Name: Andrei Dimitriev
Background & Personality:
Ridiculed, derisoned and spat upon since the early hours of his infancy for both his undesired arrival and frail constitution, Andrei embraced an ever-growing hatred for those which one walks amongst. In an age where God alongside his servants portrayed themselves to be his only salvation, the male took to the ways of the Church and refused to scout the other venues his era made available. Violent and ill tempered as a youngster, both monks and priests alike deemed the child unfit to serve within the holy grounds and thus, the romanian found himself once more a vagabond, roaming the streets of his birthplace, the harbor city of Constanta, by his lonesome. As year after year continued to confine within the pages of history, the adolescents anxiety towards society grew without halt. Viewed as an outcast by those with which he shared flesh and blood, Andrei quickly grasped the conclusion that his existence lay solely within his palms. During the day he partook in humble labour for those which would have him, the boy refusing no duty as long as it would bring either coin or sustenance, whilst during the eve, one indulged himself in the arts of trickery and deceit. And so time continued to pass, his twenties now upon him. Lady luck had smiled alike a mistress throughout his teens, Halion having now grown into a cunning and rather terrifying young adult. Infamous for the flock of stray brigands which the man captained, the once terrifying issue of his survival was but long gone. Dabbling within plunder and thievery, blackmail and assault, God no longer played a role in the male's day by day existence. Withal, why worship a deity which seemed to never grace you with much needed aid in times of hardship?
Alas, as the saying goes: we leave mother earth with no sins in our pockets, and Andrei stood as no exception to the rule. In the eve of his twenty-sixth birthday, disaster peeked its ugly head once more. To this day none discern if the arson was provoked by mortal hands or if some accursed creature or misfortune lay behind it; yet that is neither here, nor there. Crimson flames took the camp by surprise, morphing bodies of friends and strangers alike to mere scorching remnants of their former selves. No feet could flee swiftly, no cries bellowed loud enough to draw assistance; so the burning continued for hours without end. By morning, what was once built through sweat and tears summed in a few meager piles of rubble. Wounded and parched the male limped his way through the forests he roamed as a child, the church which once provided shelter and nourishment deemed as the final destination. Regrettably, God's punishment had yet to exert its final act: hunted by feral wolves, beaten and abandoned by those of similar professions, the once feared marauder remained a mere broken soul, a shade of what was.
Nevertheless, He is as kind as he is just. During an autumn tuesday, a vatican coterie traversing the aforementioned forests stumbled across a now unshaved, poorly dressed and in-dire-need-of-bathing Andrei. Salvation was upon him. Reaching the church lands a sheer two weeks later, the man embraced the religious lifestyle once more, chained by his search for both redemption and a direly lusted heartsease. With father winter's arrival, the former mugger lay enroled within the church's holy troops, indoctrinated and willing to devote the remainder of his days to banishing the unearthly from the mortal plains. Born a misfit, raised a bandit, thriving as a grim and fanatic assassin.
- dual quillon daggers.
- sanctified bible.
- eight vials of amanitas (commonly known as "Destroying Angel") poison.
- forearm retractable blade (AC).
- one flask of holy water
Coordination (Hand/Eye alignment) - Perfect
A taste for blood (Assassination) - Excellent
Within the Shadows (Stealth) - Perfect
Budha (Rationality & Logic) - Average
Potions & herbs (Alchemy) - Above average
Fair player (Honesty) - Poor
Aimshot (Long-ranged weapon profficiency) - Below average
Quicksilver (Agility) - Excellent
Behemoth (Brute Strength) - Above average
In His name (Fanaticism) - Above average
Man of the woods (Tracker) - Below average
The aftermath of a lifetime spent nursing blades? An almost inherent inability of wielding projectile-based weaponry. Andrei never took himself to be a follower of bows or those abhorent and quite aggravating gunpowder based machinery. Withal, the amusement of wounding your foe consists in witnessing the anguish encroaching upon his features. Nonetheless, there are those which do not share such beliefs, and thus, measures had to be taken as to ensure the male's survival. The retort? Facile to deduct: close quarter combat. Through careful preparation or clever deceit, Halion has mastered the ability to lure rivals within the confines of cramped alleys or petite chambers - spaces which ensure victory beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Social anxiety and hatred: if you would endure what he once did, would you not despise each and every living mortal?