Name: Ildeus Sharshain
Suffix: The Bastard
Age: 21
Nationality: Tuatha'an (Andori)
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 131lbs
Hair Colour: Red/gold.
Hair Length: Waist length, often in a tight braid interwoven with snare wire.
Eye Colour: Rust (Sickly greenish yellow when he is angry.)
Build: Not over-bound, more of a tight athletic musculature.
Disposition: Detestable rogue, an antithesis character to balance out the community.
Weapons of Choice: Hookswords, falchions, jitte, cat-o-ninetails, and a kris.
Theme Song: "Remember" by Disturbed
Traits: Prominent eye teeth, not wolfishly so, but quite evident. Eyes that shift from rust to yellow with anger.
Motto: I've been dammed since the day of my birth, so I may as well enjoy myself while I'm still here.
Personality: A refined creature of discriminating perversion; his primary virtues would be sadism, hedonism, masochism, and deceit. He derives great joy in the lusts of the flesh, especially the infliction of pain on others. Vanity and arrogance only help fuel his self-indulgent and opportunistic behaviours; he'll do whatever it takes to achieve his ends. Lying, stealing, and cheating have become second nature to Ildeus, as they were integral to his trade of the pre-Recruit years. Ildeus has an ever-present lust for power, which probably comes from childhood feelings of inadequacy. Remembering that childhood can bring forth a grim demeanour and possibly a cold fury. Contrary to his hot rages of anger, his cold furies are without anger, but rather of pure hatred. This is compiled with a vicious cunning, learned through trial and error, with pains remembered, he can adapt himself to situations. There is a bittersweet calm about his personage, like the that of before a coming storm of violence, quite literally. Depraved amusement, and twisted logic round out his malignant persona.
Skills: Endurance; you can’t piss off as many people off as Ildeus and not learn to take a punch. He also possesses a general knowledge of weaponry stemming from his wayward past.
Reflexes; brutal training above and beyond that which is required. Driven to be the best, and capable of achieving it. These coupled together to induced the physical capacity of more instinct and muscle memory than most. For those on par with him, his reflexes are almost second to none.
Past: Ildeus grew up as a small and quiet child; possessing a shy, withdrawn personality in front of others. The other kid. However, alone he was violent and cruel, taking out his frustrations of the world upon camp dogs and other animals. Ildeus had a fetish for dissection, desiring a carnal knowledge of the internal workings of the living anatomy. Growing up in the absence of his parents, he was ignored by others, his emotional dilemmas taken for childish concerns; at their peril, his mental issues were dismissed as juvenile. Without anyone to turn to, he dealt with his emotions by bottling them up like a statue, and then venting them later in private isolation, much to the bane of many a beast.
Of his parents, Ildeus' mother was a well-beloved member of the Tinker community; and his father was a pretty, rogue Andori lordling who shared a camp with the Tinkers, one night. Ildeus inherited his father's fine features patrilineally. His father shared the camp, and a bed with Ildeus' mother. The following morning, Ildeus' father was gone and his mother with child. Nine months later, she died giving birth to her son, and Ildeus was given no, one, specific guardian to care for him in her wake, but rather he was passed around between the members of the community haphazardly. The death of Ildeus' mother was a blow to that community, and thus Ildeus' own existence was a constant reminder to her death, which was why he was passed around frequently. Consequently, every member of the Tinker community had a distaste for Ildeus' existence, if only on a subconscious level in most cases.
When at last Ildeus grew into his primary adolescence, after years of experiencing cold indifference and serial negligence on the part of his community, he no longer cared to hide his sadistic and monstrous actions of release from them; once, unbeknownst young cries for attention and help, now, the twisted and bitter actions of a melancholic grim youth. Reckless in his release, and not giving a bloody ash who saw him; it all came to a head after one of his stunts led to the death of a camp dog, the dismembered corpse roasted and spitted on the community fire. Stunned silence took hold of the Tuatha'an community at the grizzly sight, none of them could bare to look at Ildeus any more, not that it was much of a fall for most of them; they wrought what they created in their fractured humanity. (While the eating of dogmeat may be common enough to a starving community, and thus the act not unheard of, one must remember that this is a Tinker peoples, hence the increased sensitivity.) Their continued indifference however, drove Ildeus off the edge, and he couldn't take it any more. It was one thing to ignore quiet him, but, to pretend he didn't exist completely! This was unacceptable to him. He existed. They would deny him no longer! An inkling of a vicious idea began budding within the vengeful mind.
A series of heinous acts did follow; each one grew steadily worse. They included, but were not limited to: the death of more animals, the burning of wagons, and the thrashings of all those whom were in range, among even more malicious machinations; culminating in brutal murder. When hours of the episode passed; the fires in Ildeus' head finally cooled, and he sank to his knees in a burst of blood and tears; mutilating himself partly in shame, partly in vindication, but mostly in a sick sense of wearied satisfaction; (like coming home after a long day's honest hard work.) The lights in the sky dwindled as he shut his eyes, and when sleep came at last, it was a cold, dark sleep, devoid of any thought or emotion.
Ildeus woke up to find himself alone among the charred wagons and fresh graves; the survivors likely having fled while he slept. Despairingly, Ildeus got up to his feet, and began marching mindlessly back towards a village, that the Tuatha'an had passed, several days earlier. In utter defeat, he could not fault them, the Tinkers, for their final actions in fleeing his fiery wrath, and in truth, he did resent some of what he had done, but this was diminished by the growing sense of sadistic self satisfaction he felt in his clinical annihilation of the Tinker band; there was something deeply satisfying and spiritually cleansing in ridding himself of that which had tainted his childhood from the very start. (Not that it was hard to kill absolute pacifists.) However, like in all crusades of dire vengeance, once achieved, one was left with nothing; nothing but the twisting bitterness that had shaped you in your undying pursuit for revenge and acrimony. It was well past midnight, and raining, when the village at last came into sight. Unfortunately, that was as far as Ildeus got, before fatigue overwhelmed him, and he found himself fast asleep in the bough of a vast ashwood.
The next several months were spent wandering aimlessly, Ildeus taking what he needed to survive. It was surprising how productive a swift sleight of hand was, especially from the young man. Ildeus fancied himself a veritable prince of thieves, though this was most assuredly more ego than fact. The 'prince' was not to bad with the ladies either, though, of course his personality tended to mar his looks. After a particularly bad day, (consecutive feminine rejection,) he was exceedingly rough with one of his marks, dallying in a swell of overt thievery, and it caught the eye of one Barnum T Mcthadius. A plump jovial looking man, dynamic entrepreneur by trade, and conman by nature. In reality he was of two faces; the first, amiable mercantile face, and the second, darker face, the one which Ildeus knew best, and usually from the other side of a switch.
The fat man saw the ideal apprentice in the actions of the would be robber youth. Ildeus, embodying all the virtues that the fat merchant held dear, was soon conscripted at the point of a cane. The ruthless scoundrel taught into Ildeus all he could learn, and beat into him what he couldn't. This relationship suited Ildeus' personality type just fine, even if Ildeus himself didn't think so. The self-thought victim was always the victimiser in the absence of Mcthadius. Ildeus had a subconscious habit of making himself a perpetual-martyr in his own twisted little ways, to feed feelings of suffering and self-pity. Self-mutilation would have been an affectation of his, if not for the sociopathic arrogance he clung to, which spawned delusions of lofty self-perfection and grandeur, not to be profaned in ugly ways. It was saved for special occasions, when he was feeling particularly masochistic.
The several years that followed, were spent travelling around Randland, pulling-off schemes and committing various dubiously-legal atrocities. Merchant caravan or deranged carnivale. Events of this era may prove relevant to Ildeus in the future, especially a peculiar incident at Tar Ghenjei. After of which Ildeus was for worse than ever; his depravity exceeding even Mcthadius' expectations. For now however, indefinite ambiguity, and the generalities given for this time are best. In digression, thereafter this era Ildeus and Mcthadius travelled to the Shining City.
Here at last in Tar Valon, Mcthadius concluded that Ildeus, his apprentice, was at long last finally ready for graduation. After finishing a bottle of brandy in their room, at an inn, Mcthadius revealed his greatest secret, and that which would complete Ildeus' indoctrination into darkness. The Conspiracy of the Lotus. An alternative division of Darkfriend, composed of the most malicious and twisted individuals Randland had to offer. Their destiny, other than wide spread madness and wholesale destruction, was to be the dedicated servants of the Dreadlords risen anew. Believing the Trolloc Wars inevitably to come again, the Conspirators of the Lotus intended to have the highest seat of power possible for nonchannellers. Above all other non-channelers they wish to sit at the knees of the new Dreadlords themselves. The conspiracy was more of a cult really, and an eldritch orthodox, insular from normal friends of the dark. Keeping their existence secret, they bore only a single black lotus branded upon themselves for identification, its meaning known only to its members therein. A subsect and secret sociad within the vast faction of the Shadow, ostentatiously religious in private; where many shadowsworn were just greedy or stupid, the Conspiracy revered the Great Lord as the True Creator, and even memorised their own sacred text, not a page of which was written down beyond the medium of the brain. Fanaticism and dogma made the difference between the simple dark friend, and the disciples of the Dark. The fat man wanted Ildeus, as a comrade, in this dark menagerie. To this truth, when offered, Ildeus responded with a line that would suit him well for years to come.
"I've been damned since the day of my birth, so I might as well enjoy myself while I'm still here." Mcthadius did not know how to interpret the cryptic remark, but Ildeus gladly clarified the ambiguity for him. "For me, serving or not serving the Shadow is an exercise in futility. The end result for me is the same either way: damnation; and at least not serving involves not having to bow down to a snivelling little shast like you." Sadly, Mcthadius never got to here all of the reasoned explanation; Ildeus had crushed the fat man's larynx halfway through the peroration; he had gotten very good at that, the killing that is.
Ildeus was at a crossroads, and at a loss for what to do next. He left the Inn, dumping the body out a window, and beginning a wander through the streets of Tar Valon. Ildeus cleaned himself up a bit, and made sure that short of dredging the sewers for refuse, dearlessly departed McThadius would not be found for quite sometime, and by then the caustic waste would render the body unrecognisable. It was well within the fourth night of drifting, before enlightenment finally struck home. Epiphany thy name is Gaidin and thy colour is blood. While perusing a narrow alley, Ildeus heard an altercation beginning up the adjacent street. Going to investigate the potential for entertainment or profit, Ildeus saw a man and a woman being harassed by a group of thickset individuals; the man stayed behind to confront the converging street-toughs, as the woman kept right on walking, seemingly unconcerned for her partner's welfare. A blurred flash of movements ensued; ending with four lifeless forms prone upon the cold hard ground in the night. The cat like grace with which the man had disposed of the individuals was something Ildeus hadn't even dreamed was possible. Speed and acuity beyond even peak, human capacity; most assuredly the stuff of mythos and mysticism.
The man looked at Ildeus from down the street, with fierce green eyes, as if in challenge, before he went after the seemingly indifferent women. Catching up to lop along side, like a hurricane on a leash, in the wake of a woman more unperturbed than a millennia's old mountain. In moments they were gone, the severed corpses the only evidence of the deadly man's passing. That man's skill captivated Ildeus' every waking thought; consumed with the possibilities for using such power. Hence, Ildeus attempted to follow the man's trail up the street, but after a few blocks, he found himself quite alone; all traces of the man and his companion were gone. Ildeus would continue his search for several weeks thereafter, each day ending much the same way as the first, alone without progress. The youth even talked down his ego enough, to ask several people, after the possibilities of the where-abouts of the man. From those inquiries, Ildeus learned that the nature of the man was undeniably that of an Aes Sedai's Warder. A creature of fiction had suddenly taken on flesh and blood. Even in the vast streets of the Shining City, before that fateful night, Ildeus had dismissed such talk of legendary Gaidin prowess as nothing more than the fanciful deviations of aimless imaginations and drunken stupor. Men moving beyond the sound of the speeding wind? Soldiers striking down foes surer than the fatal caresses of killer lighting? A blade so fine that not even a century of wear could dull its metallic finish? To a common vagrant, it was all a load of delusionary horse droppings. That was, until now.
Dark desires for the powers, that the Warders commanded, festered within Ildeus' vile black heart. Such power sung to the very essence of his despicable despotic soul. Soon thereafter, Ildeus found himself eyeing the Halls of Valour hungrily; yearning for possibilities as of yet unattained, a perfection beyond what he already possessed. Upon the rising of the bleak morning-sun, Ildeus entered the indomitable complex, conquest burning in his head. With lust seething inside him, he formally joined the ranks of the prestigious Recruits of the Garrison of Tar'Valon. I will acquire these powers, paramount, no matter the cost to pay or shed. My own drive for culmination into absolute perfection demands it. The meeting with the Master of Students was eventful, the man was his mentor until a more suitable Der'Gaidin was found. Ildeus spent many years as a Recruit, slogging through the ordeals of life in the Hall of Valour. He was apprenticed under the likes of legendary names that still hold a manner of awe today, long after the passing of their owner's; Alucard Dalith, and Orpheus Rayne. The brutality of that life, which was veiled in ordered discipline and utilitarian necessity, dressed in labels of honour and nobility, convinced the greater host to all that was right and good with the system. In his heart of hearts, Ildeus spat at such a collection of misguided juvenile sentiments; still, adapting and thriving in the order of that system, Ildeus adopted what he must needs. The dangerous youth kept his nose clean, and no blood soiled his hands when ever unfortunate coincidences occurred, and always in his convenient absence. Even when damned with the revolutionary, and ingenuous, albeit distasteful tutelage of the Nosane al'Haran, Ildeus kept himself focused and driven on the greater goal; uncompromising transcendation into the apex of mortal mastery.