[@Hokum]
Purple eyes widened in surprise at Devlin's question.  Most people would often ask about jobs or hobbies, but, as fate would put it, Ren would get the strangest of companions who dug their noses straight into the grindstone.  Not that he was hiding it or anything, but most people just did not care much about the jet-black sutures lining the spaces across his lips.  Soon, the look of surprise turned into a flustered reaction as a tint of pink dotted Ren's cheeks until a nervous yet voiceless chuckle followed suit.

He turned his sights behind him, taking note of the rather unique set of individuals now accompanying them.  How Devlin managed to snag them all was beyond Ren, but, perhaps, this socially-challenged girl drew people to her side just by being herself.  She needed no theatrics, no show of bravado-- just her words of iron and will of steel.  Which came as no surprise when she threw these kinds of questions around.  Heren forbid that she asked their new companions this right away.

Ren faced her once more before nodding in response.  His eyes looked forward, gazing at the endless myriad of trees which shadowed over them.  In the dark, all things were laid bare, and this was the same with the winding road which served as the tapestry of Ren's life.  His hands trembled for a moment as the surge of memories slammed against the walls of his mind, like the waters slowly chipping away at a dam's structure before it breaks.  Then, he raised his hand, pointing it in the direction of the north as a reference to Aryali, before his two hands straightened.  Then, he circled his hands backwards in an alternating fashion before it landed on his shoulder.

[i]"Once upon a time,"  [/i]

Ren paused before continuing, a flash of pain glinting for a split-second within the purple irises before he breathed in to continue.

[hider=Long Backstory][i][center]
"Oi, Ren! Jarls Krias and Maard are here.  Get your ass inside the room!"

The fifteen-year old Ren nodded as he clutched the tattered tunic closer to his skin.  His eyes wandered over to the unknown figure looking back at him from the borders of the stained mirror.  Short and spiky shadows sat on top of his head, his lips muttering a silent prayer to Ragas for deliverance as he dove once more into the breach.

"How bad are their moods today?  They lost another skirmish against Jarl Ayasu?"  Ren's baritone, somewhat silvery voice echoed down the dim, torch-lit halls of the Warmth House.  "I pity the brothers.  They sacrificed so much and gained so little from their campaigns against the jarls of Frijosa."

Tuvan, the head of the Warmth House, turned around the corner with his arms crossed.  The skinny man shook his head at the young Ren before flicking his finger up to denote that Ren should already start taking off his shirt.  Tuvan spoke of how Ren's mouth should be as enlightened when servicing his customers lest he face the wrath of the defeated jarls.

"They just knocked out one of the guards at the front.  I'm pretty sure they'll beat Heren out of you; then again,"  Tuvan winked at the boy before ripping the tunic from him, exposing Ren to the merciless bite of the frosty air.  "You don't break nor die, do you?  But, you cannot protect everyone, Ren.  Tonight, maybe you were able to deliver Alayan from this fate with this sacrifice.  But, what about tomorrow?  The next week?  How long until your body breaks?"

"I will never regret what I did for her.  And, I will never break."  Ren gritted out his answer, his hands curled around his skinny figure before a harsh hand struck from the shadows and dragged the boy by the neck through the halls.  Jarl Krias' violence was only matched by his twin's sadistic tendencies, and by the time Krias slammed Ren for the last time against the wooden post of the bed, Maard had already driven a short dagger through Ren's gut.  Ren let out a suppressed cry of unimaginable pain.  Soon, Krias' gripped at the boy's throat, launching him across the room before Maard picked him up again to fling him back to the bed with a loud thud.

Like an animal, Ren clawed at the sheets in a futile attempt to escape until one of the jarls caged him with a dagger straight through Ren's hand.  The burly jarl's breath fanned against the boy's ear as Ren choked out a sob, snot and tears dribbling down his mouth.

"Tuvan reckoned dat ye can never hurt anyone-- dat killin' be not fer ye."  Maard scorned at the boy, digging the knife deeper between his carpal tunnel.  "Ye had the chance to kill Jarl Ayasu in exchange for yer freedom, but ye didn't take it 'cus ye lacked da spine to stain yer pretty little fingers."

Out of all the torment flowing through his nerves, Ren's consciousness could only focus on the intensifying burn in his sides where the blade struck him.  What was once a burn became a sear, and what was once pain became agony.  Ren swore that white-hot knives scraped against his bones as he could only think that the blade was envenomed.  His restraint broke, heralded by the screams tearing out from his mouth as Krias and Maard laughed in glee.

Immediately, Krias jumped at Ren with his fingers locking Ren's face in place.  "Shh, shh,"  He cooed, licking a filthy path along the boy's frothing mouth.  "Wouldn't want the guards to hear this."

Now, Krias was a man who dabbled in curses.  And, he felt it fit to use his talent on Ren.  He uttered a demonic incantation as eldritch threads and needles hovered in the air.  With Ren's howls unrelenting whilst Maard lavished his fury on the boy, Krias sealed the spell which caused the needles to pierce Ren's lips.  The demonologist sewed the threads into place with each puncture and stitch lasting like a lifetime.  With each completed stitch, Ren's voice lessened and lessened and lessened until it was naught but a squeak of air.  Soon, the signature raven puncture marks stained the lad's lips.

By the time the sun rose on the morrow, the boy was nothing but a pile of twitching limbs and gasping sounds as the bed ran red with blood.  While his cells desperately anchored his life to this wretched world, Ren's consciousness hovered between reality and dreams, one desperately wanting to escape into the other.  Ren gazed at the stone ceiling, etchings of deities and wars long gone chiseled upon its face.  Then, he closed his eyes and tried to utter a prayer to Ragas.

However, instead of a desperate and incoherent litany spilling from his lips, what came out was a whoosh of voiceless air and a sudden realization that, perhaps, the gods have abandoned him.
[/center][/I][/hider]

[i]"If I remember correct,"[/i] Ren signed with his right thumb coming down from his temple to tap on his raised left thumb.  [i]"As Krias said, I can only be free,"[/i]  His balled hands swung outward to the sides as if breaking shackles.  Then, his hands made a stabbing motion before looking at Devlin.  [i]"When I use my gift to kill a life."[/i]

Ren let the information sink in for a while before he shook his head with a sad smile.  He turned to Devlin to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as if to make her confident that he was now okay.

[i]"I know what hides in the heart of man.  I experienced the pure violence in a beating heart."[/i]  Ren nodded his head before raising his index finger. [i] "But, a heart can do great a violence, and while it beats, it can also do great kindness."[/i]  Ren's index, thumb, and middle fingers straightened before they curled towards one another.  Afterwards, Ren placed his straightened left hand on top of the mirroring yet horizontal right, then, he slid his left hand to the left side, ending it with a chop.

[i]"I cannot end a life,"[/i]  Ren shook his head.  [i]"Because as long as it beats,"[/i]  Ren raised his hands and opened them together which was followed with Ren raising his left index finger to pursue his right index finger.  Finally, Ren straightened his palms and swept them down over his eyes.  [i]"There is always light after darkness."[/i]

After he expressing ideas, Ren shrugged his shoulders before baring a fanged grin at Devlin as he scratched at his nape.  He began to sign again in a more comical manner as if he wanted to erase the depressing tale he shared.  

[i]"Of course, if someone could remove curses, then, that too would be great.  Save me the blood and the tattered clothes."[/i]