Rosenoff Vultrat

[Sigurd]

Name: Rosenoff Vultrat
Gender: Male
Age: Fourty-seven years.
Species: Sable(?)
Occupation: Mercenary, currently. Maybe a horde leader. Just working on it right now.

Physical Appearance:
Rosenoff is a tall specimen for his species. He is well muscled, and covered in dark chocolate fur, his temples graying do to his age. His beard has been neatly trimmed into a goatee, and his brows waxed. He shows no sign of disability known to the public, and few scars. His eyes are gray, dead gray, emotionless, devoid of feeling. His lips are thin, with tiny, sharp teeth bared behind them.

But, unknown to the public, his left leg is prosthetic. Due to an old battle wound, his leg was hollowed out and reinforced by metal pipes and wood. Even a few small compartments have been put into his "leg". His old foot has had a small spike inserted into the heel. This spike is dripping with large doses of a hallucinogen, psilocybin mushrooms ground into a type of liquid . His old muscles have been stretched and strengthen, and after being stored into his kneecap make a noose of sorts. None know of this. Any of it.

He is garbed in simple garments. Dark trousers, a leather belt, with a copper buckle, dark old boots, a dark brown shirt, sewn many times after many battles, and a dark jacket.

Possessions:
He possesses little. Simply the clothes on his back, and a cane. The cane is a simple rod of ash wood, narrowed down to a the tip, which had been replaced by a minuscule spike tipped on with hemlock. Hidden inside his leg is a long dagger, stored in a special compartment.

Personality:
Rosenoff is cold, uncaring. He doesn't care for money, or warmth, or drink, or even battle. He is just there. He is often aloof. He goes on as if without a purpose, no true ambition. He doesn't carrying around money, or supplies, or even a first aid kit, because he isn't worried about pain, or misery, or death. In fact, he's fascinated by it. He's more concerned with what he can do with the pain, misery, and death. Make something new out of it. Unexpected. Such as his leg. He made his handicap into a weapon.

Strengths:
-His age, for one thing. He's not too young to make reckless mistakes, but he's not too old that his muscles have degenerated much, if any. -He's smart. His cold, ruthless mind have allowed him to turn his dead leg into a living, or seemingly alive, weapon.
-He is well trained in what he does. Quite resourceful in his form of "art".

Weaknesses:
-He's handicapped. Yes, it's a living weapon, but it's still a stiff dead leg. He can't run, or jump. He can hobble slightly fast.
-He has no ambition. It just doesn't matter to him, he doesn't care. But ambition is always helpful, it gives one a purpose, a burst of energy, a type of adrenaline, which he has none.
-He's getting older, and will soon become very weak.

History:
He was born south. Where exactly, he's not entirely sure. All he knew was it was south of where he is now. He was sold to slavers when he was young, five or six years old, maybe. His young life was a blur. Before his enslavement, he was raised in an orphanage, somewhere. A cruel old ratwife, none of the young liked her. She and her daughters and son-in-law abused them, beat them, and many other awful horrors. Well, she died one day, and her son-in-law sold off the orphans to slavers. It was an inland village, so they petty slavers, several small bands took three or four slaves, and headed off to ports, and sold them to slave galleys.

He was ten when his voyage ended. He was sure about that. He was old to some highwaymen band, and they taught him to kill. They dressed him up in a dark hood and mask, and to scream as he stabbed his poor victims to death. They called him Rosen the 'Off-er. For the way he 'offed the poor saps. he had never had a name before that. He cherished that name. It was his, his name. He was a person now. Not just a slave.

When he was seventeen, the highwaymen ran into the wrong crowd. Armed bandits, much bigger, better armed, and more dangerous than some screaming muggers. They slaughtered them. They were cruel folk, they didn't just kill. They wounded, they let the wound fester, become infected. They took joy in that. Rosen, they carved his leg with a spear and dragged him to a ditch, carefully put some healing supplies at the top, just in view, but out reach, and left. Whatever innocence was in him left, as he was forced to rip on his leg, and carve away at it completely, leaving nothing to become infected. That was the last day Rosen the 'Off-er was hear off again.

Years later, Rosenoff Vultrat emerged. He was ruthless, and emotionless. He didn't make mistakes by being reckless, and he didn't charge much.

Relationships:
Highwaymen band (Old "family"/Deceased)

Other:
(Any other relevant information you would like to add? Omit this if you have nothing else to say.)