Ingame name: Filius

Race: Zaraton

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Job: Smith


Skill Rank
Weaponsmith A
Armorsmith A
Combat B
Knowledge B
Guns B
Charisma C

Character Personality: Grim, but gentlemanly. Deep down he is in emotional turmoil, but he’s become good at putting up a front and seeming to be just like anyone else when he needs to.

Backstory: Filius grew up as a middle child in a family of five. His brother Marcus was the eldest child, his sister Natalie the youngest. His mother was a housewife and his father was a smith. Despite his father being the only respectable smith in Scrontull, they lived in the slums, full of crime and deceit. They didn’t have much money, but they were happy together. Filius and his brother Marcus were closer than any of their friends, and they went just about everywhere together, inseparable. Their father was a great role model to all of them, teaching them moral values and his own craft for when it was their turn to support the family. Their family was like a well oiled machine, and despite monetary troubles, stress hardly seemed to exist within them.

There was a gang in the city, around where Filius lived. It was more of a small group of petty criminals, consisting of seven or eight men. The group saw how beneficial it would be to steal Filius’ father’s wares and sell them for their own, instead of him selling them at lower prices to the less fortunate of the city. They planned a break in, getting into the blacksmithing shed and stealing as much as they could carry. Swords, guns, cast iron cookware; they planned on taking it all. Filius was about 15 this age, a young and happy man, becoming skilled in the art of blacksmithing, and becoming learned in his schooling. His brother, 17, was about to begin his own career, starting his own family. Both were proficient with a gun, as they were readily available from their father’s job.

On a warm summer night, Filius was out in the shed, crafting “S Hooks”, used to hang things like pots or bags on. The loud droning ping of the hammer drowned out any other noises, and he was blissfully unaware of the rest of the world. As he worked, thumps came from the house, but he couldn’t hear a thing. A door was broken down, but still he heard nothing. A window smashed, but still, he went about his work. After his tenth hook, a hand was on his shoulder. Turning his head, his nose met with a fist, sending him sprawling on the floor. Pulling himself up, the attacking man, average weight with sandy hair, ran towards him, delivering a blow to his stomach, which met nothing but Filius’ thick leather apron, probably hurting the thief more than Filius. Filius wasn’t small, by any means. Roughly six feet and 160 pounds, he wasn’t exactly someone who would roll over in a fight. As soon as he got his footing, he glared upon the man who was leaning over and cradling his fist, then brought his foot down upon his back, knocking the man into the ground and smacking his head on the concrete.

Natalie bolted out from around the house, and a man followed after her. Sheer terror and need drove Filius to reach behind him, grabbing a gun. Following the man down the sights, Filius shot the musket, hitting the man’s knee. His sister made it to the shed, hiding behind the workbench. Marcus was coming home from a trip to the market at this point, and seeing what was happening, dropped the groceries, pulled his knife, and ran for the shed. The remaining four thieves (Two were taken care of by their father) walked out towards the shed, and began sprinting when they saw Filius and Marcus brandishing guns. One of them, pulling a handgun, shot the musket out of Filius’ hands, and another made a final burst and tackled Marcus, who ended up easily overpowering the man, who was smaller than the rest. The thieves then piled onto Filius, who was losing consciousness. The last thing he saw before he awoke was his parents’ bodies out on the ground, and Natalie screaming “NO! DON’T LEAVE HIM!” as Marcus dragged her away to safety.

Waking up to an empty shed with nothing left inside, Filius stood up slowly, walking out of the building. After he looked around for a bit, he went into the house, finding the man he shot in the knee laying on the couch, with a loose bandage of his shirt wrapped around his leg. He looked at Filius in pure terror, whose long gray hair was haphazardly lying in strands over his glaring gray eyes. The man on the couch tried to claw himself off the couch and out the door, but only succeeded in falling face first onto the floor. Filius grabbed him by the throat, pulling him onto his feet, but only barely. He began screaming all kinds of questions and accusations, like why this happened and who he was working with, but in his anger he only succeeded in crushing the man’s throat, and the man was dead before he heard half the screams.

Filius looked at the man, mortified by what he had done, but believing it was what the man deserved, he felt a whole new type of understanding. He dragged the man out into the yard, found a shovel, and began to dig three holes, for his parents and the man, tears clouding his eyes as he did so. He realized he would have to live differently, starting from nothing but a place to sleep, and his hammer.

There was an impending feeling of hopelessness the first year Filius was by himself. He only got motivation from knowing his father and siblings would want him to persevere, and his need to find Marcus gave him further purpose. His later years were spent living a normal life, with not much happening but him going about his duties like going to the grocery or paying taxes. Despite the time he had spent since that day, though, he always had a smoldering rage inside him that he hardly even noticed, covered up by grief and denial, changing a happy, lighthearted boy of 15 into a grim, serious man with no light shining in his life.