Name: Vox Erebus Race: Rito Age: 28 Years Gender: Male Place of Origin: Lon Lon Ranch Alignment: True Neutral Statistics/PWC: 4/4/1 Power **** Wisdom **** Courage * Height: 6'4” Weight: 110 lbs. Equipment, Armor & Accessories: Arrow Breaker –Tower Shield– 2'5" Width, 5'6" Height – Materials: Steel Face – Oak Backing – Hard Leather & Oaken Handles – Hide Straps Vox's most trusted companion, Arrow Breaker bears many dents and marks, signifying the veracity of its own name. The shield itself is relatively plain, though the edges have been rimed with red paint. The singular, defining feature is the shield boss which adorns the center, which is also formed of steel. In many ways it defies the aesthetic of the rest of the shield, seemingly added as an afterthought: an assumption that would be correct. The intricately worked steel, in the form of an eagle head, was added to the shield only once Vox became an official member of the Fokka. Widower –Halberd – 6' – Materials: Steel Head – Reinforced Oak – Bronze Reinforcement Bands – Leather Grip Widower is a tall Halberd, though it does not surpass Vox's own height. He keeps his weapon well maintained, with nary a chip on the axe's blade. Routine maintenance keeps the axe sharp, and the point sharper, ready to fall upon his foes. The weapon is a heavy one, and due to his unique method of wielding it--that is, with a single hand--Widower's leather grip has a well-worn appearance, due to all of its weight being supported at a single point. It's clear that he takes great pride in his weapon, as well as his shield, as both seem to always be ready to be taken into the field. Clothing and Appearance: Outlast – Steel Full Plate – Materials: Steel Body – Cotton and Tooled Leather Paddings – Iron Bolted Joints – Leather Straps Vox wears a set of full-bodied steel plate. While most other Rito would balk at the prospect, their hollow bones and relatively compact builds making such a feat impossible, Vox wears Outlast as a badge of pride and as a statement. Indeed, without years of strength training, he would be left completely immobile in such armor, but he wears it as well as any Hylian knight could, perhaps even better. Beneath his armor his clothing is rather spartan, meant to reduce the heat of his body while wearing the armor. A simple flaxen tunic adorns his upper body, dark from sweat, which is belted in placed at his hip. Below, he wears thin trousers, cut from a dyed green cotton. Beyond this, he carries a pack that is slung around his shoulders, with straps made to fit around his armor. His body itself towers over that of most Hylians, though is comparatively average against the rest of his race. However, his body shape and density break from the mold of the usual Rito, being more widely set and certainly more muscular. Having spent a majority of his years training his body, it's through hard work and careful that he's managed to develop muscles strong enough to bear his normal load. With regards to coloration, his plumage is composed of three distinct colors: an off-white, near gray, a loud and bright red, and a deep blue-black. Vox's belly and lower neck are covered in white, while the black dominates his back and sides. His head contains a mixture of both black and red, with an entirely red plume upon his crown. A yellow beak stands in stark contrast to the rest of his body, and is relatively short with a slight angle down, similar in shape to that of the common grosbeak. Racial Perks: Bonus Treasure x3 Treasures: Bonus Treasure: Blitz Brace Power Lift Rupees: 0 Rupees Personality: Vox is an affable man, if a bit soft-spoken. Belaying his relatively imposing exterior, both in and out of armor, Vox prefers more to observe a conversation than be directly involved in it. Having grown up as the middle of five children, there were many occasions in which he found it far easier to let his siblings speak up for him. Some mistake his silence as the sign of a dull mind or a lack of confidence, but the truth is a lot more simple: he just doesn't have a lot to say. Rather than ask permission or describe a scene, Vox prefers to demonstrate with action and example. He is expressive with his body language, and those that know him pay keen attention to the movements of his hands and body, rather than the few words they manage to pry from his mouth. Having spent his youth in the farmlands of Lon Lon Ranch, Vox is relatively well grounded, with little patience for needless postulation or waste, both in time and of effort. While not aggressive nor brash, Vox is always ready to leap into the fray or lend a helping hand. While perhaps not conventionally honorable, or at least not when compared to the modern Hylian knight of nobility, Vox follows his own code of morality. He is not overly concerned with etiquette nor formality, nor does he suffer any compulsion to always play by the rules. Conversely, Vox believes in the solemn duty of the strong to protect and provide for those weaker, and knows the great value to be found in hard work and perseverance. Rather unexpectedly, Vox pursues scholarly education with as much vigor as he does his physical fitness. Though not as innately talented as some, his insatiable curiosity has brought him valuable insight, and assuredly an endless number of mistakes and headaches. Vox is deeply invested in pushing the limits of both his body and mind, and often travels to Castle Town's vast and comprehensive library, carting dozens of rented books to and fro. Backstory: My birth was a quiet event, I am told. I entered this world with little pomp and circumstance, my eyes opening their first just past midnight, whence most other families lay asleep in their beds. Indeed, only my father, mother and her sister were still awake at the time, my eldest brother and sister having long since fallen asleep in the hay of the barn. We had been travelling for some months, our family’s merchant caravan, and had been circling back for its return trip home: I had been expected around the time of arrival, when my mother could see me born in the comfort of hearth and home. Few things go according to plan, of course, so it came as no surprise that I broke my shell in the barn of a sleepy village during our travels back north. Our return home was uneventful and idyllic, as were the following years of my youth, and during these more recent years, I have often found my mother and father pining for the prosperity of that time. There are times I find even myself thinking back on those days in blissful reverie, though my memories of them are hazy at best. One memory, though, I recall with such clarity that I can still feel the crisp night air in my lungs, the warmth of the night’s fire upon my feathers. I had only just begun to speak, the time where every child voices their thoughts as quickly as they come to mind. There was a Goron travelling with us at the time, though I can no longer remember his name. Now that I have grown, I realize he was small for his kind, though at the time he seemed a lumbering giant, as if the ground would tremor with every step. It was that night that I asked him only one question of import, and that night in which his answer was emblazoned upon my heart. “Why do you carry sword and shield? We have seen no monsters or bandits in our travels, and the roads have been safe for several years!” I expect my memory may be imperfect, for I doubt I spoke with such eloquence and focus. His words ring true, though, however time may pass. “I bear them for you, little one. I carry this burden in the hopes that such a time may never pass, when you, and those like you, must take up arms.” I would be many years before I understood the meaning behind those words, though at the time I was content to have an answer. It was only a few years later in which that great blight made itself known, that scourge bearing the name Ganon. My family has not seen the guardsman since, and I can only assume he perished in battle against those dark creatures, as many of his kind have since. My eldest brother, too, fell to Ganon’s armies. I can still recall the deep anger my parents felt when he left for the front, when the war had only just begun. I can still feel their profound sorrow when he returned to us in an urn of ashes, born from the battlefield by scarred and wounded comrades. As a young boy, my own feelings mirrored theirs. Where was that that noble mercenary, that proud warrior, with his promises to defend the weak, the innocent who could not defend themselves? Why was it that my brother, still just a boy not much older than I, would never walk through our doorway again, smiling in exhausted bliss from a long day in the markets? Hyrule had heroes aplenty, so where had they gone? I understood little then, but perhaps the rage and sorrow I felt led me to the path I would eventually find myself upon. There were others out there, other young men and women, for whom no hero would arrive to send them home, to return them to their families. I would take it upon myself, then, to become their shield, bearing the load so some might never have to. I was still too young to enlist, however, and far too inexperienced in war to accomplish my goals. Thankfully, there were others who shared my feelings, comrades that I would lean upon in the coming years. It was our Captain, Dorian, that first brought us together, and he that eventually led us to war. I still cannot write, much less speak of those years in detail. Of those of us that left the battlefield, so few returned; the once proud Fokka is nothing more than a handful of tired, world-weary men. Did I accomplish my goals? Most certainly. But for every soldier we relieved, for every wounded man and woman we carried out from the battlefield, we saw two more die. Those fortunate northerners lucky enough to have never gone to war, nor be remotely close to the front lines, imagine bodies lining razed and trampled fields, mothers and their children shivering in the dark, hoping the scent of their refuse and fear aren’t found by the monsters roaming the dark. The cruel reality is that it’s far, far worse. Those of our unit that still live, from our self-dubbed knighthood, still go to those killing fields. Despite our disfigurements, our twisted memories and dark thoughts. Some, like our captain, do so out of honor and obligation. Others still, out of habit. Some, like me, return for the memory of a small child, hoping in the twilight that a loved one will return with day’s light. ~ Vox Erebus, A Brief Memoir
