Kormin

[Kormin Voiceless]

Name: Kormin
Age: 29
Birthplace: Trading Post to the South of Mossflower
Gender: Male
Species: Hedgehog
Job/Position: Wandering Merchant, Performer, and Fighter
Physical Description:

He wears a simple brown tunic with a sturdy belt around his middle. since he wears brown he resembles a leafless sapling, tall and thin, if not for his face he would be a rather unremarkable specimen of a hedgehog. his head is a huge mass of burns and scar tissue. the worst scar is right over his voice box, it is a pink pulsing mass of tissue that flushes bright red when he feeling a extreme emotion.

the only thing other thing that stands out doesn't stand out at all. his spikes are dyed different shades of brown and grey in a complex rippling pattern that could, at first glace, be completely natural but blends into the shadows to well too be happenstance.

Belongings:

Kormin has a Pan Pipe which he plays as he travels and he keeps in great condition.

he has his well worn knapsack that carries his food, the few trinkets he has for trading, and what ever shiny rocks he picks up.

because of his affliction, the lack of voice, he has a pendent of well polished wood that has his name and nickname carved into it.

the last object he carries with uttermost loathing, he is never without his fathers old farm tool which Kormin converted to a War Scythe.

Personality:

Kormin is a very happy fellow, always with a smile on his face and a laugh in his heart. the very aspect of life and living is enough to brighten his day and bring a song bursting from his Pipe, under the skilled direction of his claws.

his happiness and spontaneity is what makes it hard for him to carry the Scythe. it is a tool of destruction and death, things he is greatly adverse to. the Scythe was also what his father died holding and what he extracted his revenge on the Vermin. both very painful memories.

his fighting with the Scythe is rare but also too common for his liking. his fighting is very wild and completely devoid of talent, it is a tool and he is just trying to finish the job.

the only real way to make him mad is to hurt somebeast which cant defend himself or to insult his family.

History:

he was born South of Mossflower in a Trading Post. Trading Town would be more accurate, the whole of Kormin's Family (grandbeast, cousins, aunts, uncles, and parents) all ran a single trading post.

the trading post itself was ran by his Grandbeasts while the rest of his extended family followed separate occupations such as Farming, Woodworking, Smithing and many others. but each hog would always give anything extra they made to the Grandbeasts.

His Family traded with all beasts, everyone from the simple farm beasts who needed more supplies too the Vermin selling off their loot for cheap grog.

it was a good life. Kormin learned much from his various elders including how to be a successful merchant and traveler.

it was in the Kormin's 25 year when disaster struck his peaceful family. a larger band of Vermin, after they got drunk on the grog they bought, set fire to the Post and the surrounding buildings. not content with destroying the structure they also slaughtered the Hog family.

Kormin survived by pure chance, his throat was mangled by a drunken rat and he was left for dead. he would be dead if not for the arrival some merchant-mice who pass often pass though.

enough said they saved Kormin's life and carved his name-pendent.

Kormin was consumed by the desire for revenge and altered his fathers Scythe, which he took from the dead paws of his sire. he changed the Scythe so the blade faced up like a spear and gave it a wooden handle, roughly 4 feet in length.

for the next two years he hunted the band of vermin that killed his family. since he couldn't find the band right away he would often take out his anger on other groups of vermin earning fame as a warrior fighting against hordes of vermin without a sound passing his lips.

finally in the spring of the second year he found the band he was looking for. they were all siting around a fire. since their drunken slaughter they had changed a lot, they had created a village of their own, given up raiding, and many even had little ones to care for.

one youngling was sitting by the fire playing a beautiful song upon a pair of pipes, it was a song that could make a stone cry and the clouds start to rain, it was a song that touched every heart string in ever creature, it was this youngling's song that made this band of vermin change from the raiders of peaceful villages too a peaceful village.

that song fell on Kormin's ears and rang flat. instead of seeing the reformed rats and weasels he saw his family dying again and again in his mind's eye. with a silent roar he sprang forth and repaid his families demise tenfold upon the helpless creatures.

Kormin slew every breathing creature within the village. afterwords he looked for the rat that had destroyed his face and his voice. he found the rat near the fire where Kormin had began his attack. lying next to the rat was the youngling with the pipe. Kormin stopped, as soon as he saw the pipe. he stopped and cocked his head to the side as if he could still hear the song, even after it had died long ago with the creature that made it.

he stood like that for what seemed like hours or even days, just looking at the pipe and listening to a music that only he could hear.

slowly he broke down, tears streamed down his cheeks, great silent screams shook his body as he saw what he had done. he saw the females stretched out desperately trying to shield their young from death, he saw the males were they had fallen heroically trying to defend their families with shovels and hoes. but most of all he saw the little ones. the little ones that he nearly cut in half with the great swings of his Scythe, the little ones he crushed with blows from his paws. the little ones and his family.

his family...he could see them lying among the ones who had killed them, lying their just as innocent and as simple as the ones he had killed in revenge. he saw he was nothing more then a monster without anything but blood.

it was then he changed his path. how could he not, he buried the slain beasts with the greatest respect. but most of all he took the pipe, the simple pipe, the simple pipe that gave him back his voice.

for the next few years he moved steadily north towards Mossflower, not knowing where he was going, but reviling in life and fighting only to save others from his fate. all the while speaking with the greatest clarity about the wonders of life through a younglings Pipe

Code Words: [[CORRECT]]

[Tirael]

Welcome to ToRA, Voiceless! Your bio's quite interesting--I'm glad to finally see a hedgehog around here. I only have one note: be careful about your grammar, particularly capitalization. This is an intermediate role-play, so do your best to avoid mistakes.

Other than that, it seems good to me. Accepted.