Member
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Name:
Orm the Albino
Age:
24
Sex:
Male
Nationality:
The North (Exile)
Class:
Shapeshifter
Physical Description:
Orm possesses a pleasant face, gently raised cheekbones, barely concave cheeks, and a tapered chin, his nose strong and longer than most, but certainly not intrusive. His lips curve in such a way that it seems a soft smile always graces them. His hair, short and shaggy, is a white so bright and pure that only his skin, freshly fallen snow, can seem to compare. His eyes are wary, curious things, almond shaped, with dim fires of lavenders and pale reds swirling within. A general look of dubious calm seems to surround Orm at all times, as if every event that unfolds before him is something of a pleasant surprise.
Standing at six foot three, Orm is tall but not lanky, his body put together gracefully as if sculpted from marble by some great craftsman. Though toned and not unfit, his body as a whole has a very smooth appearance to it. The only discrepancy in the grace of Orm’s form is a barely discernible limp in his right leg, a constant reminder of his youth in the North. His attire consists of a simple cotton shirt, felt pants, and leather boots, with a navy blue bridgecoat covering the outfit, topped off by a brown tricorn hat.
Fighting Style:
With his status as a shapeshifter, Orm is well suited for various situations. Stealth and infiltration are afforded to him with ease, as is open warfare, or anything in between, thanks to the wide variety of animals at his disposal. When more conventional means of combat are required, Orm is a suitable shot with firearms, being adept with both pistols and rifles.
As a secondary skillset, Orm is well acquainted to the menial task of cleaning, finding the monotony of the exercise a soothing excuse to think to himself in peace.
Personality/Mental:
Always ready to agree with others, his own personal opinions seemingly as changing as the winds, no one has ever managed to discern what Orm’s true motivations or beliefs are. Never one to enjoy conflicts of the personal sort, Orm endeavors as best that he can to keep himself as far removed from any kind of rising tensions, and with his soft spoken voice, eerily serene tone, and agreeable nature, this is not hard to pull off.
Orm prefers to spend time by himself poring over books or as an animal, seeing and feeling the world through the senses of an entirely new species. The antics of more boisterous and excitable people has little appeal to him, and only those with a similar appreciation for study or nature have a chance to garner any kind of real friendship with him. While he can sometimes enjoy the rush that comes with a good fight, he usually loathes the act, whether it be a friendly brawl, an anger fueled duel to settle some score, or a battle against strangers to defend his home. The latter of the three, unfortunately, is rapidly becoming a driving force in Orm’s life.
History:
The owl knew it was being watched. Its talons dug firmly into the tree, swiveling its head around and giving an occasional hoot, the owl could feel that curious pair of eyes peering at it from some distance away. It decided to do a little show for its tiny audience, flapping its wings heavily and drifting over to the next tree. Swivel. Hoot. Swivel. Hoot. Hoot. Flap, flap. New tree. The pattern seemed to continue along for hours, until eventually the pair of eyes and the body attached to it went away, after the sun started to climb down the sky and slide off the edge of the horizon.
So for three months and a day the eyes would scan the wooded area for the owl, and the owl would perform for its watcher, and then one day the eyes stopped coming so often. The owl didn’t fret though, because soon after it met its twin.
Orm was never terribly close to his parents, or the other children in the tribe, instead preferring the wide freedom of the outdoors to the safety and warmth that the camp promised him. Why stay there anyways? There the younger ones gawked and pointed while the older ones muttered about curses and doomed fates, and his father paid enough attention to him to teach him how to shoot the firearms they traded with the merchants from the south in exchange for furs and meats. Orm was very good at shooting, and he hated it too. His mother dedicated herself to her other children, sparing only a choice glance or two for Orm. As for his siblings? The were the same as all of the other children.
So Orm hid himself away in the wild whenever he could, learning from the animals until he found that he himself was one of them. He flew high into the skies with the eagles, hunted for rodents and smaller birds as an owl, experienced the terror of being hunted as a deer, and the thrill of the kill as a wolf. Even the secrets of the great northern polar bears were unveiled to him in time, and soon after he was a seal, swimming the icy currents of the northern ocean as if he had his whole life. The world away from home was like a dream, until it came to pass that Orm realized it was the great outdoors that was his true home.
But as with all dreams, eventually the dreamer must wake up, and reality will face him if he does not face it.
The eldest son followed him into the woods one day, bid by their father to discover what it was that Orm busied himself with day in and day out, rather than prepare for his trial. For hours and hours he searched and he called, determined to complete his father’s task. Ludo’s sixteenth name day had already come and gone, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the blessings bestowed upon him by Mother Gaia. It was Orm who found him.
An explanation was demanded, and Orm refused to give one. The terse conversation quickly heated into an argument, and violence followed shortly after. Orm was smaller and quicker, but Ludo was strong, and the melee between the two did not last long. Bigger, stronger, but not at all slow, Ludo easily overpowered his younger brother, beating him to a pulp, raw rage overcoming him, not for the first or last time in his life. Eventually, the onslaught stopped, and Ludo fell to his knees, panting and panting. From Orm’s position, sprawled on the ground, bruised, bloodied, and broken, his brother looked like a wolf after catching a fresh kill. He struggled to rise to his feet, his right leg buckling out from beneath him as he attempted to stand. Painfully, Orm slammed back to the ground, and still Ludo knelt there, his breath heaving, eyes glazed over and staring at some far away thing Orm could not hope to comprehend or see.
So he began to crawl, and focused all of his energy into shifting as he did, and then Orm was flying, away from Ludo, away from the camp, away from his father with his foul guns, away from his mother and her apathy, away from the curses cast his way, away from the stares and the mutterings, away from it all. Away from his past, and towards the future.
Inventory:
- Flintlock pistol
- Bayoneted Musket
- Waterskin
- Spare shot and powder
- Spyglass
- Satchel with quills, jars of ink, and a few journals
