Hylian Honor (The new thing.)

Oh, a house might be kinda interesting. Though, I mean, can't people already get houses?

Sorry my sheet isn't done yet. Some things came up, so that I was busy most of today. Hopefully it will be up, however, before you guys decide to post HH, or at the very least very soon after.

Oh yes. It is done. WOOP. But man, all these RP feels.

Name: Relitt Kaiser Haustrond
Race: Hylian
Age: 10 Years
Gender: Male
Place of Origin: Hyrule Castle Town (Northern Civilian)
Alignment: True Neutral
Statistics/PWC:
1/3/2
Power *
Wisdom ***
Courage **
Height: 3'2”
Weight: 40 lbs.
Instrument: Harmonica
Profession: Academy Student
Equipment & Accesories:
Haustrond Family Cane: Penang Lawyer – Length: 1'7”, Diameter : 1.6” – Weight: .5 lbs. – Materials: Cherry Root Handle, Platinum Collar Inlay, Licuala Shaft, Silver Filigree Settings, Tempered Steel Ferrule

The Haustrond family is a proud one, and this is reflected within their family cane. Though a new cane is made for each first-born son, the design never changes, only the shaft being changed according to the specifications of its current possessor. Due to Relitt's short stature, the cane is resultingly small, though it still maintains the fine craftsmanship it has had for decades. Cut from the bark of the Licuala tree, the shaft was straightened in fire and then polished, resulting in a deeply warm and rich color. The handle of the cane, a simple knob, bears the family crest of the Haustronds. Burned into the cherry wood is the side profile of a hawk, the Hyrule family crest engraved within its eye. This handle is attached firmly to the shaft, an inlay of platinum hiding the seam. Wrapping about the cane, this collar of precious metal is fashioned into the likeness of vines. Further down the shaft this pattern is repeated in fine silver filigree, albeit in smaller scale. Finally, at the base of the shaft, a steel point is pounded into the wood, though it is relatively dull, meant more to give the holder of the cane stability, rather than to be used as a weapon.

Heirloom Harmonica:

Given to him by his mother's father, this harmonica is Relitt's most prized possession. While the cane is most certainly more finely crafted, and worth more than its weight in gold, this harmonica holds a special place in Relitt's heart. Even just holding it conjures fond memories of his grandfather, a blossom of warmth in his chest to ward away the darkness. Well worn, this Harmonica is made of ivory from an unknown animal, with the image of a stag, and its children, carved into it. The fine details have all been worn away by use, and the oak wood it is set in is dark with years of handling. The metal box itself, however, is rust less and miraculously well-polished, glinting even in the most dim of lights. The wood has a hole through which an old leather string is pulled through, its ends tied around Relitt's neck. The harmonica rests on his chest, covered by his clothing, its heavy weight a comfort for the small boy.

Clothing,and Appearance:

Relitt, due to his condition, is quite short, with very little mass to his body. Due to the muscular paralysis caused by his disease, his muscles are underdeveloped for a boy of his age, leading to the unnatural weakness of his body. Moreover, his right leg is particularly underdeveloped, dwarfed in size and strength by his other, good leg. Because his right leg is unable to support his weight, his cane is vital for both his balance and everyday walking. That said, his dependence on his cane has led to his body being hunched, with a slight curve towards his right side.

Though his body is deformed, the noble blood is apparent in the way he carries himself. Despite being unable to fully stand straight, Relitt nonetheless manages to keep a prideful air about himself, in the way that he speaks and moves. Though the way in which he walks may be awkward, Relitt always seems sure of himself, perhaps bordering on an aura of superiority. There is a stubbornness in the way that he walks, in every movement he makes, that can't help but beggar respect for those wise enough to see it. Yet his nobility is marred by his upturned nose, and in the way that he always manages to look down upon others, despite being fewer than four feet tall.

Clear blue eyes, chillingly so, look down a hawk-like nose that is sharp and well defined, almost as if it were the beak upon a bird of prey. Sitting beneath the peak of his face are two pale lips, drawn tight and pursed in what can only be described as an expression of displeasure. One eyebrow is always cocked above the other, questioning everything the orbs of ice see, not a single strand of hair in their way to impede his view. A dark black, with a slight tinge of purple in the right light, his hair his slicked back against his head and is a short length, cut evenly and with precision. One might call him handsome, if it weren't for the permanent sneer frozen onto his face.

Apparel wise, Relitt is usually dressed in fine clothing, their worth apparent by their quality and material. Relitt consistently wears a white tunic, embroidered with golden thread, which is covered by a doublet made of a crimson velvet. Lined in yellow twined cord, with matching tassels, it is belted around Relitt's waist using a white sash made of silk, a pattern of paisley sewn into it in purple. He also wears a pair of waist length hose, colored a creamy white, with red breeches. The breeches are made of tight silk, edged with a deep purple stripe that is bordered with gold. Relitt wears double monk shoes made of a chocolate-colored leather that is well polished, a simple shoe with a flap that double buckles to the side.

Treasures:
None

Personality:

For a boy his age, Relitt seems very mature, if pompous. Always prim and polite, one can never shake the feeling that Relitt sees you as his lesser, disdain always lurking behind that mockingly sweet smile. One must always take his words as if they are nothing more than poisoned honey, words meant only to satisfy whoever hears them, while Relitt's eyes silently laugh. If this is the case with how Relitt treats his elders, one must begin to wonder how he behaves with those of his age. While Relitt is not openly spiteful around his elders, his malice is made quite clear to other children. In his eyes, children generally serve no purpose for furthering his own goals in life, and thus he has no need for them. Adults barely achieve usefulness, and some not even then, but he has learned that it is unwise to make enemies of those with greater power than he.

Relitt is a cunning boy, who will resort to almost anything to get what he wants. Be it faking sympathy, or something as simple as bribing someone, Relitt tends to have a single track mind that, once it is stuck upon something, tends not to give up, no matter the cost, both to himself and to others.
While Relitt isn't necessarily bordering on genius, he uses his intellect effectively, sometimes stooping to new lows if necessity calls for it. That said, Relitt is used to getting what he wants, be it by earning it himself, or through exploiting the pity and charity of others. At his core, Relitt is still nothing but a spoiled brat with more means than most.

Yet Relitt still maintains a great amount of pride, despite sometimes resorting to what some might consider to be actions worthy of only a streetrat. While his actions may not be understood as prideful by others, Relitt has a great surety behind all that he does. He is convinced of his own greatness, that through his own hard work, he is able to achieve nearly anything. This inner steel is what gives him pride in himself; he always achieves his goals, despite any obstacles in his way. It is for this reason that, nevermind his methods or personality, Relitt commands a strange sort of respect, from both adult and child alike, as respect often given begrudgingly.

Both his cunning and pride were learned from his father, a famous nobleman; however, it earned his son's hatred as well. A brilliant man, and also a renowned war mage, Dantalion Haustrond is an imposing man, yet well known for his hospitality and generosity. However, only those who are truly close to him know that he is also a man who does not tolerate failure, that success is ever the only option. A successful mage at a very young age, it was expected that Relitt would be much the same, following in his prodigy of a father's footsteps. Yet, for a long time, Relitt did not display even a mote of talent for magic, his blood only recently showing traces of its presence. Despite years of tutelage under the scrutiny of his father, and the many books of the Haustrond library, Relitt still cannot produce even the tiniest of flames, the smallest spark of magic.

One can imagine Relitt's distraught at being a complete failure to his father, that it causes him to be unable to fulfill his family's reputation. Nevertheless, just as it is not for his father, failure is not an option. To learn magic is his greatest goal, and is what his mind, and stubborn will, usually work towards achieving. Each night, Relitt swears to himself that he will be even greater than his father, that when he has reached his prime, his father will learn from him.

However, Relitt's hatred runs deeper than just his inability to learn magic. Having contracted an unknown disease from his war days, thought to pass through intimacy from Hylian to Hylian, Dantalion unknowingly passed it to his wife, which then transferred to his son when he was born. While the symptoms of the disease did not show at birth, it became apparent that it had claimed his right leg. The disease has yet to show signs in his father, but eventually developed in Relitt's mother, resulting in her recent death. Relitt, several years prior, had discovered the source of his disease, having investigated it without his father's knowledge. When it began showing signs in her mother, Relitt was stricken by grief, yet he was powerless to stop it. He holds his father chiefly responsible for both his own deformity, and his mother's death.

It's only in the deepest of nights that Relitt's anger and bitterness, his haughtiness and utter self-confidence, is shattered, revealing the truly broken boy within. It's during this time that he holds his grandfather's harmonica tightly, remembering his mother and her father, as if his life were all a bad joke, like the goddesses would appear one day to tell him it never happened. It's during these dark times that he plays, remembering the love they both held for him. There was never pity for what he was in both mind and body, only a forgiving acceptance of everything that was him. To them, he was only a boy: not a failure of a mage, not a Haustrond, and not a cripple. And while he plays upon his harmonica, he cannot help but hate the person that he has become, and feel that, once again, he is nothing but a disappointment.

But in the morning, the glass is reformed, glued together gingerly without a piece missing, and nary a crack.

Backstory:

This story begins not with a birth, but with a young mage, fighting in a war that has sundered the land in two, drawing a bloody line across all of Hyrule. Great in his power, a genius for his age, he was a proud man, sure that, with the might of the Hylian army and the magic of others such as himself, the greatest evil that had ever walked the land might finally be destroyed. Where as a single hero could not hope to force his way through the hordes, legions of great men and women might prevail, and give him his chance. But as history tells it, the war rages on, and though the hero was given his chance, Ganon's evil still spread across the land. Warriors of all races found their graves upon the battlefield, their bones resting where they fell, and no man or woman was sure of their return.

It was in this bloody conflict, of ash and fire, of blood and bone, that great the flames of love burned the brightest, for who knew what the fates held? When life is not guaranteed on to the next day, we live passionately, as if every moment is our last. A young man, haggard from the ravages of war, finds his comforts in the flesh, a desire the blossoms from within him. Perhaps he never truly loved her, but in those moments, in the dark stillness, surrounded by death, a man and woman came together and lived, cherishing what moments they might have left. He never learned her name, only knew that she smelled of roses, not the stench of blood, a smell that would always linger in the cracks and callouses of his palms. She died the next day.

But time passes, and soldiers live. Eventually he returned home to Castle Town, a much changed man. Tirelessly he worked, continuing his research that something, anything might be discovered that could end this war. He could not tolerate failure, for that meant death; the death of his friends and of his loved ones. Always he was haunted by this fear, that he would never be adequate. After all, how many friends had he left behind, buried and with nothing to mark their grave but a stick? But love, as it always does, seems to find a way back into our lives. She was kind, and gentle, and she loved him as he was. Always he would find himself inadequate, never able to say the right thing, at all times inept and clumsy. Yet, for all his faults, she would always smile and it would all fade away. He proposed several months after their first encounter.

They were happy together, in those first, quiet years. And, for a time, the ghosts of the war no longer haunted his dreams. Soon they had a son, a healthy looking child from all appearances, who would grow up to be handsome and strong just as his father, to carry on the Haustrond name. His curses to the goddesses changed to prayers of thanks, for what more could he ask? However, as it always must, disaster found its way into his quiet life once again.

The signs were there, though perhaps he had not wanted to see. As the boy grew, named Relitt, it was all too apparent that something was wrong. By the time he was the age that most boys could crawl, the babe could only manage to just barely drag himself across the floor. It was then that the mage felt fate's bindings constrict itself around his heart once again. They tightened further and further, until they threatened to kill him, once the doctor had examined the boy.

It was a disease, quite common, though it did not always manifest. In the man's case, it had not... But for his son, it had claimed his right leg, and never could it be returned to him. And though it had not yet shown signs in his wife, it could manifest in months, perhaps even years. Bitterly, he took his son home, who was still blissfully unaware of his condition.

For days, he could speak to no one, locked in his study. Great cries of anguish were heard during the night, and once again, the mouth that had cursed the goddesses returned to its old ways. But always she was there for him, that forgiving smile that washed away everything in its wake. Finally he emerged, falling into her arms, her deep embrace. As she stroked his hair, whispering softly into his ear, she reminded him that both still lived, and that he had not lost them yet. She reminded him of his responsibility as a father, one that was made only greater by this trial. And so, in his tears, in his wracking sobs, a father steeled his resolve.

The years passed, and the boy grew. He was a smart boy, who compensated for his disability with plenty of wit and ingenuity. But it would not be enough; never would the boy grow into a man capable of a normal life, not with his broken body. So he pressed his son, a boy of only six at the time, to begin his studies of magic. What he could not do with his body, the boy might accomplish with his mind, and the mage hoped that this might be enough. But as the boy grew, so did his father's urgency to begin his son's path to greatness, and in his fervor and love for his son, he grew blind. He did not see the spark of curiosity disappear from his son's eyes, nor did he see it replaced with the beginnings of a deep hatred.

When his wife died, the mage felt as if he might fall into a pit from which he might never return. But even on her death bed, even as a spirit, she called to him, that smile always present. He sobbed bitterly that night, and well into the morning, but his son heard not a cry, saw not a tear. It was on that morning that the boy was sent away, to formally learn magic amongst the best and the brightest of his generation. His father looked down from a high window, watching his son depart, a son who never once looked back. He he wept again, not for himself, nor his wife, but for his son.

But the boy saw no tears.