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Kreyne
Tweet Topic Started: Aug 4 2011, 11:03 AM (166 Views)
"Once changed, a man's mind never returns to its original dimensions."
[Full Name]: Kreyne Eryvus
[Parents]: None [Deceased]
[Siblings]: None
[Age]: 42 years of age.
[Birth Date]: 32nd of the 8th Month.
[Gender]: Male
[Affiliation]: None
[Rank]: N/A
[Race]: Xentus
[Home World]: Aether
[Height and Weight]: 6'2" / 86kg.
[Hair Colour]: Grey-Black
[Eye colour]: Grey
[Combat Ability]: Average
[Wapu Proficiency]: Exceeding
ξξ Equipment ξξ
Coming Soon..
[The past]: “Congratulations, it’s...oh gods, it’s one of them freaks...you’re both freaks!” It started quite simple: a small dwelling, a practitioner present at birth. Much of the usual birthing procedures occurred, as normal as every other. Except for the prejudice. Not the best beginning for the baby Kreyne. Obviously the child was not normal. Not even a mutant, something of a different kind. Kreyne was born a Xentus, the only offspring of his parents - yet another abnormality.
“Why doesn’t he go to his own people?” Kreyne’s upbringing was far from standard, even for a Xentus. For starters, there were hardly any fellow Xentus where he grew up, hardly any familiar contact. He lived most of his young life without his parents – yet another setback in his upbringing. Yet despite his virtually homeless state, he survived his early childhood and teens without anyone – no friends, family or even someone similar to relate to. “And to think he would be able to move on, after it all...” The circumstances that led to his association with fellow Xentus was cloudy, with many reasons contributing to the whole. But the fact remained: at 14 years of age, Kreyne, for the first time in his life, had somewhere to fit in. Of course, he was very distant, always keeping to himself. In his past, he had to keep up acts, wear personas like masks, and shift them like he could shift his body. His personality could be an impenetrable shield, or a deadly weapon. The way he worked made others feel uncomfortable, more so than they already were. But to live like he, it was necessary. And because of it, he kept up a facade of assimilation, seeming to fit in with his own race easily. But underneath it all lay something deeper, a void that he, nor his own kind, could fill. And so he still had no close relationships, nothing to resemble a friend. And yet he maintained his masks, somehow able to cope, while the void grew larger inside him.
“I wonder what he’s thinking...what he’s planning?” “Nothing good, I imagine...” As he grew older, his shell and his control over his own mind expanded, and his ability to cope with any situation grew. His masks were more embedded, more personal, and more of a void. He learnt the subtle ways to steer a conversation, the way to stop conflict, or start a riot so violent it would last for weeks. His inner shifting mirrored his external shifting, and his mastery of personas and the ways people work helped him advance his Wapu to a great extent. And because he could diffuse a situation, he rarely needed to fight. That didn’t stop him lashing out when he needed to...
“You’re not even respected by your own kind. What makes you think you can do anything worthwhile?” A drifter. A loner. Hiding away, yet in plain sight, he lived his life. Only for himself and never for others. For although they accepted him for who he was, fellow Xentus did not like, nor respect, Kreyne or his actions. He began to deviate from Xentus society, spending more and more time in other parts of Aether – places he was still shunned, but was able to do something about it. And so he began sport killing, an emotionless, cold, manipulative killer. He did not need to exhaust himself, or engage in combat to kill. He could do it with his mind, his tongue and his Wapu. And what he couldn’t get through this, he considered not worth getting.
“They say he does not – or can not – stop. They say he can break a man within a minute - on a bad day...” And so he lived by his own, heartless code, in his own void of a personality. A mere shell, doing what he can to be accepted. And if acceptance was gained through violence, through blood, it would be. If it was gained through words, through shattering a man’s morale or will to live, it would be. And so he gained something, to him, more than acceptance. He gained renown, he became feared. Never again was he shunned. Never again was he disrespected. Never again would he live a meaningless existence, to be a constant mask of niceties and acceptance, when he gained nothing of the sort in return. And though he may look young, the slightly-aged void remains what he has been for most of his life: a mask.