Name: Xiuhcoatl "Kevin" Mirsoff
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: Perhaps more obscure than your typical young man, Xiuhcoatl has strangely pale skin. Various parts of his body are speckled with small red dots (known as cherry hemangioma). His eyes are a dull grey. His slicked back hair is a brighter white than his skin, but the roots of which are visibly black. He wears a black half-face mask that covers his mouth and the top portion of his neck. He also wears a black suit made of a flexible and lightweight material with armoured pads along the chest and abdomen. His hands are sheathed by gloves of a contrarily durable and rough material to aid him in hand-to-hand combat. A midnight blue cape decorates his back with the symbol of the Shadow Guard outlined in white on its centre. A utility belt holds his weapons.
Occupation: Assassin of the Shadow Guard
Weapon of Choice: In his main hand, he wields a dagger he calls The Crooked Man. Its blade is double-edged and comprised of iron extracted from a meteorite. The Crooked Man's hilt is made of pyrite and indented in order to fit to his hand. It weighs him down minutely as he fights, but its composition is lethally toxic if it is to come in contact with the bloodstream. Just to reinforce this, he tends to coat the blade in natural toxins when he's on the field. In his off hand is a second dagger he calls The Weeping Bride. Its a beautiful and delicate weapon with a blade of magnesium alloy and a hilt of ivory. Both daggers have been blessed by a cleric's apprentice, granting him the ability to regenerate minor wounds and regain stamina during a battle.
Abilities: Xiuhcoatl possesses incredible wits and charms, as well as a great deal of swiftness and flexibility. He also possesses great magical strength and prowess, but he condemns his own abilities as unnatural and refuses to use/learn how to use the arcane arts.
***
It was either the best or worst day of Xiuhcoatl's life. He had gotten more than ahead of himself in his enthusiasm to take down the dreaded Thunderblade that he had separated himself from the rest of the group. And yet, who could blame the young fanatic in any sense? He was only beginning his career, and killing one of the Shadow Guard's greatest antagonists could paint him in a new light in the eyes of his superiors. He had only barely passed the qualifications of the Guard's rigourous training and, anticlimactically, the sole reason he had been selected to join the legion's men in arms was because several men died during an expedition trip and a spot for assassin opened up.
Not only that, but he wasn't supposed to stray from his far more experienced fellowmen, who feared for the young man's safety slightly less than they cared about their own. Their brigadier-general would be calling a prayer for Xiuhcoatl's departed soul the moment she realized he was gone. Nobody expected him to survive on his own.
Still, he was a feared and adorned member of the Shadow Guard, right? With his trusty blades in hand, he could cut down any enemy in his path, right? How tough could some masked desperado who called himself "Thunderblade" really be?
He trekked along the surprisingly perilous hillside, treading as lightly as he could on his delicate feet. He moved noiselessly along craggy terrain and brushed soundlessly against countless shrubs. Clearly, the vegetation required much more sunlight than they provided with.
When he finally heard a gruff voice, he felt every nerve in his body explode into sensations he couldn't begin to process or describe. After peering ahead behind a boulder of an adequate size, his heart nearly gave out. He unsheathed his blades and he held his breath before springing out from his cover, spewing out some indiscernible battle cry, and lunging towards the man called Thunderblade with his daggers splayed.