[hider=Riley] 
[b]Given Title:[/b] Riley Dempsey- ~ "I 'spose I'm lucky fer tha'. Most discarded babes woul' nary be dubbed some kinda worthy of receivin' a full title. Well, one they ha' not given 'imselves anyway." 

[b]Appearance:[/b]  He stands at a stocky 5'8", weighs in at 164 lbs. His pupils are a dull mixture of green and blue. Fairly broad shoulders that are indicative of an active life style. His hair, a dirty-blond that leans towards dirty on the surface, is kept short in the front and on the sides, and is pulled back into a short/sloppy ponytail in the rear end of his head. While two symmetric sideburns run down his face to his jawline where they have been prevented from further expanding. His face usually carries a stern and vigilant look, furrowed brows, squinted lids, a mouth bent in a subtle downward arch. His skin is fair with few portions darkened by the sun, as his career has little use for daylight or any revealing illumination, but it's probably just in his genes to look pale anyway. His physique serves a fairly robust life suited, namely, for endurance (Getting to and fro/running away.), agility (Climbing around/jumping about/running away.), and dexterity (Stabbing or slicing others/running away.), all attributing to a lanky yet lean/wiry build.~ "I rarely cross the though' of me own looks...nah alot ah people are really 'spose tah see me anyhow, yah know?" 

[b]Equipment:[/b] In terms of weaponry he holsters a slightly dull short sword, forged of a crude steel, and two much sharper gnarly looking daggers, sheathed and placed criss-crossing one another on the small of his back.~"Aye, daggers are nice whe' no ones paid yah mind, buh when yer on ah one tah one tussle an' bein' able tah reach 'is veins is all that'll really concern. Always pack an alternative."~Clothing wise he wears a dark-green long-sleeved lace up  padded over by a tunic made out of a dark-brown hard leather. His gauntlets hold the same consitency as the tunic and match its hue, reaching about three-fourths the way up his arm and are secured snugly against the skin. The trousers are a somewhat baggy pair of thick, dull milky-white fabrics. They drop halfway past the knees until being tucked away into a pair of ragged and scuffed black leather boots. Topping it all off an equally dull dark-brown cloak which droops over the shoulders, enveloping most his entirety save for his head.~"Ah-gain. The worry is in NOT bein' seen."~Has a tiny gourd with half a pint of fresh water in it. 

[b]Memories:[/b]~"Aye uhhh...it uh...by the Good Lords it was something else. Whatever sorts of fields I was in they where of another kind. All dead and quiet out there save fer some infernal scratching...far off in the back of the head it felt like. Dead was the word for it, all gravel and ashes. The sky blotted out making the daylight faint. Was something burning off in the distance, far far away but it was coming I knew it in me gut. The thing sat in front of me and I in front of it, was...was a real tall and long boy. He was tan, and was wearing real nice and fancy stuffs, all smudged and stained in soot, didn't fit him proper...all too small. He was looking at me, didn't have no brows but had a bushy black mess of hair, and an equally messy beard...his face tense, tan like the rest, is eyes huge and full of black with a little red dot dancing about in each. He had his mouth real odd like, for my  life I wouldn't be able to tell if he was grinning or snarling, his mouth was open real wide. He didn't breathe or nothing nah really make a sound. The both of us just sat there...wasn't afraid nah, just sad I-I guess, but soon the scratching felt deeper an' harder, I couldn't breathe it all just slipped away as everything burned...it was all just real sad."

~"My first time out amongst other warriors...the sargeant at arms held me back. Our troop was held at the small bridge of St. Elienees, crossing the Murky Water Stream. We had about forty of us in count, a quarter slewn upon that wood. We where chasing down the raiding tribes come off the northern mountains, we gotten 'em past the bridge. It was there they held out with five and ten on the opposing side, and sent out a champion amongst them to greet us. He was to hold us there so they could regroup and overtake us in full force, we had to get by otherwise the small towns within the valley would be torn asunder...burned and pillaged. Ten of our group he had cut down, a massive beast who held a tower shield left and a heavy hatchet right. The sargeant, pressed by time and necessity, besmirched his honor and sent me under the bridge spear in hand. I clambered up the supports till I found myself right below the gap in the wood exposing the monster of the man in full to me. Our sargeant met the man there and gave him two choices; stand down and allow us passage or face certain death. In response the beast jeered and mocked, two stomps from the sargeant and I thrust my spear upwards through one gap and into another. Four drops of blood scraped onto my cheek, I pushed the lance and twisted a bit...more blood dripped down. The tribe's men cheering died away, and my sargeant apologized to the fearsome warrior before sliding steel into his collarbone. Overhead an angry charge burst across, our troop fueled by rage and vengeance, trailed over tracking down and slaughtering the remaining tribesmen. A show of blood and sorrow it was, and I only ever struck one man that day. He never even knew I was there." 

~"A few years into my life, I had experienced bloodshed and killed a handful of the Lord's children. I thought myself steely, hollow, empty, I thought it was my calling, and I would never be right for anything else. In my naivety I began a career as a cloak and dagger. Within the capital I struck my first and only contract with the ruling church. Within these city walls I was told of a whore, the church deemed her a heretic, a gross smudge upon its character. She had come from the east and held a different set of beliefs and values. That was unacceptable; she was to die bleeding upon the cold ground. It was my duty to uphold this fate...in all honesty I considered this just and proper at the time. 
The night was starless and the moon was obscured behind a curtain of clouds, the only source of light within the back-end walkways where the few torches and lanterns that where occasionally donned upon the walls. It was well past final prayer and the blackness pervaded and masked all the evils of that time. I stepped behind her, one level above on a parallel rise looking down upon the woman, silently and without notice. She had full black and curly hair, a mess tied back in a large bun, her dress a short cut red, she walked cautiously and purposefully. I stepped without a sound down to her level. She noted my presence far too late, I spun her around and pressed my gloved arm to her mouth, throwing her against a wall back first. The iron dagger, I was provided, slid under her rib cage, and then I looked to her face. The fear and sickness was instantaneous, her eyes were squezed in pain as tears poured out, sliding down to my hand. The fear in those eyes...brown pupils distorted by water. Muffled and shaky breathes tried to escape, blocked by my grasp. She was pleading silently with me for forgiveness, mercy. Bile rose and was promptly swallowed back down my gullet. The adrenaline died away, turning to a shaky sick kind of despair. I rose again putting my hands out almost grasping her, as the dagger slipped away to the ground, iron ringing out. There was nothing I could do for her...I almost said begged for forgiveness. This was not the killing I had known, I hadn't realized what it meant till now. The few I had struck down were in the heat and confusion of battle, it was survival. This was murder, I stole away her life, her story, her precious memories. I was sweating now, looking about frantically from her back to my surroundings. She had slid to the ground sobbing and holding herself as blood streamed freely to the Earth. I ran away, my legs were shaky as my head grew dizzy. I thought all the windows to be looking right at me silently judging me as I took off into the night. A short time later I found myself within the safe house, a kind of barren and abandoned building, there for the first time in what seemed a decade about, I wept silently like a babe newborn. I wept for the woman, I wept in the vain of innocence lost. I was no killer, just a boy of nine and ten who had let silver speak for him. That next morning, after first prayer, I left the city with my payment already in hand. I had done the job and there was no need for further talk, the business was done."~          

[b]Awakening:[/b] Riley Dempsey, a knife for hire, found him self planted on the ground midst a field of ash and gravel. He was upright hugging his legs to his chest the cloak splayed about him. Eyes met eyes, a silent conversation of sweet nothings was underway, the man across from him didn't let a breath get away, but told him everything he should know. The being in question was quite tall, long, and had well tanned skin, he sported what had been a very nice blue and gold dress ware befitting royalty, but here it was much too small for the person it cloaked, covered by soot, black smudges streaked across the fibers. The mans face was adorned my a mess of pitch black hair, it jutted away from the cranium and face in a jagged fashion. The expression worn was something feral, showing anger and fear, his mouth stretched end to end pressing his gums and teeth out, creating a small ravine between the upper and lower lips. Eyes, black holes that seemed to take in everything as both the little flames fidgeted around inside. Riley didn't really mind, he just felt sad, but he wouldn't dare break the silence, that'd be rude. The scratching...the grating got louder, the flames on the horizon burned higher. Smoke billowed out of the odd mans openings as the end came. A pressure squeezed around Riley's torso letting the air out, it was really such a sad affair he thought, and than it all just seemed to just get away from him as he fell back into the heat. 

A panicked awakening, frantically feeling around, eyes darting to take in everything, grabbing for a sword. Stop...slow down. He takes a moment to calm down and get a grip, this isn't his first nor will it be his last time getting lost. Slowly but silently he coaxes out the steel from its sheathe, as he does this he finds footing and rises, keeping an eye out. All senses are working overtime now, eyes continue to adjust, ears listen closely for any sound whatsoever. Nothing. But his skin tells him it's humid, his nose informs him that water is nearby. He takes a few steps and his boots respond with the clack of wood, some sort of wetland. "Smells like rot...", his hoarse voice croaks out.[/hider]   

Muerice: