[color=0072bc]Name: [/color]
Cain
[color=0072bc]Age: [/color]
Unknown, assumed mid-20's
[color=0072bc]Race: [/color]
Human
[color=0072bc]Appearance: [/color]
Cain's face is always covered by his hood and face mask, showing only his unflinching and seemingly unblinking dull gray eyes. The skin shown on his face and hands is ghostly pale and generally laden with scars, marks and specs of grime.

Cain is roughly six feet tall and very lean, his armour hugging to his body rather than hanging from it, though he has no real muscle mass or noticeable weight to him making him rather unimposing up close. Cain's hair is long and unkempt, whilst he generally ties it to his back to avoid it getting in his eyes a strand or so will usually rest against his forehead. Cain's face and posture rest in a perpetually neutral state, showing no indication of aggression or any other emotion for that matter.


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[color=0072bc]Attire: [/color]
Cain wears a set of relatively common black leather armour, many jest of it being that colour because he seldom takes it off, he also wears a bandolier across his chest containing several throwing knives. Cain's armour hugs his frame extremely tight granting him no detriment to his movement. Cain also has a plain black cloak with the hood attached to a black face mask allowing his identity to be concealed at all times even during high speed chases. His bow and arrows remain slung behind his back and his armour carries various other knives and daggers in case of emergency, such as his boots.

[color=0072bc]Bio: [/color]
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The badlands of Piñura see activity almost solely for their iron rich veins and occasional hunting of the creatures deep in the desert. But there are those who call the dusty wastes home, the tribes who have embraced the civilized land's interest in their home and the natives who have shunned such involvement and stay in the deeper regions of the land.

One such group of natives thrived solely through strength and blood lust, lacking any true knowledge to sustain themselves with crops and water they resolved to attack and pillage travelers and other tribes to survive in the desert. The tribe's name has long since faded from history but their attacks and maniacal painted warriors are still talked of as a common tale around campfires. Their attacks would begin with a blood curdling screech as they would surround their prey and relentlessly attack until their targets surrendered and were killed or died before then. 

One member was a young man with awkwardly cut black hair and the same paint as his brethren, though he preferred to take a calmer more strategic approach as opposed to his brethren who would charge into the slaughter with reckless abandon. Because of the young man's more mindful approach and far less bloodthirsty demeanor he was shunned as being weak or cowardly, it was not until he had turned eighteen that he was begrudgingly added to the regular group of pillagers, as a standard sword bearer who was more for canon fodder than anything else.

With a few close calls the young warrior seemed to adapt but his skill with a sword was never up to the standard of his comrades, a fact which eventually led to his near death. Whilst attacking a caravan the tribe was driven off after their prey proved to be surprisingly effective in combat, whilst some fell the majority managed to flee and regroup elsewhere in the desert, the young warrior was not so lucky, taking an arrow directly to his shoulder he had fallen to the ground and lacked the strength to preform the standard tribe response of ripping the arrow out and continuing the fight.

Through some miracle however the caravan of traders took some pity on the tribesman after he attempted to surrender in his native tongue. Whilst he was not welcomed with open arms they did treat and bandage his wounds as well as allowing him some of their food, though he was still closely monitored throughout his stay. After being shown kindness he had not received at any point in his life the young man stayed the night with the traders, his hands restrained for safety but he spoke with one of the night guards very amicably, where he learned some about the world outside of Piñura.

The experience was short lived however, during the conversation where the guard talked to the tribesman about his fondness and eagerness to see his family again a spear was thrown directly into the side of his head, surprising the warrior and covering him in the guards flecks of brain and blood. His tribe had returned, in greater numbers and resolving to attack at nightfall, the caravan was slaughtered almost effortlessly as the surprise left them unable to effectively defend themselves. The tribe ransacked the caravan and left their disgraced comrade bound and shivering on the floor, coated in the blood of the only people who and treated him with any decency.

For most of the night the warrior lay silently in the fetal position, the look of surprise still etched clearly on his face. Eventually however he struggled to his feet and hobbled over to the guardsman now half buried in the sand, he took the keys and undid his restraints. Like a zombie the young warrior shuffled into the direction of his tribe's encampment. 

The sun had rose on the tribe's camp, but no one stirred. The rug floors and sand were coated in the blood of its inhabitants, the majority of which seemed to carry only a straight gash across their neck. Certain members however carried several vicious marks in their chest and stomach, but no member seemed to show any sign of struggle, it was as if a creature in the night had simply swept through and extinguished the denizens without hassle.

The camp and its tribe has since been claimed by the sand, another relic amongst the foundations of the desert. The warrior himself stumbled away from the deadlands without purpose, without vindication. Those who had shown him kindness were dead, those who had shown him hatred were dead. He himself had partaken in their raiding and had then slaughtered all of them, families and warriors alike. The young man had been shown firsthand that nothing truly matters in this world and that all anyone knows or values can be removed in nothing more than a few hours. He was changed, a husk that still breathed.

Years later rumors began about a living shadow that would kill without discrimination quickly and efficiently, as though the arrows were guided by demons he would strike down anyone, for the right price.

Referred to simply as Cain the assassin would be contacted by nobles of varying standing and class all for the simple task of bringing in or erasing someone that they needed dealt with. As an emotionless killer Cain's employers generally prefer not to speak to him for prolonged periods of time, some because they find his calm manner disturbing and some plainly find him describing his emotions very annoying. Even still he has proven to be worth the money and whilst relatively unknown in the underworld of hired killers his skills come highly praised.

Cain operates primarily in Falke where the bright banners and upstanding churches provides a much needed blanket for the assassin to operate in, after all who would suspect a masked assassin among the yelling in the market and the warm insides to family and noble homes. Whilst he can't be everywhere at once and does indeed miss contracts entirely due to the travel time it is knowledge among those who commonly call upon his services that the best way to contact him is through the shady underbelly of Falke.

When everyone is expendable including yourself, feelings tend to become an antiquated concept. It would be easy to assume Cain simply kills for the money and nothing else, but deep down he cares for nothing, killing only because it is what he has been bred to do and what he feels is the only thing he deserves to do until he is bested and shown no mercy the second time around.
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[color=0072bc]Personality and Aspirations: [/color]
Despite Cain's threatening appearance those who have dealt with him describe him as being extremely odd. The least of which being that he doesn't seem to wash. The man is seemingly emotionless, speaking only in ever a flat monotone voice and his face never flinching from a neutral setting, because of this Cain has developed the eerie quirk of simply enunciating the emotion of which he is speaking in prior to talking, it is solely for his employer's benefit but he does it so often it appears it's the only way he can talk these days.

[color=0072bc]Inventory: [/color]
- The Blackwood Bow, a jet black bow custom fitted to allow for longer firing distances and a marker attached to the side for a slight assist to aiming a shot. the string is loosened somewhat to allow Cain to draw an arrow for longer than normal before his arms tire.
- Four Steel Throwing Knives, attached to a bandolier on Cain's chest these knives are used only for mid-range combat or to incapacitate a fleeing target by being thrown at their legs. Whilst Cain favors his bow he is also an excellent shot with these, though he considers the knives more of an investment than a viable weapon
- Quiver, segmented to allow differing arrow types to be held and separated to avoid misuse. Common steel arrows are kept on the far left, rope arrows are kept in the centre for aid in climbing and poison tipped arrows are kept on the far right, there is also a small segment at the centre bottom for a few silver arrows, mainly due to Cain subscribing to the superstition that silver harms the Undead much more effectively. The quiver carries fifteen standard and poison arrows, five rope arrows and five silver arrows (Though Cain generally swaps these for whatever benefits the job)
- Two Daggers, kept strapped safely to the side of Cain's boots these are used solely for when someone has closed the distance between him and gotten in close
- Plain bag, Strapped around Cain's waist and resting on the bottom of his back, this bag carries the rest of Cain's worldly possessions which happens to be a few spare and experimental arrows, the money from his jobs that he can carry, a waterskin and whatever food he's stolen for the night.

[color=0072bc]Skills: [/color]
[u]Assassin[/u] - Fighting with grace and finesse rather than strength and brawn Cain is trained in the art of dodging enemy attacks and whittling them down with daggers or preferably at long range with his arrows. He is also much more suited to stealth with his athletic skills and velvet tread.
[u]Emotionless[/u] - Whilst it may seem like more of an irritant than a skill, Cain's lack of any conveyance in emotion save for his standard pre-speech enunciation means it is near impossible for someone to tell when he is lying, telling the truth and most importantly, what he is truly thinking. His lack of visual cues make him an unpredictable foe both in battle and in simple conversation.
[u]Aim[/u] - Cain does indeed miss his shots on occasion but more often than not he will reliably hit what he's aiming for and has managed to utilize this to create alternate pathways with rope arrows and utilize choke points on larger groups of enemies
[u]Languages[/u] - Abbalic, Piñuran

[color=0072bc]Current Location: [/color]
Falke