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dreamless_light's Journal

Created on 2005-11-29 20:32:32 (#8915949), last updated 2007-09-29

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Basic Info

Name:	Volt
Birthdate:	1980-12-15

Bio

b a s i c s

Name: Volt
Age: 17
Race: Half-elf
Occupation: Mercenary/bounty hunter
Religion: Spirit worship
Family: Alta (foster mother, deceased), Rill (foster father, deceased)
Weapon: Battleaxe
Special skills: Fighting, high alcohol tolerance, crude sensing of mana signatures, clothing repair, weapons maintenance

h i s t o r y

Thousands of years before the last Chosen journey, thousands before even the first Chosen journey, when the Great Kharlan Tree was still young, people were born with mana signatures matching the elements of mana. They were the mundane forms of the summon spirits, fated to one day die so that the world would not fail.

One of these was the half-elven avatar of lightning, Volt.

He was born to an elven mother and a human father, runaways from the hidden village of the elves, Heimdall. Their love was one of passion and fire, always frivolous and never responsable. Volt spent only a few days with his birth parents before being abandoned near an elderly human couple. His parents never cared that their baby nearly died before someone found him by the river.

Volt grew up next to the river, raised by the couple. His days were often boring, filled with repetitive work, so he imagined that he was someone special, his parents important and intending to come for him one day. He wanted to be different from the poor people he met daily. He adopted odd habits, such as speaking with all the words out of order.

His belief in his own importance, even in the importance of any other lives, would fade and die, but the habits remained until he forgot where they came from.

He was very young when he first took a job as a mercenary, not quite fourteen. His first couple were very small, not involving him fighting anything human. The third, while he still did not kill anyone, was much more important. Though his role was a small one, the contract was for the assassination of an important political figure in a nearby city.

Several of those involved were later tracked down and executed for the crime, but Volt, whose role was only to help secure an escape route for the main conspiritors, was never connected to the attack. However, his foster parents found out.

When Volt prepared to leave to seek employment somewhere else--his home was too far out of the way to find any jobs as a mercenary--his parents stopped him. They wanted him to continue to support them financially as they grew old, which would mean that he would have to stay with them. This was, after all, the reason they had adopted him when food was scarce enough already. To get him to stay, they threatened to inform on his involvement with the assassination. For the time, Volt was forced to agree.

Not long after his fourteenth birthday, the subject of him leaving was raised again. He and his foster father argued, alone up the river from their home.

Volt still has no idea whether he pushed the man with the intent to kill him or not--it was a purely instinctual attack. The old man fell into the river and hit his head on one of the rocks.

Volt just watched, silent, as the blood began to flow down the river. The man never resurfaced.

Then his foster mother came across him and the dead body. She jumped instantly to the conclusion that Volt had killed him and ran. Volt knew that he could not let her go to inform on him. So he followed her back towards the house, taking the old axe he had used on his previous jobs, the one that had belonged to his foster father's father, long dead as a soldier by the time that Volt had come to the family.

He put her body into the river next to her husband, where their souls would be carried by the river spirit to the afterlife on the moon.

Then he left, taking only the axe with him.

Volt's fourteenth year had a steep learning curve. Many times, particularly when he began to drink heavily, he nearly was killed. However, through a combination of luck, determination, and a complete lack of scruples, he managed to survive. He already had suspected that humanity was, in general, a rotten lot. In that year, his suspicions seemed to be confirmed.

In his fifteenth year, he started to regulate how much he drank to avoid getting too drunk to defend himself, only scarcely escaping alcoholism. He made enough to afford to see a few very cheap prostitutes, although he eventually came to the conclusion that they were more expensive than they were worth. More importantly, early on that year, he met Shadow.

One of his jobs was to guard a merchant caravan along with several other guards. As was usual, Volt's odd mannerisms made the other caravan guards keep their distance from him. Surprisingly, though, he was not the strangest mercenary hired that day. Shadow was obsessed with killing, never spoke, and had a tendancy to sneak up behind people just to watch their reactions. All the other people in the caravan shunned Shadow, save Volt. Volt never considered anyone weird. So, eventually they ended up sticking around each other by virtue of the fact that no one else would.

Their relationship was as strange as the individuals that made it up. They were not friends, as neither found friends important. At least at first, they never made a particular effort to stick around each other. They just ended up moving in generally the same direction, two weirdos who never judged the other's strange behaviours. Eventually, they became unofficial partners, though, to Volt, the word would eventually become tinged with so many different ideas that there was no longer a word that properly described their relationship.

With Shadow around, Volt allowed himself, very rarely, to get fully drunk, knowing that Shadow, who never drank himself, would stop anyone trying to take advantage of Volt, possibly more for the love of the fight than anything else. At first, one of these days was the date that he had killed his parents, his first kill. But that only lasted a year as he soon forgot the date as it became unimportant as death became just a part of the job.

A while later, he met the only other person besides himself and Shadow to not look down on his actions: Celsius, an elf who had turned to travelling after her relationship with Efreet came to a bitter end. Despite Volt's deeply held suspicions of elves, he eventually concluded that she was not a bad sort. Though they never tried to define their relationship, they became friends, or at least something close to it.

After Celsius returned to Heimdall, he continued to wander with Shadow, taking jobs with no particular goal for the future.

He doesn't believe in dreams.

p e r s o n a l i t y

Volt is weird. He speaks with the words out of alignment. He deeply believes in a religion of spirit worship that has nearly died out by the time he was born and would not last beyond his death. He does not view killing as anything other than a means to an end; he does not derive joy from it, like Shadow, but nor does he have any particular problem with it.

In battle, he primarily is concerned with his own survival. In contrast to his partner, he tends to stick to the edges of battle, making himself less noticed and only killing when it will help him to survive.

He does not believe in love or in dreams. He does not belive in the particular importance in anyone, not even in himself.

a p p e a r a n c e

The most obvious thing about Volt is his axe. Too big to be practically used with one hand, he carries it strapped to his back. It was originally the weapon taken from his foster family's home, but over the years most parts of it has been replaced. However, though in order for it to stay together he has had to cover it almost completely with metal plating, he will not change the wooden handle. It remains the core of his axe. Though there might be some signifigance in this, it is not something that Volt ever thinks about.

His shoulder-length hair is white and has been since childhood. This is the only hint of his elven ancestry, as his ears are human-shaped, though, if you were looking for it, you might notice that they are slightly larger than normal. He dresses plainly, every piece of clothing worn from hard wearing and crudely fixed. He wears some leather armour, although it is not professionally made. Instead, it is cobbled together and directly sewn onto his clothing.

He carries three bags. The largest contains travelling supplies, mundane things necessary for survival. The middle one contains his weapon-related gear, such as a stone for sharpening his axe and a smaller axe for situations that his normal axe is too large for. The smallest contains various religious objects, in particular candle stubs and a small journal that is not used as one.

c o n t a c t

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