Silas Sesstora

Name: Silas Sesstora

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Race: Rito

Place of Origin: Dragon Roost Island

PWC: 2/1/4
-2 points to Courage, 1 point to Power

Treasures: (+35 Rupees for Valiance, 4 Courage points)
Mask of Truth, Cross, Slicker
(45 Rupees, 30 Rupees, 60 Rupees = 135 Rupees)

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 129 lbs.

Equipment: A single pickhammer, roughly four feet from the head to the pommel. The weapon itself is a cross between, of course, a pickaxe and a hammer, sporting the head of both tools opposite one another atop a single piece of forged and polished iron. The shaft and head are polished to a gleam, with a slanted screw pattern following from the top of the shaft down. A slightly thicker piece of iron is fastened around the head to the shaft as support (hold your innuendos, ladies and gentlemen.) The pommel looks very similar to a doorknob, an orb of metal which provides a slight amount of counterweight during combat.

(For a reference as to the exact shape of the pickhammer, use this picture: http://tinyurl.com/3aqqy8o . Silas' pickhammer is the one on the left.)

Appearance: Silas, to put it bluntly, does not look anything like your traditional Rito aside from the beak and body. The first thing you'll notice is his eyes, a smoky gray instead of the common red or amber. Then one would take in his skin color, much paler and posessing barely any colour. His beak seems to be the only thing traditional about him, a warm yellowish-orange generic to his race. Then one's gaze looks upward, to a deep and disheveled mess of light and dark brown that served as hair. And if one looked upon his feathers, one could possibly mistake him for the wrong bird as they were predominantly white with black tips.

This Silas...he was a 'made-out-of-spare-parts' person if there ever were one. And yet his look, and his smile, both possessed warmth. Something that felt both inviting and formidable.

His clothing lacked tradition also, a contrast of black and white for a simple [yet well-made] tunic and pants. The pants were nothing special aside from the color and the thickness that protected only against the average bush-cut or fall. The tunic, however, had an uncommon feature; a hood, large enough to cover his head with an inch or so extra. The sleeves were short, stopped just above the elbow, yet his arms were covered from the forearm down by strips of black cloth sewn together as makeshift gauntlets. His shoes were also black in color, but not the clunky boots that Rito wear. Instead they barely reached past the ankle, for flexibility as well as comfort.

Residence: Silas has left Dragon Roost Island just days ago, and has not had the chance to find a place to live.

Pet: While on at least flying terms with most birds, Silas hasn't found himself an animal companion.

Backstory: Silas' history may well be categorized as generic in spite of his lack of a dark and troubled past. He was born and raised on Dragon Roost Island, all but isolated from the war that had raged across the Eastern Sea. His childhood was...interesting, to say the least, what with his parents not knowing what had happened when his skin was so much paler than theirs, his eyes lacking color. They thought something had gone wrong somehow; his dad started getting paranoid. Thought his wife had cheated, that this baby couldn't have been his. Silas' first year or so in Hyrule was filled with a constant switching of custody between parents, the dad trying to fill his thoughts that his mother was nothing but a liar and a whore. His mother, sweet and loving but icy whenever he was in their company. They no longer trusted each other, loved each other. And once Silas had turned five, he finally caught on.

He did what he thought was right. He blamed himself and attempted to leave at age seven, in the wee hours of a dark and overcast morning. His mother caught him, brought him back inside. Raised him alone for a while. As far as little Silas knew, his dad was seeing someone else, having left mommy alone. On some nights he would wake up to get something to drink and have his heart sink under the sounds of his mother's tears.

Until he was ten, Silas had tried his best to care for his mother, who had spiralled into depression. Occasionally his old dad would visit, sometimes in a drunken stupor, others merely angry. He was told by the old man to go to his room and wait there until it was quiet.

It didn't quiet down for hours.

Fast-forward to Silas' sixteenth birthday, where he saw his mother again after years of her absence. His father had taken him in, trained him. Trained him to wield a miner's multitool in combat, to be apathetic and resolved even in the toughtest of situations. Most of the lessons were taught when the old man couldn't tell up from down, when there was more than blood in his system. Poor Silas wasn't allowed to see his mother who, according to daddy, 'made a mistake by having you.' And yet his dad always had a sickly sweet tone of voice with him, a slightly high-pitched tone resembling a wail that made him cringe.

Their reunion was filled with joy, the tightest of hugs and the whispering of sweet nothings into each other's ear. Time seemed to slow, the world melt away. And then daddy decided to come home one last time, a dark-tinted bottle in his hand as usual. Years ago, Silas would have complied. Obeyed his daddy without question. But this wasn't years ago. Now, he decided not to move from between mom and dad, no matter how many bruises he received.

They were fed up, the mother and son. So they decided to leave on the night of his eighteenth birthday, hearing of the recapturing of the nearest town in Southern Hyrule, a place called Ruto. He knew his mother would be safe here, safer than home and much safer than in the fields. And in the inn, under the assumption that mommy would be fine, Silas gave her one last hug. Gave her cheek one last teary-eyed kiss. Promised her he would visit.
As of today, Silas is nineteen, with his mother's blessing and memories in his heart. With his father's pickhammer on his back.