Sylas

[Sylas]

Sylas

The Vengeful Slave

Race: Lotharro
Date of Birth: 10th Saun, 696
Age: 27 Arcs old (this lifetime)

[Sylas]

Personality

"I will never go back. Never."

After lifetimes of torment and torture at the hands of a sick and cruel master, Sylas is a smart and resourceful man. Having seduced, lied and fought his way through life to find some purpose for himself he has finally found freedom, and under no circumstances does he plan on losing it. But the constant hunt from his former master, the continuous barrage of attacks and the eternal risk to his freedom left him volatile and cautious. Nobody is to be trusted outright, everybody is a threat - and anybody is a target.

Despite this, and the torture he has endured, Sylas truly means well. He simply lives in a world where his survival must be put above the survival of others.

Appearance

"He told me that my beauty was a weapon to be wielded."

Sylas wears a deceptively handsome and charming face, his lifetimes of training coming back to him over and over. Damien, his master, needed a weapon that could charm anyone into his grasp before using them for his sick experiments. Even now, despite his supposed freedom, Sylas can’t turn off the charm he has trained so long to use. He dresses well, maintains good grooming and keeps an air of pride in how he looks - using it as a defence mechanism against the cruel world.

Underneath his clothes is a well-built, athletic, powerful body thanks partly to his Lotharran genetics. Covering that body, however, are scars and markings. Runes from Hone, including his naming rune. Scars remaining from the various torture used on him, such as Runes carved permanently into his skin so he will never forget them. Each a reminder of his twisted master, a marking of property - and a threat of what will come should he ever be caught.

[Sylas]

History

"Lifetimes gone by, wasted, because of him."

Born and raised to a man known as Damien DeLevatrix in the wilderness outside of Etzos, Sylas knew nothing of his life aside from the face that raised him. He was fed, cleaned and cared for in a house that was far fancier than most would live in. Yet the man was never kind, never caring or nurturing. There was a strange aura to him, power and authority, but something more. Once the duty of keeping the boy alive was done, often by the servants, Sylas was left to fend for himself. On occasion a servant would show him pity and help him in secret, take care of him when nobody else watched. Yet those servants rarely seemed to last, eventually 'quitting' their station after some time.

During later adolescence Sylas was suddenly the focus of the mans attention. Now that the screaming and crying had passed, he was taught and developed. The ways of a forge, how to move quietly through a room, how to defend oneself from others and how to speak with class and eloquence. All lessons he believed to be normal, as he never saw other children, only the few adults that were a part of his life. But finally relieved to be at the receiving end of some attention from the adult male figure in the house, Sylas took no issues. Anything was better than sitting in the silence of his room or walking the long, hollow hallways.

This training grew more and more intense as he grew older, his teen years causing a clear shift. Where Damien was once a calm and patient teacher, his methods became harsher. Each misstep in a fight would end with a small cut or a backhand to Sylas, each weapon poorly crafted in the Forge was the one he would use in their next sparring session. On top of it all, he was forced to memorize strange symbols that he wasn't told the meaning of, told that they would be important when the time was right. Something about them had a draw, an appeal that the boy couldn't explain. But it was there, and it was powerful.

This went on for Arcs, until eventually he was told of a quest he would be sent on, a mission that would unlock something important in him. Damien explained that some Lothar were chosen, powerful. When killed they would come back to be raised anew, as a gift from Thetros, and that Sylas was one of them. So he would travel with Damien on a journey, places he would remember, to unlock the memories deep inside of him from lives once gone. Sylas couldn't fathom it, yet the excitement was undeniable. Unlocking past memories, seeing the lives he had once lived, the adventures he had been on and the journey that led him to where he was now.

So the pair set out and travelled, taking a carriage and heading to local towns. Seeing places that Sylas was supposed to recognize, travelling for well over a season.

Until it came back.

The excitement faded to terror the night Sylas felt his past life come rushing to him. A slave. Damien's slave. And the life before, and the lives before that. So many that they blurred together as one - and every time he would raise the boy to this age and march him out to regain his memories. Damien was a necromancer, among other things, that had some form of sustaining himself. Something that Sylas had helped fuel across lifetimes. Seducing people, bringing them to the mansion only to be used in some magic experiments, consumed, never to be seen by the world again. He had been made to forge weapons that he then used to kill anyone that sniffed too close to the DeLevatrix home. Even delving into magic of his own. Those symbols, Hone Runes that he had memorized in a lifetime prior.

There was an immediate dread in his heart and a weight to his body, as if he knew running was not an option. Memories of past attempts were prominent. The punishments that came after. Scars that lingered through an entire lifetime. "Now do you understand, boy?" the man spoke in a harsh, familiar tone. Demeaning and cold. In that one night Sylas' entire perception changed, of the world around him and the people residing in it. All of his lifespans had been spent lying, seducing and killing for Damien. People were a means to an end, he said. For some time Sylas had felt bad for what he had done to those around. But as time went by he learned the hard way what empathy would get him. The few people he tried to save had died regardless, tortured first so that they suffered more than the others, and had become a new scar on his body as a reminder of what his mercy cost.

That same night Damien took the boy home. There was a glee to him, subtle but present. He took delight in watching Sylas suffer, watching his entire world unravel before his eyes. It was sadistic in ways that Sylas only understood because of memories of his past. Some men were evil out of necessity, others were evil by perspective. But Damien was pure, pure evil. If the world could fall to its knees for him he would make them - and that may well be the goal he had. Over lifetimes he had told Sylas of his mission, why he had Sylas train the way he did. Not only did he make weapons. But he ensorcelled, worked with wells for Damien's thralls - and some day, if he grew powerful enough, for Damien himself to ascend past mortality. Even his mutations could only keep him alive so long. He strived for Lichdom, and Sylas was his means to that end.

This lifetime proved no different to the others. He trained, he learned, he suffered. When he forgot runes he had them carved into his body so that he would never forget them again, and the naming rune that appeared when his magic reawakened from past lives was a reminder of the power that Damien had given him. Not because he wanted Sylas to be powerful, but because he wanted him to be just powerful enough that he could do whatever Damien wanted, without ever being enough to oppose the Necromancer himself. None of the weapons he forged would be enough to do any real damage, and even if they could, he couldn't get Wells for Ensorcelling without Damien knowing. It was a foolproof plan. An eternal servant, capable of doing what the dead often couldn't.

He continued the lives he had lived before, slaving away. Some trials were spent training, others were spent being tormented and many were spent luring victims to the manor. Refining his work as an Ensorcellor on basic wells, making daggers for himself, then going out and using them when needed. Arcs went by with no hope of escape, the thought entering his mind every day yet just as quickly being pushed to the side. Until Damien had overstepped. Forcing Sylas to take a bandit from a well-organized group of bandits, who eventually tracked him down in the Arc of 723.

The bandits, having seen a woman among their ranks leave a tavern with a handsome Lothar, followed him to ensure he was safe and had found the manor house. They waited, but their sister never came, and eventually that same Lothar was caught leaving the manor - with no woman at his side. The bandits regrouped to prepare, assuming Sylas to be some kind of serial killer that owned the house, before they finally decided on a confrontation. It was quiet in the dead of night, Sylas taking what little rest he could get in a room that barely functioned as a place to rest, with an intentionally uncomfortable bed. He heard the shatter of glass and shot up, hand reaching for the knife that he kept beside his bed, before taking a step into the great hall down below.

The bandits all stood, at least ten, weapons drawn and ready as they looked up the stairs at Sylas and demanded to know where their sister was. Yet before the man could speak came a booming voice, Damien walking from the other wing of the mansion before standing atop the stairs. "Gentlemen" his voice spoke, the same formal but patronizing tone he had always taken with Sylas. "It's so nice of you to join us this fine night - and so voluntarily. Sylas," he started, glancing to the Lothar, who almost found himself flinching in turn.

"Ready my workshop. We have volunteers."

It was then, at the snap of his fingers, that Damien turned to the bandits. A vocal command was given and a well-hidden Runic Trap was activated, causing all in its proximity to go blind in that moment. From a variety of doors that remained regularly locked came a heavy slam, before well-crafted Undead burst through, Revenants and other such thralls rushed forward to battle, as Damien started to Siphon those in the room around him. Sylas had an order to follow, yet he had not seen Damien fight to this extent in such a long time. Effortlessly pushing aside those that stood against him, ripping them apart with swarms of undead. It was enough to terrify him. But where he had been too afraid to move once, this was a different fear. Lifetimes had passed at the hands of Damien, lifetimes of torture. If he did not escape now, when would the next opportunity arise?

So as he rushed downstairs to the workshop, Sylas grabbed a small bundle of useful items. His weapons, a cloak to keep himself concealed and the ensorcelling kit he'd used many times. Then, rushing to the back exit, he banked on the bandits taking long enough to kill that Damien wouldn't notice he was missing.

That night, as he ran through the woods, he ducked into many crevices and hid in the shadows of many trees as Swarms of undead rats, bats and other vermin scoured the forests for him. Every second was agony, his heart threatening to stop in his chest from pure adrenaline and anxiety. Every time he started running it took every bit of strength he had to stop, afraid that one wrong step would be the end of the road. That he would be torn to pieces by the undead, then brought back and raised all over again. Another life gone. He couldn't. The torture he would endure for this act of defiance would last eternities. This had to be the time.

Now or never.

Despite the long, agonizing night that he endured he had finally made it to a place he could stop - though partly due to the fact that his body could press on no longer. Was he truly free? As he glanced around he saw faces in each shadow. Yet none of them were real. So, he got what rest he could, his body shattered, before forcing himself to get up and move. He had to move far from here, far from Etzos and anyone that might be after him. Damien had more than undead at his disposal. Servants, humans that worked for him, even those in the city that knew of him. They would hunt Sylas down for what he had done. Drag him back kicking and screaming for whatever sick reward they may be given.

So he ran, making his own way. Settling down for one night at a time in taverns, never drinking too much, not until he was far enough away. Until eventually, in early Ymiden, he arrived in Scalvoris. It was a far island, home to many great names and many strong faces. Damien would never dare step foot here himself, even if he was powerful. Which meant all he had to worry about in the shadows were assassins. It was still a threat, but it was more than he expected in terms of safety. It gave him a place to be his own man, to learn and grow - to prepare. Because regardless of how safe he felt, Sylas wasn't ever free. Not as long as Damien lived.

Which just meant that some day, he had to die.

[Sylas]

Belongings

"I'm my own man now, I'm free..."

Wealth tier: 5

Ensorcelling Kit (Tier 7) - (Heirloom)
Average Steel Daggers x5
Average Steel Knives x5
Average quality clothing
Masterwork Leather Armor

Housing

"...free from his grasp."

A simple house in Scalvoris Town, Sylas lives in little comfort, yet it does enough. While the man is used to living in a luxury home he is far from used to enjoying such luxuries himself. Despite this simplicity, however, Sylas hopes to broaden his horizon to fancier things. Now that he is free he will become his own man, which means making his own home in his own image.

[Sylas]

Mutations

"Power. Power that he can't take away from me."

Witchmark (Hone) - Naming Rune. A large rune on his chest that is unique to him, marking his initiation many lifetimes ago in Hone.