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Triar Vahl
Player
Joined: August 13th, 2008, 11:33 pm
Posts: 50
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 Triar Vahl Name/Title: Triar Vahl
Age: 24
Race: Human
Place of Origin: Vienda City
Backstory:
The life of Triar Vahl began much the same as most human children who grew up in the city of Vienda. His mother and father worked every day, and had Triar attend an inexpensive day care for busy parents. He treasured the time that he did get to spend with his parents, who always returned covered in smoke from the Soot District, and did not mind the time that they spent away from him. He understood that his parents were working to keep themselves afloat. His mother, Ayria, worked at the same mill that her husband did, and gave everything that she could to Triar, reading to him at an early age (something that was forbidden amongst humans) and showing him more kindness than he saw from any person.
But the true hero of his life was his father. He idolized Trenton Vahl like none other, and paid special attention to the stories he'd tell when it was his bedtime, peeking over the covers and keeping his eyes wide. He would tell him all about the future, stories of hope and of justice, where every person was just as important as the next, regardless of who could use magic and who could not. His father and he practiced sports, played in the back yard of their apartments, and built a camaraderie that could never be quenched. Triar found himself wanting to become his father.
When he was old enough to work, his dad got him on at the mill, and he spent a great deal of his time working the heavy presses, pushing himself as hard as he could go. He found his friends here and there, and was easy enough to get along with. He never ostracized the children of a wick family that had moved in above them, and played with them all, mirroring his father's views on equality. The group of boys he was palls with found themselves practicing with wooden swords on their off time, and even attracted the attentions of one of the parents, giving them a few formal lessons.
Triar, at the age of 17, had become a relatively tall boy, who's two years of working on the presses had already gained a good bit of muscle. He found his life fulfilled each day, with the simple joys of friendships and fake battles, along with the tales of hope from his father.
One day, that year, Trenton Vahl told his family that he'd met someone interesting, someone else who shared his views, and had begun meeting with him in secret. Triar and Ayria were overjoyed that other people could be compassionate, and wished him luck. That man was Claude Oreau.
The morning of Achtus 14th was a traumatizing one. The previous night, Claude Oreau, Trenton Vahl, and many others had gone to meet at the Rookwen Graveyard to discuss some kind of plans for a rebellion, and were all annihilated by the galdor officials. Later, this had come to be known as the Rookwen Massacre.
Triar was thunderstruck. Not to say that Ayria took it much better, but being a middle-aged mother in Vienda tended to give you thick skin. Triar had less of that protection, and found himself sinking inward. He did not speak for days after, except at the funeral, to which he only muttered "Nothing is certain...", an old quote of Oraeu. Several more days passed beore he would speak again.
The days went on. Triar took extra shifts at the presses, and attempted to work his misery away, but it would not happen. His mind kept stewing. He found himself obsessing about the fact that the galdori would not allow any of his father's dreams for equality come to fruition, because that would cause them to lose their power. All around him, tales of rebellion brewed, especially in regards to the Massacre, but Triar remained very quiet, only speaking when absolutely necessary, and in as few words as possible.
Late at night, Ayria would wake to the sounds of what sounded like whirring. If she approached the window that over looked the back yard, she would find Triar practicing with his wooden sword, going through attack routines with fervor.
Eventually, the talks of rebellion got to him. With other like-minded people, perhaps his father's dreams could come true.. After saving up a few paychecks, Triar purchased himself a completely different set of clothes, all black, and a strip of cloth he could tie over his nose and mouth, effectively masking his identity. It would do his mother or anyone who knew him no good if he were recognized...
Finally, after he'd made enough money, he walked into a place he had eyed almost every day since his father was murdered... Rutger's House of Pain, the weapon shop. It took him some time to look around to
find "the one", but eventually he came to it, a very large blade, a claymore, that was a little over half as tall as he was. He picked up a few other odds and ends, got them all put into a box, and began the walk back home.
The walk didn't end as he expected it. Moving down an alleyway in the Dives, he found a galdor city guard atop a man, who's body seemed burnt by something, but still tried to wrestle away. Logic flew from him in an instant. The box dropped empty to the ground, and out came Triar's sword, and he ran straight at the guard, bringing the large edge down as hard as he could. The guard saw it coming, but reacted a bit too slowly, to stop it. The first hack didn't do the job, just crumpling him to the ground, but that hardly seemed to bother Triar. The fifth swing stopped him from moving forever, and Triar, turned about to see who he'd helped.
He was deeply surprised, "..You've got some spirit kid. We could use someone like you."
"...Freedom Fighters?"
"Yeah. We'll be needing people who aren't afraid of getting their hand's dirty." The man grinned, wiping away some of the scorching on his clothing, "Besides. You'll need to keep moving now. We can help you with
that... if you want in, that is."
He didn't wait a heartbeat. "I'm in."
He and the Freedom Fighter took off down the alley, away from the sounds of people coming to investigate the scuffle. From then on, his life would never be the same.
Personality:
Usually, Triar is a relatively nice individual. He keeps his head down, works well with others from his years at the shop, and is good at taking orders. He, however, has become very nearly racist against galdor. Every time he sees one, he immediately thinks of the time with his father, and how selfish galdori took him away, just for wanting equal rights. If, on a mission, Triar has the opportunity to take a galdor life, he will. It would take a whole lot to have him trust a galdor, at this point.
Triar speaks very little, but when he does his voice is deepish, and articulate.
He has become a true idealist of the revolution, and seeks to be a frontline soldier of the underground war that is brewing.
Description:
Triar is a very tall man, topping out at about six and a half foot tall, and has a powerful frame. This does not look like he can be a very speedy individual, but once he starts moving, momentum carries the rest. His skin is tannish, and has short, spiky brown hair that seems to have a mind of it's own, impossible to comb. His face is clean shaven, and his thick eyebrows (which he inherited from his father) give the impression of determination.
Usually, Triar is seen in simple work clothes, seeming to favor browns or reds, but while on missions, he garbs himself in black, wears his mask, and a bandanna over his head to prevent identification.
The only thing that remains on him frequently is his sword, which has become a kind of standard for him. It is large to a point which it has to be sheathed on his back, but is easily disguised by the use of a backpack, or hidden beneath a traveling cloak.
Inventory:
*Mask and bandanna
*Backpack
Weapons
*Claymore (etched with: Nothing is Certain)
*Concealed Pistol
*Pocket Knife
Misc
*Just reflexes and instincts
Career:
Freedom Fighter
*Abandoned old life to fight for human rights
*Checks on his mom once in a while
*Proficient with an overly large sword
*Idealist to the rebellion's goals
*Will do anything it takes to get the job done
Goals:
Triar is partially conflicted about his goals. He simultaneously wants all races to be equal, but cannot sublimate his anger towards the galdor. He blames their decadence as a people to the murder of his father and countless others, and feels that they must be stopped by any means necessary. It takes some roughing up to change the system, and he is more than willing to be labeled a terrorist and a murderer to do it.
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