Wraythe Axium
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Player Name Wraythe

Character Name: Wraythe Axium
Secondary Name: [None as of yet]
Race: Alfar
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Hetrosexual

Appearance

Height: 6’8”
Weight: 200 lbs
Hair Colour: Auburn
Eyes Colour: Rose
Skin Tone: Caucasian

Physically Wraythe can be described as pleasant. His features are a tad less soft them most Alfar. The only odd thing about his is the various tattoos covering his face and body.

Personality & Mannerisms

Wraythe is very calm for the most part, rarely showing anger. He has pride in his racial background and upbringing. One thing that does upset Wraythe, are Svartalf, he has a personal dislike for them. He also believes they are lost and corrupted, partial feelings of hate and pity collide. Wraythe has a desire to prove that an Alfar need not corrupt himself to be powerful, or even use that power unless absolutely necessary.

Disposition: Conflicted Good

Biography

Character Age: 98
Birthdate: July 15
Birthplace:
Occupation:

The Beginning:

There happened to be an Alfar of Ph`ir’matha of the great northern mountainous region of Alfheimr. Whose name was Uri, the son of Silas, the son of Ozi, the son of Hieu, of the lower cast. Uri had a single wife, the name of her being Sima, and Sima proved to be barren, unable to produce an heir. And so Uri went up out of his city from day to day, to the highest peak in the land, to prostrate himself and to petition his Lord Freyr to open Sima’s womb.

A day came when Uri grew tired and hopeless, for he loved Sima, and his efforts showed no gain. His wife vexed sorely, feeling disconcerted because Freyr had no yet opened her womb. That was how the way she would be from one year to the next, as often as Uri went up to the mountain, so did she. Until one day she began to weep, refusing to eat. Concerned her husband proceeded to say to her. “Why is it you cry day by day, why do you not eat? Why must your heart ache… Am I not better to you than a thousand sons?”

Soon after she ate, and drank, still bitter in soul. In the night she snuck out, and went up into the mountains. Weeping she began to pray, “Oh great Freyr, Lord of Alfheimr and peace, if you will bring yourself to look upon the affliction of you slave, and remember her, and not forget her… Actually give to your slave offspring… I will give the child to you all the days of his life…”

Oddly enough it occurred that while Sima was praying to Freyr a certain traveling Priest caught sight of her, watching her quivering mouth. Sima, speaking in her heart, her lips shaking in grief but no noise escaping. The priest took her for drunk. “How dare you behave drunk in such a holy place Woman!?” He exclaimed in a raised voice. This startled Sima, stuttering she answered and said:

“No no! I am merely a woman hard pressed in spirit, for I have not partaken of wine this night. I have come out here to pour out my soul to Freyr.”

“And why would a woman be so vexed so as to appear drunk while pouring her soul to our Lord?”
“I am unable to bear child…”

The Priest’s expression softened and he approached Sima, placing a hand on her cheek he smiled, “Go in peace daughter, may the Lord grant your petition with the help of his sister, giving you all that you have asked of him.” At this he continued on his way, as did Sima, her face becoming self concerned over her closed womb no more.

And it came to pass that Freyr heard the voice of his child, and felt great pity for her, for he had overlooked her sorry state. Humbly he approached his twin sister and requested she help him, at first she declined. Though Freyr did not stop requesting her assistance in the matter, after two years she gave in to her brothers demands and did as he asked. Unknown to Freyr there was a catch, for Freyja decided to put the spirit of a warrior in the womb of her brother’s follower…

Two years after Sima made her vow, she became pregnant, and ecstasy filled her soul. Both she and Uri rejoiced at the prospect of a child, though poor they bought a small feast for the two of them. After many months Sima gave birth to a son, and they decided to call him Wraythe.

A week after his birth, Uri insisted his wife make good on her vow and they go up to the large monastery deep in the mountains. Though Sima was firm in that they wait until the time Wraythe could be weaned. So Uri went into the mountains alone to speak to those who live there. He was gone for many days, speaking with the monks of the future of his son.

The Intermediary:

Not long after Wraythe’s training began, it was obvious to the monks the boy was not meant to be a healer, preacher or even a monk. He learned and listened, but there was a fire it the child’s eyes, a dangerous fire if not tamed. Many of the monks thought it best to recant the vow and send the child back to his parents.

The Eldest of the monks was against this, the child was brought to life only by the grace of the Aseir, and therefore it was their will he become what he was meant to. Great pains were gone through to keep him from lusting after more power as his new training started. For days they would place him in a dark room alone, and release insects into it one by one. The instruction was to not harm a single insect from the time the door closed, and until it opened. The first day he failed, the insects sensing his apprehension bit him, causing the boy to react…

Over time Wraythe began to understand the point behind the exercise, he was being taught the way of the sword for most days. The other days were spent in the dark room. Compared to an Alfar the many insects were powerless if the Alfar so chose to kill them. Wraythe had that power, he was being taught power, and he was being taught to not use it against those weaker than him.

On top of his physical training, and the dark room, Wraythe was required to seek out the deeper things of Freyr, learn about his master and understand him, the history of the Alfar and their god. At first this was trivial to Wraythe, a boring useless waste of energy; he wanted to learn more sequences with the blade. Though over time the boy grew in understanding, and looked forward to his study more than his swordplay. He grew to have a love for Freyr and his teachings, to understand the way of peace was better than the ways of conflict…

Wraythe would face the first test of his faith, and resolve to remain pure, two days before his fortieth birthday. As per normal, every year before his birthday he was allowed a week to visit his parents, and see his only sibling, his little sister.

It should be noted that Wraythe’s headmaster believed that the boy’s family was a distraction. One the needed to be purged, to him a pure follower of Freyr must have no worldly attachments…

While Wraythe was out in the garden, gathering some vegetables for the evening meal, he was grabbed from behind and shackled. Before he could even react he was also gagged and thrown to the ground, unable to move. Before his eyes he saw a bare leg, a dark skinned bare leg. His mind raced with horror and the Svartalf bent over and put a sword to his face. Without a word the Svartalf spit on Wraythe and made a few very deliberate cuts on his face. A barely audible groan escaped Wraythe’s lips as his vision dimmed from pain. He blacked out.

Wraythe awoke to the smell of burning wood, it was almost midnight now. In front of him blazed the shack his family called home, he shrieked at the sight. After some few minutes, figures rushed past his vision, one knelt down next to him, a man from the local village. He cut Wraythe’s bonds and managed to pick the shackles locks. Wraythe stood and watched as they tried to put the fire out, he even helped… Knowing it was futile…

The young Alfar returned to the monastery, a changed man, his mind and body scarred, without a family. The flame inside him had been reignited, but his mind recoiled at what he wanted to do in his heart. He returned to his master, and pleaded for the man to help him be rid of these thoughts, to show him how to forget what happened that night.

He was told to go to the room, which he did. Unlike the other times, the insects didn’t just scurry around him, the covered his body, biting him every few seconds. Rage filled Wraythe, it was almost near the breaking point when the door opened and the insects scattered from the light.

Wraythe half turned to look at who entered, it was the eldest monk, not his master, but the man who made him study. With a sigh Wraythe asked what would be done with him.

“You will remain here in the monastery for another ten years, everything will be as before. After that you will be sent to Midgard, as your final test. Prove yourself worthy of the power you control while you are there… And you will achieve the greatest thing an Alfar ever could…”

Ten long years went by, for each one Wraythe would be tattooed, at first to cover his scars, and the constant reminder of his loss. At the end of the ten years, they could cover his body, symbols of power the monks called them.

Wraythe left the day after his turning fifty, to Midgard, to discover his destiny….

Acquaintances

Misc Facts

Favorite Consumption: Tea
Special Skills: Wraythe is not known for anything in Midgard as of yet.