[hider=Korvo][CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/F3s2u6X.png[/img]
[SUB][COLOR=FAAC58]Korvo  Granetti
◄  AGE: 25   ▎   MALE    ▎  HEIGHT: 6'1  ►[/COLOR][/SUB][/CENTER]

[SUB][COLOR=FAAC58]P R E S E N C E[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=a8a8a8]
	Korvo’s attire consists of a hooded shawl of khaki color, his clothes hid under such which need no extensive detailing as they exist for simple functionality. His pants are ragged and patched due to hard labor, boots up to his calves and button up checkered shirt that has seen better days. The most prominent feature of such would be his helmet that doubles as his mask. Of similar simplistic design, with running neon light on the side displaying it full working capacity. Quite resistant to heavy objects as his work as a construction worker demands such of it’s employees. Korvo is subtle, rather speak only when spoken to and is shy to some extent. He has a rather understanding personality of others issues, but being raised upon unfortunate circumstances has left Korvo to paths and decision he’s not unwilling to make. 

A rather soft soul, however. Very little if not, none have seen his appearance under the mask since he was in his late teens. It’s must’ve happen sometime when-- Nevermind. Korvo seems to realize his position in the world, and as such he is reserved and lenient. Some don’t live up to greatness, Korvo is one of those. He exist to struggle and overcome, but with such ‘strength’ a weakness bore too. A lack of dependence of others.   

He’s tall, of muscular physique, hands riddled with calluses and scars from working the fields and construction. From such you have a view of the color of skin that a soft colored natural tan. A tattoo up his sleeve of a snake coiling up the forearm.     [/color]

[SUB][COLOR=FAAC58]C H R O N I C L E[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=a8a8a8]
	I haven't known peace. The landscape known as the net is a minefield, treading upon it seems almost impossible. Nothing but crux's of false information and propaganda, more about the residing factions but naught can't be trusted. Anything outside of that is all but prayers to our Aesir. There isn't a place where I can speak without being heard, or even think without being watched. Everything is done under the guise of secrecy, and yet everything is being monitored with precision. From the moment I close my eyes to rest, to when I wake up to go to work. Every secular instant I have to show and demonstrate a sense of direction. I've never known anything else. Every payday I see a declining fair of credits, guess today's not enough to fill my stomach either. Perhaps I should've attempted more, maybe tried out for something different. I'm stuck at this interval in my life, and I can't seem to rummage out of it. I've never known anything but poverty, and opportunities slip out of my grasps constantly. "Hey, kid. You're holding up the line." 

	Stammering, I glance at the man whose grimace had been growing intense. I gave a final stare at the screen, the visuals displaying my [i]'wealth'[/i] before me, a sigh escapes me. I close the windows, I don't retrieve anything from it. "Sorry." That is the only thing that mumbles out of my breath. My step is slow, littered with the weight of my thoughts like pulling on a ball and chain. It hasn't gotten better since the fracture. Maybe it's worse than anticipated. My stomach growls and roars, nothing to do now but to put my hand upon it and wait for it to settle. Almost like a drunk leaving a bar after a night full of disappointments, my trail seems to lead me nowhere. Rumors has it that, once, men and woman could parade the streets of their towns blissfully unaware of their own existence, their world. That mortality was something of a privilege, and smiles would litter their faces. My work is a testament of a hierarchy, a construction worker. The calluses of my hands are their own history, the stories I've built and the homes I've forged are all that separates me from a common man. But my job is no better than that of a janitor, I provide and home many, yet I am unsung in the channels of legend. It's not exceptionally great work. Perhaps the melding is the worse part. Every day, every week, ever passing moment I know no peace.

	A bothersome sweat runs through my forehead, yet I cannot do anything about it due to the mask. I will not take it off to sooth it. Although the stars of night might glimmer a path to some, they are but adornments upon a shifty night. The smell permeates through the mask, the toxicity of the air, the smell of everyday. I run my fingers through my pockets, nothing but lint and dust. Perhaps even from the work of today. They flee from my grasp and fall upon soil. I find myself lost, searching for hope in the small town of my home, Helston. The side of my lip extends instinctively. A sigh escapes me, a bodily function at this point. I cross my arms and decide to step home, after my delivery. The journey doesn't take me long, my feet are strong and able, my hands are sturdy, and the scars are the testament of a life I rather keep behind me. The door is what bars my path between now and the inside. I hesitate... although my hand is outstretched, the finger do not curl upon the knob. I instead, knock. Once, twice, three time in conjunction. A thud, a hop and a lead, rummaging could be heard from the other side, something was making a racket or perhaps better yet, something was escaping. Not before long, something slid on the door. Eyes peered out to witness the masked man in the entry staring back with almost intimidating silence. "Korvo..." 

	The tone felt forced, oozed of disgust and annoyance. There was nothing beyond his sight that could be perceived, but this youth known as Korvo could tell, that his face had soured incomprehensibly. "I hope, for your sake, that this is worth my time." Korvo remained silent, but pulled back waiting for the doors to open. A few clanks and click and a woman comes out first, fixing her jet black hair and tilting it to a side. Finger functioning as a brush with them tracing across her locks. We exchange a glance and she smiles. I remain focus, on the man of large statue cigar on hand and, as expected grimace on mien. "Well, what are ye waiting for piss-ant!? Hurry up and get the fuck in." Demanding, as always. This was Venito however, his tones never shifted beyond anger and screams. I follow, the inside is about as seemingly as a graveyard, although the lights illuminates the room on dark velvet, the man waste no time to get to the point. "What do ye want." 

	"A place to stay." 

	"Blimey little prick, I told ye if you came 'ere to waste me time I would fuck you up so hard, ye'd wish ye mother would've swallowed." He point with his cigar, the ashes drop on my shoe and I can feel the heat and smoke through the filters of the mask. "Take that shit off ye head." Korvo remains silent, the man makes and abrupt swing, Korvo winces but Venito stops halfway. A laugh escapes him, his grimace ever so present however. "There's a can of soup in the fridge, you so as much touch anything else I'll hang ya by your balls." Korvo nods, of course. Korvo needed to act the weaker man, my feet are strong and able, my hands are sturdy, and the scars are the testament of a life I rather keep behind me. "I'll use the bathroom first." 

	"Whatever!"

	Hands now doused on running water.  He was tired, so much so the heaves began to escape his lungs. A cough followed by another, reaching to the mask, the metal and glass which hid his features, the tremble of his fingers which became tremors once they met the steel. Such was less of a mask and more of a helmet designed under cheap components. The seal which would pry the locks open stood inches away from his fingers, the gloss fo black that shielded his features, no lids of any kind, no pupils to allow any sort of contact to his visage. He was hidden entirely under the safety of his helmet. He pulled away and kept it on, he wouldn’t take it off. He exited and headed straight unto the kitchen, pressed a button on wrist which exposed his mouth, eating the cold can of soup with an attempt to satiate his hunger. It wasn’t much… but for Venito, it was appreciated.     [/color]

[SUB][COLOR=FAAC58]M E M O R I E S[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=a8a8a8]
	Venito Lambardi: It's hard to say the relationship he and Korvo have. They aren't related by blood and most of the time it seems that he thinks of Korvo as a lost cause. He is a disgusting role model, a short tempered, foul mouthed and perverse individual with no redeeming qualities. Korvo doesn't seem to mind his games, and his attitude too much. Venito has never been an easy man to deal with and much less one to be around with. But when you've been through so much it's hard to judge a man who's simply has an attitude problem. Venito is no saint, but he's help Korvo in a time of need and that's enough to win him some trust. 

Ashwin Bernard Rhodes: His colleague from a past work and childhood friend. Polar opposite of Korvo, much like day and night. His upbringing was much better than Korvo’s and holds a important position in a medical facility. Always interested in what Korvo’s doing, though as the years gone by they’ve encountered only distance. He and his younger sister seem to be very close. The most prominent memory that they have together was when they were both twelve years of age, when Korvo stole a baseball for his birthday because he didn't have to money to buy one.

Sybil Juno Rhodes: Younger sister and apprentice doctor at the facility her brother commands. Very intelligent young lady, with equally short temper. She grew up rather stuck up and snobby, but managed to settle down with age. She’s very close to her brother, so much so that she decide to take similar routes in the area of study. Disappointed with Korvo for choosing a life of mediocrity, however she has come to terms if so ever so slightly with it. Korvo once played the piano on her birthday... After getting scolded he decided it would be better this way than to steal again. [/color][/hider]