Description
“I’m going to hell whether I like it or not. The least I could do is take some of these sodding sons of bitches with me!”
Name: Salanang Metheni
Pronunciation: Sal-uh-nang Muh-tay-ni
Age: 35
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Height: 6’2”
Build: Trained to the peak of physicality believed attainable for a stealthy killer, Salanang is built, not overly muscular, but with the lean and strong body of an assassin. While he won’t be able to compete with a wild barbarian in terms of pure brute strength, what’s on his side is his comparatively superior speed and agility, with a commendable endurance to above-normal levels of physical pain.
Class: Rogue
Specialization: Assassin
Warden? Yes.
Appearance: A fleeting shape in the night, Salanang Metheni, to ordinary eyes is nigh invisible. Dark as a shadow, as well as nimble like a cat, the silent killer makes his appearance rarely known, which is best considering what his job is. Concealed within the deepest and blackest shades of the night, Salanang uses all that his lean, but ripped, body offers in terms of physical excellence his profession requires. A slightly taller-than average frame doesn't hinder his speed and reflexes; his flexibility always in top shape. With thirty-and-five years spent on this world, many would consider him to be past his prime. However, Salanang is always ready to prove such a non-believer wrong any way he can.
Of course, his age is evident with numerous battle scars that adorn different parts of his body, and his steely expression; the experienced eyes that still gleam with the passionate aura of expectation and curiosity. A face that's rarely cleanly shaven - and always stubbled -and dark eyes stare from within the folds of the black hood, ever vigilant and alert. A tattoo that is a remnant of his origin is branded on his left shoulder, but he makes every effort that it remains hidden from anyone and everyone - his apparel doing a fairly good job at that. Nobody knows if it's because of shame or fear - Salanang has his own personal reasons for that.
His figure boasts of strong hands and feet, his upper limbs being ambidextrous as well. Neither overly muscular, nor sickly thin, he is more than capable of punching a scoundrel unconscious with a single strike, or kick open the strongest door with his boots. A ripped abdomen that would cause immense envy among men, and strong attraction among women (or men, again) is a result of him pushing himself to the known frontiers of physical excellence. With a wheatish complexion, an unusual shade of silvery-white hair and the often intimidating posture, Salanang Metheni is not your average guy. And certainly not one you'd want to mess with.
Personality
Demeanor: Words are said by many, but there are few who keep them. Salanang Metheni has lived a life revolving around lies and deceit, but stays true to his word, no matter what happens. This comes as quite a surprise as assassins are seldom – or let’s say
never – expected to do
that. He reasons that it is what makes him unique among a horde of sleazy hitmen. This particular one has endured a lot during the thirty-five years that he’s been alive, including pain, pleasure, torture, heartbreak and even escaped the clutches of death many times in the call of duty, and such experiences have shaped him to be the man that he is today.
The years have sharpened his judgment of characters, though is willing to give people a second chance, almost always. Fairly trusting of people – but from a distance – he does keep himself alert and always on the lookout for a getaway, in case his assessment was wrong; and it has been, a couple of times. Many people judge him to be somewhat naïve as such, but the fact that his neck is still attached to his body is proof that he does a good job of looking after himself.
Professionally speaking, Salanang is quite the hard worker. What he did before, he accepts now, and even regrets sometimes, but a job is a job, and he does his current one with all his heart and soul. If he is tasked some work, he will do it as efficiently as he is capable of, and would go to any and all lengths to accomplish it. This, oftentimes, puts him at odds with his morals and beliefs, bringing him in conflict with friends and foes alike, more than he would have wanted.
Also, Salanang is a man of action. He is probably the last to speak when an argument splashes around the walls of a room, but would damn near break your nose if he is tried to be dragged into a fight. While he is not an outright leader, per se, his input is valued during strategies, owing to his experience. His deep voice is laced with equal amounts of harsh orders and kind words, respected by younger soldiers and regarded as important notions by seniors.
While he throws himself to his work with supreme dedication, it is not uncommon to see him at a tavern, a large pint of ale in his hand, debating with his companions the number of nipples a Broodmother possesses.
Fears: More than anything, Salanang fears the past catching up to him. Many would consider the path that vengeance offers, however, he would rather turn his back and never look behind, than confront the age-old demons that still haunt him and his conscience at times.
Hangups/Quirks: Salanang is susceptible to mood swings, isolating himself from the company of others for certain durations. If approached at such a time, he wouldn’t hesitate to lash out like a madman, with his weapons at the ready even. This is probably an adverse effect of being exposed to different types of toxic concoctions during his career as an assassin. While he has gained a fair amount of control over such inconsistencies via meditation and such practices, it is still unpredictable when such a case might arise. . . and his control may falter.
Opinions:
The Chantry: “I’ve got my own beliefs, thank you very much.” Salanang cares not for the Chant of Light in the least. He has no time – or faith – for a long-dead ‘goddess’ kept alive by empty notions on the lips of religious fools. And that means he’ll take the Maker’s name in vain, all he wants. A lot.
Magi: “As long as they keep their magic fireworks from burning my face off, I’ll keep myself from slitting their throats!” As a Warden, he’s fought alongside any and every kind of warrior – be they valiant knights, or mysterious sorcerers. He doesn’t have any problem with any mage as long as they are not blasting stuff in front of his face, or else he’d be happy to let his sword do the talking.
Templars: “Just do your job. Don’t get in my way.” Templars are, in Salanang’s eyes, nothing more than the Chantry’s personal army, and he means every word of that. They can show off to the world as protectors against the vile effects that magic poses, but when the day comes that the Chantry wishes worldwide domination, the first thing you’ll need to look out for would be a templar sticking his sword through your innards. Or so he believes. And argues.
Elves: “What’s with the second class bullshit? They’ve got the same right as any of us humans. Piss them off enough, and you’ll wish you hadn’t, once their chains are off.” For some reason, Salanang never looked down on an elf. Never had he grasped the concept – or the particular reason, for that matter – of discrimination against them. If he sees any of them being subjected to any form of oppression – be it as small as stupid humiliation, or as great as unfair torture – Salanang would see to it that it is stopped that instant, and the guilty punished, similarity in race be damned a long way to hell.
Dwarves: “I don’t care for their politics and their shitty ale. I’ve seen them fight, and that’s what’s important.” He has fought alongside them for times he cannot keep count of, and he appreciates and respects their skills in battle. They can drink their shit, but hell, he can take on any one of them bearded ‘little people’ any day. And win.
Humans: “I am one. That enough for you?” Salanang knows the heights that humans are capable of. He also knows the lowest atrocities that his race has committed in history. Therefore, he is not one to pass judgment after witnessing the acts of just one. He hopes everyone see him, and others of his kind, too, in the same way. While many of his racial fellows have built quite a reputation – or the lack thereof – he aspires and wishes others to see the best of humanity that he is capable of.
The Grey Wardens: “In case you didn’t get that, you are talking to one.” For Salanang, being a Grey Warden is not just about joining some cool guys’ club, and go around the world killing ugly demons from the underworld. It is a sacred duty, and he takes that very seriously. He has a responsibility to uphold the sanctity of life, and he will damn well do so. He knows the risks and compromises that come along with such a choice, and this is something that he debates on every second of his being, but he knew that once he made his decision, there would be no turning back. And that is the way it has been ever since.
The Mission: “Remember this saying that goes something like ‘you’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t’? It’s the exact same thing. Just real.” Ever since he became a Grey Warden, Salanang has faced situations others would not even begin to comprehend in their wildest dreams. This mission is no different. He’s encountered hopeless situations before – and prevailed. It may seem like everyone’s heading to their deaths, but the wily assassin has escaped that tempting bitch a time too many to call this a suicide mission. He knows that he’ll be branded sodding cracked in the head for that, but he’d be too busy decapitating ugly satanic demons to notice anything else.
Equipment
Weapon of Choice: Primarily, Salanang uses a longsword, nicknamed
Third Arm. It is one thing that he feels is the extension of his very capable hands. While skilled in the art of dual weaponry, he prefers the sole active arsenal of his prized blade, more often than not. It’s been almost forever since he’s had it, and suffice to say, a bond has been formed between assassin and weapon. For many a battle, Third Arm has been preferred by the Warden over other weapons like greatswords, or maces, and there have been too many Darkspawn beyond count, that have fallen due to its slash. As such, the blade has been coated with layers upon layers of demonic blood; thus resulting in inflicting grievous and infectious wounds that will surely kill the victim, one way or another. Combined with his assassination skills, this is certainly an advantage for him – and a sheer disadvantage on his foe’s part.
The assassin also keeps two curved daggers by his side, hidden from plain view as a backup. When overcome with sheer bloodlust, he would not hesitate to plunge one of those twisted menaces deep in the back of some unsuspecting sucker, and twist it around to make sure that the kill is complete, though painful as hell.
Armor/Apparel: Salanang makes it a point to himself that whatever is most comfortable, is efficient as well. As such, his primary apparel consists of an armor customized with his preferred appearance and made of a light, but durable, leather. Colored in fine shades of black and grey, it might seem unfashionable and boring to most eyes, but the assassin favors this over anything else because of the easy maneuverability it provides within the shadows of the night. Of course, if it helps you do your job perfectly and efficiently, you seldom let go of such a thing. Actually, make that
never let go of said thing.
The armor is fitted with shoulder plates, made of relatively harder material, out of which flows a long billowing cape complete with a hood. Boots made of black dragonhide don the rogue’s feet, which aid in stealth as well as boost his combat prowess. Gloves made of similar material line his ambidextrous hands. All in all, it is, according to Salanang, the perfect paraphernalia an assassin could hope – or kill – for.
Mount: A swift-legged stallion, black as night. Nicknamed Nox, it’s been more a companion than mere beast for the Warden, responsible for saving his neck more times than he could remember.
Level: 10
Skills:
Assassin: Mark of Death, Bloodlust, Pinpoint Strikes
Dual Weapon: Backstab, Unforgiving Chain, Lacerate
Power of Blood: Dark Passage
Sabotage: Miasmic Flask
Scoundrel: Blindside
Subterfuge: Stealth, Ambush
History
Place of Birth, Nation of Origin: Antiva City, Antiva.
Social Status: Grey Warden; former convicted criminal.
Personal History: The younger son of nobleman Salazar Metheni and his wife Shanilia, Salanang was born into a troubled time. Not only was the world of Thedas going through a second Blight, the Antivan hierarchy was firmly established with the Order of the Crows at the top, around this time. Such events being so, the nobility were under constant threat with assassinations – both attempts and successful ones – happening day in and out. The plight of the infant was a constant fear that struck his parents a thousand times every single day. In fear and hopelessness too, life goes on, and so, the years passed till Salanang grew into a boy of five; his older sibling, once six years his senior, now dead for almost a year, owing to a mysterious illness. The boy, as a result, turned out rather introverted, preferring the indoors to the busy streets of Antiva City. His parents were fine with it, as long as it meant that the apple of their eyes was safe and sound. However, tragedy always finds a way to sow seeds of misery on poor unsuspecting souls.
Nobility was its own worst enemy. Rivalry was sometimes taken too far and this had dire consequences, almost every time. Such a fate was to befall the house of Metheni, as one of their old acquaintances by the name of Gerald Fabarani decided to act upon a similarly old unresolved grudge. For the simple reason that the Metheni clan was supposedly richer, Fabarani hatched a plot that would add their wealth to his, eliminating them by their roots while at that. The snake of a man used his connections to acquire the services of the espionage organization called the Crows and plotted the kidnapping of young Salanang, to be used as leverage against his financial rivals.
It was almost as if a storm had ravaged the Metheni household when the youngster suddenly disappeared. More devastating was the effect when the vile Fabanari admitted his crime to Salazar. Promising the safe return of his now-only child if he handed over all of his belongings to Fabanari, Salazar agreed to all the conditions put in front of him; his son’s safety being the only thing he cared about at that moment. With the business of the transaction carried out, Metheni called for his son to be returned to him. As an answer, Fabanari brought the boy before his erstwhile rival’s eyes, only for the fiend to command his hired assassins to finish off the hapless parents. As young Salanang could only watch in horror and fill the room with a silent scream, a murder of Crows – if only literally – descended upon his defenseless parents. He could do nothing but plead endlessly without result, as the horde of assassins brutally raped his mother and dismembered his father. His contract fulfilled, Fabanari sold the boy to the Crows for a meager sum, opting to let the boy live with the pain of loss. Or so he hoped.
Salanang’s life had changed in an instant. He was now not only an orphan, but a prisoner within the confines of the system driven by the Crows. Not only was each day a physical ordeal, the murder of his parents drove him to the frayed ends of insanity every single day that he continued to live. Slowly and gradually, he came to grips with what his life was now, and that he had to live with that, and if he could, avenge all of that one day.
The following years of his life were spent in the traditional Antivan Crows’ training, in which only one thing mattered: survival. And Salanang, with a burning passion, was determined to set each and every fiber of his body to achieve just that. In a world of assassins – both in-training and established – there was no room for emotions or relationships of any kind. Bullying and physical fights were common, but Salanang learned to rise above all that. As he grew into a teenager, his mind had developed and he set about working on his personal vendetta. He figured that avenging would require him to be something that would be able to take on the might of a hundred thousand assassins, and come out on top. To destroy them, he had to first
become them.
The years that the boy spent under the ownership of the Crows were spent learning the art of the assassins. Blending into the shadows, stealthily creeping up behind an unsuspecting mark, and bringing the gleaming blade up to his neck and reveling in the following bloodsplill – these became the lessons of each day, until he could gain mastery over them. Passing the final test, and becoming a full-fledged assassin, he was welcomed among the ranks of the Crows at the age of twenty. Till then, his plan of wanting to destroy the organization from within was proceeding smoothly.
With him becoming a full-time professional, he completed any and all mission that was assigned to him to make sure that his loyalty was beyond question, in the eyes of his comrades. After about a year, he proceeded to the next – and more dangerous – part of his plan: to strike where it would hurt most. Consumed with rage, rather than sense, he made his real intention known by directly challenging the leader of the Crows, figuring that killing him was the best possible answer to exact his revenge, and finally bring the raging storm inside him to an end. However, it was not to be as the leading assassin merely scoffed and promised Salanang that he would pay dearly for such a defection.
As the Crows started filling up the room, Salanang knew that his plan was doomed. Years of plotting had come up to nothing. Now, what mattered was getting out of there alive. But no matter how skilled he was, no matter how much he used all the teachings of the Crows against them, he was but only one against the might of many. The ensuing battle brought him to the edge of death and was almost about to be sent over to the other side, when his erstwhile leader decided otherwise. Instead of granting him the peace of death, he was framed for a political assassination – another Crow job, no doubt – and sentenced to life imprisonment; a life of self-loathing.
And for the second time in his life, everything changed when a stranger made his presence known one day. Claiming to be the Commander of the legendary order named Grey Wardens, he insisted Salanang to join him, because he knew of the unfair life that he had led until then. He promised to help him attain a purpose to live on, and repent for past mistakes. Initially skeptical, Salanang finally accepted the Warden-Commander Malik’s offer and turned his back on the city that had given him more than two full decades of hell. At that moment all he wanted was to get as far away as was possible for the place that had robbed him of everything. What Malik promised could help him with that, and so, he took it.
Ever since then, it has been more than a decade that Salanang Metheni joined the ranks of the Grey Wardens. He continues to this day to uphold the ideals of his charge putting his stealth-based fighting skills to use, and at the same time, trying to find closure for everything that has happened to him since his childhood by attempting to come to grips with his inner demons of his past. This is a slow process, but he is determined to reach the light at the end of the tunnel one day.
It was natural for him to join a seemingly suicide mission when Malik requested of him, as he owes the Warden-Commander everything for shaping his life to what it is now.
Professional History: Trained in the art of the assassin from a very young age by the top espionage organization, it is clear that Salanang has received the very best – or the very worst, morally speaking – of education when it comes to killing. Skilled in assassinations from stealth and shadow, he is one of the very best in his profession. Defecting from the Crows has not deterred him from continuing to hone his skills. As a Grey Warden, he utilizes the talents he picked up from his former job, and till this fine day, continues to maim, lacerate and assassinate his way to justice. Killing Darkspawn has added variety, he admits.
Idea for a Personal Sidequest: How about something that will make him confront his inner demons? Like meeting a member of the Crows that would force him to come to terms with reality and close the chapter once and for all? I dunno, something like that?
