Hirol Zidane

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(529-current) age 28.
Character Sheet
==Questionable Origins==
"They're curious," Morgan said politely, placing a hand on Hirol's chest. Hirol "Dane" Zidane was only a few derogatory words away from jamming a bag of caltrops up a human's colon. "No harm in telling them, right? You told me and all went well-- we Brevics are not overly concerned with bloodlines. Well, maybe some of the nobles, but not the common folk." Morgan attempted some diplomacy. Hirol calmed visibly, and the half-drunk group of farmers seemed relieved that he wasn't going to try to hurt them. Now that they were closer to him, they could certainly see the slight differences on Dane's face-- he wasn't completely human, but they weren't sure exactly what else he was.
The dog comment seemed an especially poor choice of words in hind sight.
Dane was not happy, but he had quickly learned that this was Morgan's home, and he knew its ways just as well as Dane knew the hell that was Cheliax. If he thought that explaining himself to these... peasants, was a good idea, then --damn him to the fires-- it was probably a good idea. Naturally, he would skip the really important parts. He trusted Morgan-- only somewhat!-- but he wouldn't trust a lot of superstitious farmers to keep their composure. Dane calmly put up a hand, and both he and Morgan resumed their seats at the table. The farmers joined them, a mix of confusion, fear, and genuine curiosity marking them in various measures.
"Very well," Dane relented. He lifted his hand up to his head and pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing ears that looked elven, but they weren't quite right. They were longer, pointier. And his hair wasn't black-- it was a very deep indigo color. His eyes were a quiet gold-- odd for humans, but not uncommon among the fair-folk. There were other obvious marks of his heritage, but he kept them well-concealed for a reason. At first glance, he could easily pass himself off as an elf or an elf-blood. Only those well-learned in literature might be able to identify his true nature. Dane doubted that anyone this far north had ever run into a Tiefling before-- and he doubted even more that any nation outside of Cheliax had regular contact with demons or devils. He was happy for that, truly.
"In case you cannot tell, I am not from around here," he says, his unusual accent clearly supporting the statement. "I am from far to the southwest-- well beyond the River Kingdoms, as you call the place. I think." He glances to Morgan, who nods in affirmation. "A place called Cheliax. I shalln't bore you with the details-- I am sure you can find out all about it in a book." Assuming you illiterate barbarians can even read. "I was breed for a particular purpose. My father wanted something strong and powerful for the pit fights. I don't really know what my mother was. I was taken from her rather quickly. After a few years, my father realized that I was not going to end up being some kind of unstoppable juggernaut, so he cast me out of the house and into the streets. It was a miserable hell-hole, but you can live well-- even on the streets-- if you are smart." He grins and taps the side of his head for emphasis. He can't help but start getting into the story-- the trio of farmers are clearly interested, and it has been a long time since Dane has had a group of people more interested in something he is saying than in lynching him for being a demon. Morgan rolls his eyes as the telling slowly becomes more theatrical.
"I did well for myself-- I was a tricky little bastard, and I made friends with one of the biggest kids running the urchin gangs. At the time, I thought he might have been a half-ogre, he was so big and ugly-- but he was damned strong for a fourteen year old. So, the two of us did well as muscle and brains, and we managed to get a pretty good racket running with the other groups of urchins. Most of 'em listened to me and my plans, and Board threatened to turn 'em into sticky goo if they refused. Things went well until I was twelve. Being a slippery little bugger, I was good at breaking into places where I didn't belong, nicking a few important things, then shuffling out before anyone was the wiser. While I was off on such adventure, someone managed to convince Board that tackling and wrestling an armed guard was a good idea. Turns out, its not." Dane shrugs as if he had simply lost a tool, not a friend. "I lost my big, scary, enforcer-- and I had not exactly endeared myself to the other scorunges over the years. They tried to trap me and turn me in for my crimes-- and most of theirs. They almost succeeded, except that one of 'em-- 'Rower' I bet-- forgot to actually lock the door of the trap. So I slipped out, realized I was in trouble, and thought it best to just leave."
He laughs and shrugs. "Turns out that was both the smartest and stupidest thing I have ever done." Smiling at the irony of the memory, he continues. "I like grudges. Revenge is something that can keep you warm at night if you are careful with it. I had some daddy' issues to resolve before I left. So, I tried to break in and steal from him. It didn't work. At all. So there I am, running on my skinny legs from a half-dozen heavily armed guards-- when what gets in my way? A bunch of uppity-pointy-eared bastards wearing long skirts and a wagon loaded with what looks like enough Pesh to kill an elephant."' As he describes what happens next, he begins to act out the scene with his hands, doing a fair job of keeping the attention of the three famrers-- and half the room by this point.
"So what do I do? I skip under the wagon, then hurry up the far side and hop in-- still not knowing the contents of the wagon. Well, I get lucky, and the guards go running by while the elves watch after them. Half a minute later, we're moving, and I'm well on my way out of the city. But it just gets better from there. So here I am, sitting in this wagon full of what I think are loads of Pesh, surrounded by more heavily armed caravan guards. I may be out of that damned city, but I'm expecting this to be the end of me anyway. So, I wait until they break for the night before I try and bolt. Turns out these elves can see in the dark almost as well as I can. Plus they sleep with their eyes open. Very freaky. But that made it pretty much impossible for me to get away.
"So the elf that caught me takes me back to the center of the camp, where this big, scary-looking elf with a big hammer and some kind of wood armor is waiting for me around a fire. I'm expecting him to crush my skull any second. Instead, he looks at me and asks me to take a seat. Intelligently, I obey. Then he begins asking me questions. My name. What I am. Where I am from. Everything except why I ended up in his wagon. And every question not that one makes me more and more sure that I am going to die. So I begin to weigh my odds of running. Six elves. With bows. Not. A. Fething. Chance.
"Finally, he takes out this small pipe, loads some kind of herb into it, and takes a soft puff, thinking. Eventually, he says, in this great-elderly-sage-of-eternal-and-assinine-wisdom voice 'I do not need to ask why you were in our wagon. That is obvious to me from what you have said, and I believe that you ended up with us for a reason. We are taking a shipment of rare herbs and plants back to Kyonin in a hope to find some that can survive our normal climate. You can come with us, if you wish. We can also teach you some survival craft and bow-skill if you have the aptitude. There are incredibly few food merchants to steal from on this road.'"
Dane pauses for dramatic effect. Because he feels obligated to. "So I ask him what he wants in return. The old bastard actually laughs at me! What, do you think I should ask something from you in return?' I thought so, and I told him just that. For some inexplicable reason, he disagreed. So I travelled with them-- the stoic, unlively bunch that they were, for as long as I could stand it-- which was all the way up through and into Kyonin. I left them there, using the skills they taught me to either fend for myself or earn some modest pay. Over the past few years, I eventually ended up attracting the notice of certain way-finder organizations-- I'm recently bound south with this merry chuckle-head,"' he points at Morgan, who obliges by laughing at the insult. "For some reason, we get to go exploring in the River Kingdoms, subject to the entirety of the world's dangers. All because some noble got an Erinyes to crawl up his ass and die, so he needs some more land to oppress. Or something."
Morgan shakes his head and laughs. "You make it sound like a truly honored and respected duty, Dane," Morgan says.
Draining the last of his mug, Dane looks betwen his new friend and his new audience. He pulls his cloak tightly around himself. "Yeah. I know. I should have stayed in Cheliax. At least there I can die warm."
==A Motely Assortment==
"You want my opinion? And you think that is a good idea why, precisely? Oh, how cute, you are like a very small child with all these questions of yours. Very well. Ask now, and I will answer if I deem it appropriate. Who do you want to know about first?"
Aleksander Medyved-Surrey: I do not like him very much. Do not misunderstand, he has his uses, and his obsession with poisons is as intriguing as it is alarming. My dislike of him stems from his 'noble' heritage-- a heritage which he seems to make a good deal of effort to disavow and wave off, simple because he was adopted. No one from Cheliax would behave as such. They would pursue any possible rights with the same tenacity as a wolverine guarding her young. He lacks the ambition necessary for me to respect him. Perhaps once he can demonstrate some ambition beyond a fine wine and a fine lay (both admirable short-term goals, admittably), I might find my opinion of him raised. Marginally. Until then, I shall simply abide his presence and make use of his few talents when they are actually needed. The least of which is certainly not his ability to keep Ashiara away from me.
Ashiara Suraia Jahaldine: She. Won't. Go. Away. She bothers me constantly with her insipid questions about my heritage and my past-- and she's a scholar, which makes matters even worse. It means that she might actually write this information down, and that could be very bad for me in the future. You don't want to know why. Trust me, I appreciate that she is also a half-breed, and that she actually knows something about Tieflings, but I can't help but think that her fascination is becoming less and less of an academic interest to her. At least Morgan makes a decent enough distraction for me to evade her when I am not in the mood to deal with her unending questions. Maybe If I tell her about Morgan, she'll leave me alone and bother him...
Bromin Groede:
Elban Medvyed:
Jang Lodovka:
Morgan Kelhin: He is... useful. Very useful, actually, and he is also a bastard child, too. I can sympathize with that, especially that he was not given the choice to keep his claim to the name. A shame that he was denied it. He's loyal to a fault. Yes, to the point where I think he might actually die for someone else. Insanity, I know! I do not understand half the things that pass through that hollow skull of his, but I cannot really argue with the results. He's good at stabbing things with a sharp stick. Especially things that want to eat me, as I learned well. That earns him high marks from me, that's for damn well certain. Would I do the same? Hell. No. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the heroic type-- I'll leave that unpleasant role for those who wish it. I'm happier watching a fight from somewhre besides in its midst.
Sharell Libain:
Wilward Wyrenjack:
==Notes (Adventure Seeds)==
-He owes the elven nation a good deal since Hirol spent a long time travelling with a bunch of elves from the elf nation. He is lawful, so he does not forget to whom he owes debts.
-He is from Cheliax and he was a slave there, but he escaped. There may be bounties or hot heads due to his escape.
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