate a conversation, but rarely attempts to carry one on. Although he appears to be quite careless about practically anything, Zerstoren is surprisingly compassionate. He just has a very hard time showing it.
Possessions: two scimitars, medallion, knife
-incredibly quick and agile
-has trouble relating to others
-reckless (less so when he isn't the only one involved)
-can't feel physical pain
Born in a land far, far to the north, Zerstoren grew up in a harsh world, with an even harsher way of life. Winter released it's grip for only a few weeks, and many struggled to thrive despite the sudden release. Most however, didn't live long. Such was probably the case for Zerstoren's family. He never really knew them all that well, mainly because they died before he was old enough to remember. Despite being taken in by another family of weasels, he didn't fare much better. It wasn't long before he started getting into fights and other sorts of trouble. While his inability to feel physical pain, present from birth, did help somewhat when he was getting wailed on, it was more of a hazard than anythign. There were multiple occasions where he received a fairly serious (in a couple of cases life threatening) injury and didn't notice until much later. Although he was fairly content, things once again took a turn for the worse when his new family was torn apart by one of the wandering clans. Most of his adopted family vanished into slavery, while the others died. Zerstoren himself managed to escaped after his adopted father clubbed him in the head hard enough to knock him senseless and proceeded to drag him off and hide him. When he awoke, he found that the surviving members of his family were gone. Zerstoren followed the clan for many days, finally catching up with them when a blizzard set in. While the clan was huddled down amidst the wind, he was planning his attack. Once the blizzard let up enough, he snuck into the camp and begun to free the captives. However, somehow the guards caught wind of him, and he was soon fighting for his life. Despite his age at the time, he was incredibly ferocious, managing to take a few of his enemies down before being overwhelmed. The clan left him where he had fallen, bleeding and slowly freezing to death. After the clan had moved on, a travelling caravan of mice, otters, and a few squirrels happened upon him. Although it took several weeks, he was finally nursed back into a well enough condition to move about on his own, but it would be several months before he was completely healed. He traveled with the caravan after he learned that the slavers had traveled across the sea, to an unknown destination. Soon the young weasel found himself in a country called Mossflower..
To be continued.