Name: 
[indent]Rust (Suvi Soccoli - Forgotten)[/indent]

[img=http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b271/dposcuro/Other/Skeleton_Knight_by_maxarkes_zps9fb7e148.jpg]

Age: 
[indent]Unknown (Awakened Estimated to be between 100-150 years old. Was 22 when he perished)[/indent]

Race: 
[indent]Intelligent Skeleton[/indent]

Height: 
[indent]5'10"[/indent]

Physical Description: 
[indent]Nothing more than a walking skeleton of a long dead human male, his bones the color of aged parchment with dark stains mottling his lower half. The only noticeable deformity, being the ragged gash broken through the left side Lacrimal bone and into his left eye socket of what must have been the blow that killed him, countless years ago. However, he wears what was once an ornate suit of armor that would have been worth a Knight's share, now a ruin of its former glory, though cleaned. Pitted and showing signs of metal erosion, the runes that were once engraved, now illegible and lost. Inlay and filigree eroded to dust. A few desiccated scraps of leather remain, while new works of leather and chain have been added, to hold the ill-fitting suit to his bony frame. [/indent]

Personality:
[indent]Tolerant, and accepting, Rust is fairly relaxed about the choices of others. He holds himself however, to a strict code of honour, in protecting those who need it, and defending himself only when his own existence may be threatened. Hard to anger, and hard to unsettle, yet he is deeply concerned about his own self in the means that he desires to understand his own memories.[/indent]

Abilities: 
[indent]Due to the fact that he is a skeleton, he has no flesh to be harmed, and no flesh to fuel, absolving him of the need to breathe or eat. He is powered by something beyond his knowledge, be it a soul, magic, or some natural phenomena he has no understanding of. Because he has no muscles, he cannot tire from work; yet he has a mind that needs rest to process what he encounters, although less time than most people. His lack of flesh and organs conspires to him lacking a great deal of mass, weighing a scant twenty-seven pounds without his armor or weapons, while the metal, wood and leather add only sixty-four pounds to his mass. Through reasons unknown, his strength matches that of the strongest men. Combining his strength, with his extremely little weight, enables him to move much quicker than many would expect. Strangely, he does weigh a bit more on average than a normal skeleton, and his bones seem to be tougher than the average bones of normal skeletons. Damage dealt to his form is regenerated, but not instantaneously. When dismembered, he is able to retain control of his limbs within a rough twenty foot radius, and awareness of where his limbs are within a hundred foot radius.[/indent]

Weaknesses: 
[indent]With his lack of skin, flesh and organs, comes a complete void of his sense of smell or taste. His sense of touch is reduced to a vague notion of pressure, which make it hard for him to gauge how tightly he holds something, or how hard he is hitting something. He can't tell if something is smooth, or rough very easily at all. As well, his feathery weight makes it phenominally easy to push him around in the physical sense. It is easy to lift him from the ground and cast him aside. Without connective tissue, he is relatively easy to be dismembered. Perhaps his biggest weakness (besides being a highly unnatural, walking, talking skeleton), is that his mental state isn't the most stable, as his memories, his very identity is shattered. He does not know who he is, what he is, why he is, or where he is. He doesn't understand a lot of the technology that currently exists (Would probably be more baffled by it if he DID remember his old life).[/indent]

Gear:
[indent]Ancient sword of once phenomenal quality, now broken, fractured, and pitted from a century of neglect. Currently cleaned and oiled to protect it from further degradation, and contained in a rather plain, modern, leather scabbard slung diagonally on his back.
Modern, single edge sabre of decent quality, retained at his left waist.
Well made Yew longbow, carried unstrung in a scabbard attached to his quiver.
Quiver/pack: A quiver designed to carry 48 shafts, along with a number of pouches contained a supply of arrowheads for making replacement shafts, tools to make more shafts themselves, or a replacement bow as necessary. Spare bow strings. Sharpening stones, two bottles of vegetable oil.[/indent]

History:
[indent]Pain, light, and sensation jolted him awake. Rust woke to find himself leaning against the shattered remains of a castle wall, his legs and lower abdomen buried under the soil and roots of the bramble thicket that had tendrils hooked into his eye sockets. Seeing his skeletal arm for the first time as he attempted to scratch the offending vegetation from his face was a violent shock of realization...mixed with abject terror and utter confusion. He didn't know why, but he knew something was wrong. Soon the realization dawned on him however, he didn't understand what was wrong, because he had no basis to comprehend. When he tried to think, understand, or draw on something...his mind give his brief, fleeting flashes of light, colour, abstract shapes that meant nothing. He knew, somehow, they were memories. It was something important. But it was like being trapped within a frosted glass bottle in the middle of a lightning storm while stained glass windows swirled around outside. Nothing make a cohesive form, nothing made a whole. Any time he thought he could focus on a shape, it would simply dissolve from his mind and leave like a dream, slipping through the cracks.

Slowly, he began to dig his way out of the ground, ripping the thick, thorny brambles from his bones, and the scraps of armor that he could not bear to part with. He found the rusted blade underneath himself, and dug it out as well, never knowing why he bothered. Scrambling through brambles and thickets of overgrown wilderness, Rust eventually just started walking. Four and a half months of walking, and he found himself outside Jek. His first approach was rebuffed by a flurry of arrows, and artillery rounds digging into the soil about him. That night, in the dark, the night watch reported the strangest sight; a figure was walking out in the cleared area, picking the arrows, javelins, and round shot from the ground, and stacking it near the road, well within longbow range, but never seeming to attempt to get close to the wall. The next day, they found the Skeleton standing behind the piled ammunition, silently waiting. They fired upon him again, and once more, he returned at night, stacking the ammunition. On the third day, a small party was formed, and a band of defenders left the wall to collect the piled ammunition, and take the skeleton as a prisoner for the time being. It complied.

After weeks of interrogation, it was concluded that the skeleton was obviously intelligent, it spoke, and it could even read, a surprise to both sides of the table. It did not appear to be malevolent nor evil. The only thing it asked for, was to be put to some use. First tasked with cleaning the prison under the watchful eyes of the guards, to loading and unloading supplies. A year passed without incident, and the Skeleton had its belongings returned to it. It soon began taking a place on the outer walls at night, watching for the approach of enemies in the darkness. To the guards of the watch, the skeleton became a comrade, it was quiet, honorable, and never seemed to grow tired of staring out into the darkness. A variety of nicknames was bestowed upon him, but the longest lasting was "Rustle", which eventually was shorted to Rust. He proved himself to be a capable archer, an a strong ally.

Yet his existence away from the wall was less than ideal. He was continually aware that he did not fit in with the populace. They were scared of him, untrusting, some to the point of hating him. Compounding this, he felt a longing to understand just what he was, why he was, and most importantly, who was he? After seeing the notice of the meeting, he decided to make a change. A written note to his commander, explaining his dereliction of duty in utmost detail, was left behind. [/indent]