Age: 25
Skills:
Istillo is a survivalist. Fending for himself almost from the time he could walk, the boy was forced to acquire a craft for living off of nothing, or starve. He learned to track deer for days; to read the signs of the air and land, of the water and wildlife. He learned to live in the bitter cold of his homeland, and fight the wolves from his campfire. And when he learned he could steal from the village that bordered the forest... he was caught.
The rest is history.
(Literally... read his history below.)
History:
The young man was a mere beast when the old graybeard caught him stealing bread one autumn night. The hunger had been too much. The game of the forest was slumbering in their winter holds as the sweet smell of dough wafted to where he sat. He had watched for two days before attempting to take some for himself, and alas, he was seen.
He was to be hanged; the boy without a name. Snow-Leopard they dubbed him, for he was a sight: ravaged and wild, fierce and untamed; though, the name stuck chiefly because of his strange white hair. The town's people feared him a demon of some sort. How could one who looked no more than thirteen winters survive in the vast expanses of the North alone?
The night before the hanging the "Leopard Boy" was stolen away. Dark figures, clad in twilight itself, lent hands to drag him out of the dry well that was his cage. They spirited him far away from the large, bustling village. Istillo and his saviors cautiously crossed the ever-snowing mountains, and trekked for days, before entering the forest nestled into the deep valley between two sheer peaks.
From then on, Snow Leopard was called nothing but "recruit". He was given lodgings, food, and clothing. The later two he accepted, preferring to sleep in the trees. They taught him, trained him, and caught him when he ran away. Disobedience earned him only lashes, beatings, and degradation. Soon, Snow Leopard stopped resisting and slowly began to accept his teachers: his "Brethren." They offered him languages and a few inscribed shapes called "letters", which he learned speedily with relish. Weapons came soon after. He would not use these skills until much later.
Come his twentieth birthday -by anyone's guess-, Snow Leopard was given a name. He was no longer the pitiful, feral boy who had been abandoned to the woods; but a broad-shouldered youth with clear-cut eyes, who stood tall with a fostered will. His elders had disciplined him, nurtured, and instructed him. He now respected them; a notion previously foreign.
They gave him a name: Istillo Anselm. He was finally a man.
He was a Assassin.
They used his abilities, and gave him new ones, as well as the use of double swords, crudely forged, but as strong and deadly as any in the hands of the dangerous youth. His third winter from his naming ceremony had barely passed when his stay with the clan came to an abrupt end. Legion soldiers poured in from Tremora; the Brethren became another of the North Kingdom's "Purges." A snitch, a spy amongst their ranks had brought them. The clan was devastated: killed and dragged in demonstration, the survivors scattered to flee. Istillo lived off of the wild until he reached a small town on the Northern kingdom's border. There started his wandering south; forever a lost soul, forever simply surviving.
Personality:
Ice and shadow. As cold as the snow that continually falls upon his old country. He accepts that he breathes and lives, even when it is for nothing more than basic survival.
Likes:
Fire
Food
Money
and... stories.
Dislikes:
Touch
Showing his skin
Festivities.
Appearance:
Istillo has strange pink-hued eyes, and snowy hair. The lower half of his face is always covered by fabric. He carries with him his two swords, as well as the leather armor the clan gave to him. Istillo keeps the scars of his profession hidden under long clothing. When in the public eye, he wears his hood up and shades his face in hopes of concealing the fact that he as Northern blood, as well as to hide his tell-tale hair.
Short Physical Description:
The North is notable for it's warriors for a reason. Istillo is strong: broad shouldered, muscled, and stands at 5'11". However, he is also lithe and fast; having the ability to maneuver and disappear with ease. His long legs give him the advantage of running great distances and leaping far. He has the favor of a body that has had to survive off of very little since young; therefore, he can sustain his vitality longer in the harshest of conditions.
Fighting style:
Brute force and speed, tempered with experience is the assassin's preferred killing method. He doesn't "fight," unless he has been seen and recognized. Istillo works best when there is cover available. A storm, a crowded market, or simply the foliage of a forest make for preferable striking areas. Targets do not see him coming. However, he can also work out in the open and against armed opponents. Strangely, he prefers that, even as he knows sticking to shadows and smoke is far less risky. Istillo kills discreetly, unless a struggle cannot be helped.
Weapons:
Two tempered steel short swords at his sides, daggers behind his shoulder blades and in his boots, and a wire wrapped around his grieve are his main weapons. Any other implements, such as poison, gas, or explosives are provided on the whim of those he kills for. He does not, however, have too great a skill with projectiles such as bows and crossbows. Spears and traps work just fine when hunting deer and hare.
Reason for traveling South:
Because of his unspoken record as a mercenary-for-hire, the wandering snow leopard has been recruited again and again. The tasks proffered were as diverse as the soil of the kingdoms he crossed; guarding and watch a gentleman's treasure, fighting against, and alongside 'barbarians,' and killing for gold earned him enough to live simply. Finally, coming into the lower western lands, he was hired for a private and discreet assassination. The reward? Land of his own. A very rare bestowal in this age and time.
Istillo did not ask the name or the cause; he was beyond caring. All he wanted for was to settle; to live his life out in relative calm in a sunnier place. He wished to rest his weary spirit down and escape from the memories of an life devoid of hope. What is one when he has not even himself? Is he alive? Human? When one has blood on his hands, does he not die everyday? What is there to do but become something inhuman... Something cold and wild.
However, that gentle fate was not to be his. The assassin learned, to his chagrin, there was indeed no land to be had in the south, as was promised. At least, no land for foreigners. All his reward had amounted to was trickery. He was a fool. Thieves weren't to be trusted. Infuriated, Istillo tracked his previous employers, hoping to catch them off their guard and exact his own "payment."
They had been waiting for him.
Instead of a skirmish, Istillo was met with a proposal. Something stirred in him as they spoke. It was strange: the feelings of hope, of interest and genuine curiosity. He had not felt this way since his time learning in the North. The offer of knowledge… to an orphan. To him.
Istillo agreed, and thus, was given some time to offer them a secret in return. Something that could destroy him if ever spoken to the wind.
Secret:
Istillo has a family.
A kind soul amongst the brethren of the North followed rumors to a remote northern village. There, a mother had born a child with the same snowy hair as the orphan boy. The father of the new child was unknown, and the people of the town believed it to be the work of the fairies or magic-weavers. Unlike Istillo, the small child received no ill-will from her townspeople. They thought her blessed, or kissed by winter's breath. Returning with the news for the young recruit, the elder assassin refused to divulge the town's location until Istillo had become a man. When that day came, Istillo visited the site, only to find it had been deserted, and hastily. He brushed off the doubt and sorrow that settled around his senses and deadened them like freshly fallen snow, but found he could not shake the numbness that had long since become an integral part of him. He had a sister, and potentially a mother… but he could not remember a family. His sister bore the same striking white hair. If word was to spread that such a girl was associated with him, she would be in grave danger.
An assassin does not have a family.
An assassin cannot have a family.
