Seraphin

Defiance

@Hokum
There was a saying back in Aryali that miners uttered when one of their tunnels suddenly collapsed, threatening them with an agonizing end as the last of their breaths seeped out from their mouths. As the last stone falls on the blockade, the head miner would ask everyone to prostrate themselves with their picks flat on the floor. All palms must be face up as their hands rested flat on the ground. The head miner would be tasked to look up into the dark earth, and with a heart made low, he would utter the line for whatever deity deigned to cast upon them a look of mercy.

'Deve uns efr euvl, elk od tarnen. Os elk tarnen beoren.'

As Tavas' garrote pressed against the bones of his neck, a sudden feeling of panic surged through Ren's system. He could regenerate all the limbs he wanted, but if there was something he could not fix, it was dying due to asphyxiation. His cells needed air to survive, and a this moment, the wretched guard offered him none. It seemed as if Tavas already wanted to end him for good. His otherwise still hands began to thrash wildly as every nerve in his body screamed for respite. The musicians voiceless cries and twitches only served to stoke the embers of violence growing within Tavas. And, soon, his consciousness began to ebb away-- dim lights flashed within the recesses of his mind.

A sudden calm washed over Ren though he began his descent into the underworld, and for once, the chant of the miners made sense to him. After every road there is darkness; however, after every darkness, there will always be light.

Cracking sounds reverberated from his nape, his body rapidly creating cells to try to fix the damage. Death hovered on Ren, and just when he would finally meet his end, a crashing sound eased the pressure on his neck. Ren only had time to try to turn around just as he saw Tavas soaring through the room like a marionette whose strings were severed. The darkness of the room revealed little to Ren: his eyes only caught sight of the hooded woman from downstairs pouncing on Tavas. In a split second, the guard had succumbed to a horrifying death-- skin and muscles burned off his being. The woman herself fell to the floor in what seemed to be unconsciousness.

The smell of burned flesh wafted around the room, causing Ren to hold down an urge to vomit as he struggled to catch his breath. As soon as his cells finished repairing the damage to his neck, the man bolted off the bed as he approached the unconscious girl. He knelt beside her, nervous fingers hovered over her lips to check for breathing. His eyes began to roam around the woman's features, trying to comprehend what made her do such... kindness for him. They barely knew each other-- heck, he had no idea what her name was. But, was it really possible for people to do such acts of kindness?

He slapped himself for thinking such thoughts. Of course, it was possible!

The distant cries of guards reeled Ren back into reality as he realized their situation. A few moments from now, the guards would pounce on them from all directions. He had to get them out of there! Ren breathed deeply, feeling the surge of fresh cells flooding into his system. The bruises and wounds inflicted on his being fizzled into nothingness as it was replaced with a healthy, pink glow. With the onslaught of cells, Ren's strength doubled as he lifted the woman into his arms with relative ease. He glanced at the nearby window, spotting a few bramble bushes at the bottom of what seemed like a two-story tavern.

Ah, this is going to be fun...

Ren closed his eyes, focusing the cells unto strengthening his bones and muscles. His flesh began to rise as developed muscles formed upon the valleys of his chest to the ridges of his stomach. With bag and woman in tow, the lad clutched the assassin close to his chest before he let himself fall backwards. The cool winds blasting against his bare skin ended with a painful thud as Ren felt the thorns sticking into his skin. He looked at the woman again to make sure she was uninjured, and when he was sure of her state, he scrambled to his feet before running into the night, carrying with him an unexpected savior.

And, if he may get ahead of himself here, a beautiful one at that.

---

The nightly hymns of the monks inside the church echoed in the dim surroundings-- a solemn vow of the religious men to pray for those who did not pray for themselves.

Passing through the backways of the church, Ren found himself standing in front of the door which led to his small chamber inside the church. When he first got into Nadska fortnights ago, he first sought refuge inside the temple where the monks generously allowed him to use the spare quarters. Where else would he sleep if it wasn't for the monks? Besides, the orphans lived within the temple as well, and this was how Ren repaid his hosts: by helping out the abandoned.

He opened the door to his room. As he entered, it dawned on him that this space is barely big enough for one person. There was only enough room for a bedroll at the end of the room with a small table for a candlelight. A small cabinet sits at the right side of the room where most of Ren's clothing were hung. He briefly considered the tattered trousers he wore at the moment, and he figured he should buy some new clothes to add to his rather thinning supply. Opposite of that is a small alter with a visage of the deity standing in the center with two small candles flanking it.

Carefully, he lowered the woman unto the bedroll before he plopped down beside the roll. Once more, his fingers danced over her cheeks, noting the roughness yet grace of it. He never really examined anyone this close since he kept his eyes shut once his job begins. There was something mysterious hiding beneath the façade of this woman. Ren knew he should not pry; he would not pry. Instead, he contented himself with bringing out his flute. He blew out a gentle melody to serenade whatever dreams she afflicted upon herself. The way she collapsed meant exhaustion, but the lad knew better than to try to solve what he did not know. He wondered what kind of mystery attracted this woman to Nadska-- actually, not just her, but the whole lot of the new faces inside the tavern.

Trouble was a-brewin' on the horizon, Ren knew. However, he stopped himself from thinking of that for now. The best he could do was just to play a song to help ease this girl back into consciousness, whether in the morn or not.

'Os elk tarnen beoren,' Ren chanted in his head as his gaze fixed on the girl. 'Light after darkness.'

Defiance

Ren Verte

Tavern Musician

Major Interaction: @Hokum

A look of confusion overtook Ren's face: brows furrowing and teeth nibbling on his bottom lip in thought. Try as he might to throttle his memory in order to get a logic from her accusation, his mind drew blank before Ren shook his head at the woman. He really had no idea of what she was talking about. Ren was rather, er, occupied the last few hours, and when he began his hours as a musician, he did not catch sight of this lass until that recent moment that she went down and isolated herself from the others. The remark did jab a bit at his core, but Ren attributed this kind of reaction to a lack of trust on her part. Whatever happened to this poor soul had shattered whatever trust she had for the world. Her earlier comment of needing no friends amplified Ren's musings. It was always easy to depend on oneself: no liabilities, no concern for others-- just you and whatever works your hands wrought.

But, it was utterly limited. You could accomplish things fast, but speed did not equate to reach. Ren felt a pang of pity for this woman, because from how she viewed the world, everything she grabbed might just slip through her fingers like sands in the deserts of Akripola. There was a reason why there were gaps between the fingers of men: it was a sign that one could not fill the spaces alone. A sad smile replaced the frown as Ren leaned against the chair.

His hand went to the sling bag he kept near his waist, and, after pulling out a piece of crumpled parchment, the musician began scribbling haphazard letters unto the sheet. He set down the quill, causing a small blot of black ink to run beside the small ink canister precariously set beside the edge of the table. Ren pushed the parchment to the woman's partition as a lone glint of light reflected upon the midnight ink written on the paper: 'is it so strange to lend a hand without asking for payment?'

Ren tilted his head, returning her inquisitive gaze with a sincere and unflinching look. A silent chuckle parted his lips before he took his flute and placing the embouchure upon his mouth. Purple orbs deigned to cast one last look at her before they closed in contemplation. Soon, Ren's skilled fingers danced over the holes on the flute as his chest rose when he blew air. Soft melodies seeped from the flute as it joined the cacophony of tunes within the tavern. The melody sung the tale of a man from the Merchant Union of Akripola. Though wealthy, the man saw the plight of the people. So, he left his glory behind and journeyed to the different lands where he used his riches to help out the poor who suffered under the heels of their masters.

How much be the weight of a poor man's life?
The song I hear in Uhrda's market stalls
Do we weigh the grief of a man who lost his wife
Or the cries of a child like the crow's calls?
Veer away from golden home, farther from Uhrda
To see winding shadows over dark Akripola

Ren sang the song in the recesses of his mind, the hum of his flute never abating in its passion and intensity. However, it soon stopped. Ren lowered the flute in favor of looking at the woman once more. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he set the flute down on the table. He raised his hands pointing to her first before using his index and middle to point to his own eyes; then, he gestured to the environment around them, following it up with a shake of his hands to indicate that whatever she was looking for, she would never find it here in the tavern. If anything, the wide variety of individuals gathered in this tavern meant that they were also hunting for something beyond Ren's comprehension. Nadska was an uneventful place: literally, no new happenings ever occurred to this town. Everyone in this tavern had little to no knowledge of anything that ever happened in Nadska, and they made the mistake of conversing with fellow ignoramuses when it came to finding information regarding the town. As it seemed, even this lass was trying to pick up information by listening in on the conversations around her.

Suddenly, Ren placed both of his hands, palms up, on the table as he bowed his head. This was a tell-tale sign that the person meant no harm and malice. The lad figured that this was a good gesture to start with if he was to help her open up to him. He wondered why he was so adamant in helping her out, but perhaps it was the cry for help that he saw in her. Ren had no idea, but, in any case, as long as she was not opposed to fighting the dead, it would work out in the end. The undead attacks reached the ears of Nadska a few weeks back, and already rumors of ruination proliferated around the village. With their village guards being glorified farmers, the quaint village of Nadska stood no real chance should the dead bring their claws and teeth to their doorstep.

Ren picked up the quill, dipping it into the ink before scribbling something on the other side of the parchment.

'Town Hall. Good place to start. Nothing but rumors and guesses here.'

Ren tapped the bottom of his fist on his palm as a thought entered his mind. The less than decadent food in this establishment varied on who was asking. Queno was a bit of a stiff when it comes new customers. He liked to discard the old meals in order to profit from otherwise disgusting leftovers. The trick was to know the right people, the right connections to make the barkeeper bring out the good ones. In order to express this thought, Ren pulled out another parchment with which he wrote something on again.

'Leftovers every night. Good ones selective. Use my name for good food. Ren Verte.'

He handed the parchment to her; however, not before pulling out his own pouch which jingled with various gold and silver coins. He placed on the table three silver pieces and one glinting gold coin. When he returned his pouch, he gestured to the coins before raising his index and thumb, squeezing them together. He followed it up by pointing again to the coins and performing the lifting motion once more-- only to end it by pointing at the woman, as if to say 'this is not much, but may it help you well'.

The musician reclined, grabbing the flute once more. And, when Ren was about to put the flute on his lips when one of the armored guards tapped his shoulder-- a demented smirk curving his lips which caused the musician to release a deep, almost nervous sigh. Ren stood up from his chair before looking at the woman with a smile-- he placed his index and thumb over his right eye, then, pointing at her.

'See you.'

The guard shoved him forward, causing the lad to stumble a bit, but ultimately he regained his footing. However, the force removed the scarf around his neck. Thus, as the cloth fell to the floor, the dim light of the tavern illuminated the myriad of cuts littering Ren's neck. His hands quickly rose to cover them, retrieving his scarf and wrapping it around his neck. It was that time once more. Queno looked at him for a split-second, raising his brow to confirm their agreement of giving the barkeep a portion of the soon-to-be earnings. Red nodded slowly in return, and he placed his lips on the flute to blow out a sad tune to serenade his entrance into the dark room upstairs. He wondered what Tavas would do this time. Incise his skin until a major vessel pops? Contort his body in different positions whilst he pounded his rage into him as his bones broke? Well, the last time he got particularly violent (probably, from him losing his daily wage from gambling), and actually cut off his right arm.

It took a week until Ren fully grew that appendage back. Perks of having an ability which made it difficult for you to die. But, mankind be, oh so, creative when it came to exploiting the powers of others to inflict pain and misery.

Breathe in, breathe out.
Just be glad that this is happening to you...

And, not to them...

As long as it never happens to them...

Defiance

Awh, thanks, m8! I was afraid you wouldn't like it :D Anyway, have a good night!

Defiance

Ren Verte

Tavern Musician

Major Interaction: @Hokum
Minor Interaction: @lozi

There were two ways one earned a living back in Aryali, and it differed little even here in this quaint tavern in Nadska. During the early hours of night, Ren's flute sounded off in vibrant melodies which serenaded the otherwise grumbling drinking house. The tavern owner was kind enough to employ him as a musician for his establishment, though, with the condition that he gets a portion of Ren's earnings from his midnight trysts. The works of the flesh earned greatly in these times of worry and blood; the more stressed anyone became, the more likely they sought comfort in the arms of another. Whether the soldiers be men or women, it mattered little so long as the coins kept flowing. He was a filthy vermin, stained with the sweat and spit of countless denizens who warmed only Ren's pockets. But, pride and purity found it impossible to fill the pockets of a beggar, or the belly of a famished child. The young lad gripped his flute tighter at the memory of judging stares and scornful glares, but he quickly shoved the visions away with the smile of the orphans who came into Nadska after their villages were torn asunder by forces beyond man.

Ren swore that what happened to Alaya would never happen to these poor souls caught in a war that they know not of, and if it meant desecrating his whole being, then, so be it-- if only to make sure that these children would never know the horrors of this merciless world.

Ren always had a soft spot for those alone and forgotten, and as such, it came as no surprise when his purple orbs caught sight of a hooded loner at the edges of the bar. With back bent and head lowered, this isolated creature seemed to be having a terrible night. The strong Nordic ale sitting on the guest's table only strengthened the prior point as Ren knew that no one drank one of the tavern's strongest drinks if it wasn't to kill the monsters inside one's head. Oh, he would know. Ren did try to drown the monsters with one or two pints of mead, and still, the horrors came upon the light of the morrow. The melodies from his flute stopped as Ren's lips parted from the embouchure. He breathed out a silent sigh before prodding over to the barkeep.

As he arrived there, he bore witness to the rare sight of a man... horse... hybrid...? Whatever. The ipo-something's request caught in Ren's ear before he smiled at the barkeep. He placed a few silver pieces on the table, gesturing to the basket of fruits sitting near the casks of ale and mead. The barkeep, Queno, peered at the tavern musician as he nodded his head in agreement. The stout barkeep had known Ren since the lad moved in almost two fortnights ago. He quickly realized that Ren was liberal in paying for peculiar customers, most probably ones that seemed to need help. Ren returned Queno's stare with a wink before the annoyed man huffed. He swiped the silver pieces, and retrieved the basket of assorted fruits whilst handing it to Ren. In return, the musician bowed to the barkeep and turned to the horse-man hybrid with a grin. Ren offered the basket to him, his right hand gesturing from his chest to the horse-man as if saying 'this one's on me'.

Whether or not the man would accept it, Ren turned again to Queno, bringing out a precious gold coin. Ren made a series of movements with hands, like a stirring motion over what seemed to be a bowl as well as bringing an imaginary object to his biting mouth. Queno nodded, understanding this as signs for porridge and bread. The man promptly brought out the warm foods which Ren received with another bow. He soon went in the direction of the loner once more.

No one deserved to be alone in this cruel land. Ren believed that while it was impossible to change the entire world, if he could just help as many as he could, then, for those people, he would have at least changed their own world. To help another was a small, insignificant thing, but for him, there was nothing more precious than giving your own time to someone else who needed it. So, there he was setting the tray on the hooded figure's table. Without hesitation, he sat opposite what appeared to be a woman. She held a terrifying scowl, but Ren had his own fair shares of death glares. This one was no different.

He raised his hands, pointing at the porridge and bread before gesturing to the woman. He lifted his right hand to his lips as if with a spoon. Then, he pointed to the Nordic drink and tapped his left bicep; and, afterwards, he swiped his fingers across his forehead before ending his signs with a circular rub on his belly. He hoped that he got his message across as he wanted to express that she should eat since the drink she chose tended to have an amazing (and, by amazing, he meant being passed out on the floor kind of amazing) effect if people are on an empty stomach. He was a terrible conversation partner mainly due to his inability to speak, but he really was worried for her health. He wondered what monsters she needed to kill, and while he never wanted to pry, a spark of curiosity entered his mind at the thought of who this woman really was.

Ren raised his hands again, pointing at his throat before shaking his hands sideward and shaking his head to indicate that he was mute. His eyes landed on the food once again, and gestured to the food before making a sign of pulling out a coin from a purse before pointing to himself-- as if saying 'I'm paying for it'. He tried to smile at her, hoping, praying that she would at least try to open up to him, so that he could help her with her problems. But, Ren figured that he should start with basic conversations rather than jumping the barrel, and going straight to the real questions. In all fairness, she looked easy on the eyes, and while her scowl still terrified him to some extent, he figured that if she wanted him dead, then, she could have done it already.

Not that she could kill him easily, though.

His hands rose once more before pointing at the woman, and then, Ren placed the side of his right palm over his eyebrows before moving his head side to side, accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders to ask her if she was looking for something. Then, he pointed to himself before making a motion of lifting something and then pointing at her, as if asking how he could help her.

There was something about her that reeked of darkness. Ren already had a wide array of experiences with that kind of aura. Brooding alone at the margins of society was always a sign of trouble, and while most people would just leave them alone, Ren could not fathom how everyone else would just ignore this cry for help. She was strong, that was for sure (probably, stronger than him, really), but no one has to be strong forever; after all, for Ren, there was nothing wrong with asking for help, because true strength was not about being able to do it alone, but in admitting that you still need help, no matter how small or large.

Defiance

Hider

Name: Ren Verte

Age: Twenty-four (24)

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Appearance: Ren's somewhat average stature of 5'8 really removes any intimidation on his part. Though he sports a long, black cloak with a matching tattered scarf which covers a sleeveless plain tunic he wears on his body. His wide purple eyes are often half-lidded, seemingly giving him a perpetual relaxed facial expression alongside his long eyelashes and strong jawline. A messy mane of jet-black hair often cover the majority of his eyes as his hair falls down to his nape. The boy's pale complexion makes him appear almost sickly. Ren's rather sinewy figure from his years working in mines and prostitution bars also placed his fighting skills at a questionable level. An ornate iron flute hangs at Ren's waist while a leather bag is slung over his shoulder. A series of diagonal scars run over his lips, almost as if someone sewed his mouth shut. Ren also wears a pair of black ketill trousers and a pair of sturdy, brown boots. A series of faded and fading scars litter the lad's chest, arms, and legs which were more dealt in the 'heat' of a moment rather than the heat of a sword.

Abilities: Cytokinesis - Ren has the ability to manipulate the cells of organisms, although, at his current level, he has limited capabilities:

Cellular Acceleration: Ren can force his body to produce a great number of cells at will, which can speed up his regeneration abilities as well as giving him increased strength and endurance. However, this technique is a sharp two-edged blade as forcing the body will cause him to become greatly weakened once the ability is undone.

Cellular Transfusion: Ren can transfer his cells unto another person without risk of bodily rejection or complications via skin to skin contact. It is generally believed that consuming Ren's skin is similar to drinking a miracle healing draught-- though these are more or less rumors, as of the moment. These transferred cells immediately cater to the victim's bodily settings, allowing the increased number of cells to allow the person to heal faster as well as to gain additional strength. It should be noted, however, that this does decrease the cells inside Ren, causing him to be weakened by using this technique and overuse could cause him to, ultimately, die. This technique is most often used to heal the victim's wounds and, to an extent, be used to even reattach limbs.

Cellular Disintegration: An incomplete technique that he has yet to master, let alone use. At his rate, Ren has no real offensive capabilities aside from punches or whatnot. Most probably, Cellular Disintegration, in its most basic aspects, would allow the boy to corrode the cells of organic objects that he might touch should he develop the skill in the future.

Special Weaknesses: His lack of offensive abilities as well as his pacifist nature makes Ren a terrible fighter when push comes to shove. For some reason, through the years of abuse, he could never bring himself to raise a fist against his oppressors. The boy, while intelligent, is often naïve and too trusting of other people without even knowing their real intentions. He also has been rendered mute due to a cause only known by him. As such, he has to communicate using a series of gestures that he learned from a group of traveling religious men. This may cause miscommunications with his allies. If need be, Ren is educated enough to read and write-- he can also write down his thoughts on a piece of parchment to make communicating easier.

Weapons: Not really a weapon, but it can be used that way: Ren carries an iron flute with him.

Items: A sling bag with some rations of salted pork, herbs, and other spices. The bag also contains a small skin-pouch where he placed his water inside. A tattered leather pouch also rests within the bag where it contains a good number of gold and silver pieces that Ren obtained from his 'services' in his travels.

Backstory: Upon the snowy parapets of Aryali, in the same manner that there were only the dyad seasons of Winter and Autumn, there were also only two respected professions: miners and masons. While the miners delved into the golden bosom of the caverns below to bring precious minerals and materials to the land above, the masons used the resources to erect majestic houses for the aryalite folks. In the middle of the hustle and bustle of the rich cities of the frosty isolated kingdom, there laid a sector of houses that the wealthy often frequent-- a place where winter's bite was forgotten in a hurricane of flesh and lust. The countless lines of men and women who served, as what the locale populace called them, as 'warmers' for noblemen and noblewomen who could afford to shell out a few gold pieces for a few hours' worth of mind-numbing pleasure.

For those who could not brave the dangerous depths of the mines nor had the talent for architecture, this was the job that they took in order to survive in the city where the standard of living bordered on extortion. Ren was such one child. Found at the doorstep of a local temple, the boy was trained to become a miner but an accident during one of his excavations rendered him a 'danger'. He was soon expelled the miners' association, and was left to wander the frozen streets. With an intelligence not meeting the standards of masonry nor mercantilism, there was only one dark road that would offer respite to the boy: the Houses of Warmth.

Casting off every shred of human dignity and pride, the boy was forcibly thrown into the life of prostitution as each passing day spent wallowing in the depths of just being used over and over and over again robbed Ren of his own volition. What made him popular was a strange gift he only discovered recently: the ability to manipulate the cells of those who touched him. The customers insisted that he use this gift for their own pleasure-- stretching their tumble down the precipice of bliss with a slight manipulation of hormones excreted from their cells. Four years would pass in this hellish dreamscape with each month slowly fraying the fabrics which kept Ren's mind together.

As he strolled by the frigid alleys of Aryali, he made sure to always help out the children and homeless he saw there. He pledged that the nightmare of chains which meshed him to that Warmth House would never strangle another child's innocence. He knew that this was the only way he could help those in need, though no one ever helped him when he sank to the bottom.

He would have stayed in the Warmth House until his end when a familiar new employee entered the House: the same girl he always gave a coin to in the alleyway.

The sight shook Ren to the core as immense shame overcame him, especially when the girl performed her first 'warming'. On that same night, when the moon danced behind the shadows of night, Ren packed his things and fled the place of his shame. He could bear the brunt of his own dignity being tarnished by the filth of men and women, but to be unable to stop another life from being ruined like his was nigh on impossible to stomach.

His direction-less journey led the wanderer to the west of the land, coming upon the towns near the Kingdom of Nora where he continued to be employed in the only profession he knows how. He bore the brunt of each encounter: if the scent became overpowering, just wash it off; if it stung too much, just grip the sheets; and, if the mind cannot weather the storm, just look away. As always, after gathering enough supplies from each village and town, he departed in the sheet of night to venture deeper into a land unknown.

Soon, he met the gruesome ruined sights of broken crosses and dilapidated shacks. The stench of death wafted upon the air, prompting Ren to seek sanctuary in the nearest village without a mountain of corpses littering around it: Nadska. It was fortunate for him to also find a group of stranded merchants also traveling towards Nadska. He hitched a ride with them, playing the flute as he went along into an adventure that he would never, ever want to forget.

Defiance

If you guys are still accepting, here's my CS for your review :D

Hider

Name: Ren Verte

Age: Twenty-four (24)

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Appearance: Ren's somewhat average stature of 5'8 really removes any intimidation on his part. Though he sports a long, black cloak with a matching tattered scarf which covers a sleeveless plain tunic he wears on his body. His wide purple eyes are often half-lidded, seemingly giving him a perpetual relaxed facial expression alongside his long eyelashes and strong jawline. A messy mane of jet-black hair often cover the majority of his eyes as his hair falls down to his nape. The boy's pale complexion makes him appear almost sickly. Ren's rather sinewy figure from his years working in mines and prostitution bars also placed his fighting skills at a questionable level. An ornate iron flute hangs at Ren's waist while a leather bag is slung over his shoulder. A series of diagonal scars run over his lips, almost as if someone sewed his mouth shut. Ren also wears a pair of black ketill trousers and a pair of sturdy, brown boots. A series of faded and fading scars litter the lad's chest, arms, and legs which were more dealt in the 'heat' of a moment rather than the heat of a sword.

Abilities: Cytokinesis - Ren has the ability to manipulate the cells of organisms, although, at his current level, he has limited capabilities:

Cellular Acceleration: Ren can force his body to produce a great number of cells at will, which can speed up his regeneration abilities as well as giving him increased strength and endurance. However, this technique is a sharp two-edged blade as forcing the body will cause him to become greatly weakened once the ability is undone.

Cellular Transfusion: Ren can transfer his cells unto another person without risk of bodily rejection or complications via skin to skin contact. It is generally believed that consuming Ren's skin is similar to drinking a miracle healing draught-- though these are more or less rumors, as of the moment. These transferred cells immediately cater to the victim's bodily settings, allowing the increased number of cells to allow the person to heal faster as well as to gain additional strength. It should be noted, however, that this does decrease the cells inside Ren, causing him to be weakened by using this technique and overuse could cause him to, ultimately, die. This technique is most often used to heal the victim's wounds and, to an extent, be used to even reattach limbs.

Cellular Disintegration: An incomplete technique that he has yet to master, let alone use. At his rate, Ren has no real offensive capabilities aside from punches or whatnot. Most probably, Cellular Disintegration, in its most basic aspects, would allow the boy to corrode the cells of organic objects that he might touch should he develop the skill in the future.

Special Weaknesses: His lack of offensive abilities as well as his pacifist nature makes Ren a terrible fighter when push comes to shove. For some reason, through the years of abuse, he could never bring himself to raise a fist against his oppressors. The boy, while intelligent, is often naïve and too trusting of other people without even knowing their real intentions. He also has been rendered mute due to a cause only known by him. As such, he has to communicate using a series of gestures that he learned from a group of traveling religious men. This may cause miscommunications with his allies. If need be, Ren is educated enough to read and write-- he can also write down his thoughts on a piece of parchment to make communicating easier.

Weapons: Not really a weapon, but it can be used that way: Ren carries an iron flute with him.

Items: A sling bag with some rations of salted pork, herbs, and other spices. The bag also contains a small skin-pouch where he placed his water inside. A tattered leather pouch also rests within the bag where it contains a good number of gold and silver pieces that Ren obtained from his 'services' in his travels.

Backstory: Upon the snowy parapets of Aryali, in the same manner that there were only the dyad seasons of Winter and Autumn, there were also only two respected professions: miners and masons. While the miners delved into the golden bosom of the caverns below to bring precious minerals and materials to the land above, the masons used the resources to erect majestic houses for the aryalite folks. In the middle of the hustle and bustle of the rich cities of the frosty isolated kingdom, there laid a sector of houses that the wealthy often frequent-- a place where winter's bite was forgotten in a hurricane of flesh and lust. The countless lines of men and women who served, as what the locale populace called them, as 'warmers' for noblemen and noblewomen who could afford to shell out a few gold pieces for a few hours' worth of mind-numbing pleasure.

For those who could not brave the dangerous depths of the mines nor had the talent for architecture, this was the job that they took in order to survive in the city where the standard of living bordered on extortion. Ren was such one child. Found at the doorstep of a local temple, the boy was trained to become a miner but an accident during one of his excavations rendered him a 'danger'. He was soon expelled the miners' association, and was left to wander the frozen streets. With an intelligence not meeting the standards of masonry nor mercantilism, there was only one dark road that would offer respite to the boy: the Houses of Warmth.

Casting off every shred of human dignity and pride, the boy was forcibly thrown into the life of prostitution as each passing day spent wallowing in the depths of just being used over and over and over again robbed Ren of his own volition. What made him popular was a strange gift he only discovered recently: the ability to manipulate the cells of those who touched him. The customers insisted that he use this gift for their own pleasure-- stretching their tumble down the precipice of bliss with a slight manipulation of hormones excreted from their cells. Four years would pass in this hellish dreamscape with each month slowly fraying the fabrics which kept Ren's mind together.

As he strolled by the frigid alleys of Aryali, he made sure to always help out the children and homeless he saw there. He pledged that the nightmare of chains which meshed him to that Warmth House would never strangle another child's innocence. He knew that this was the only way he could help those in need, though no one ever helped him when he sank to the bottom.

He would have stayed in the Warmth House until his end when a familiar new employee entered the House: the same girl he always gave a coin to in the alleyway.

The sight shook Ren to the core as immense shame overcame him, especially when the girl performed her first 'warming'. On that same night, when the moon danced behind the shadows of night, Ren packed his things and fled the place of his shame. He could bear the brunt of his own dignity being tarnished by the filth of men and women, but to be unable to stop another life from being ruined like his was nigh on impossible to stomach.

His direction-less journey led the wanderer to the west of the land, coming upon the towns near the Kingdom of Nora where he continued to be employed in the only profession he knows how. He bore the brunt of each encounter: if the scent became overpowering, just wash it off; if it stung too much, just grip the sheets; and, if the mind cannot weather the storm, just look away. As always, after gathering enough supplies from each village and town, he departed in the sheet of night to venture deeper into a land unknown.

Soon, he met the gruesome ruined sights of broken crosses and dilapidated shacks. The stench of death wafted upon the air, prompting Ren to seek sanctuary in the nearest village without a mountain of corpses littering around it: Nadska. It was fortunate for him to also find a group of stranded merchants also traveling towards Nadska. He hitched a ride with them, playing the flute as he went along into an adventure that he would never, ever want to forget.