Hawlin — Roleplayer Guild

Name: "Red"
Age: Widely unknown though supposedly somewhere between 20 and 35

About [+]

Depictions and first-party accounts suspect Red stands around 5'10 and is clad in black-stained leather armor as well as their calling card. 'Red' is the name the story was given after the entity's scarlet, seemingly metallic cloak which they were never seen without, the hood always drawn and a supernatural darkness manifesting to hide the wearer's face at all times. Survivors saved by 'Red' depict the cloak being made of a thick cloth, but so battered and stained with blood that it had taken on the depth of blood's hue. Others say it is made from a tightly woven chain link which is blood red with rust from the time spent exposed to the elements. Regardless, the story spread like wildfire amongst those saved by this faceless being, survivors residing in various settlements forming psuedo cults. Depending where you go, the story would refer to them as "Red Rust" "Red Death" or simply "Red". Their philosophy states that "blood lies on everyone's hands and that the plague is a result of humanity's sin. Death, now stained in the blood of the damned, shepherds the living towards salvation. Like a force of nature, Death cannot be tamed by the hands of man who he now serves...and his only dominion is over the dying world which rust is doomed to consume"
Such cultists can be noted by a tattered red scarf, headband or armband. Rank is shown by metal rings sewn into the fabric. An artist was one of those rescued some couple months back and had made depictions of Red. The first was an account of their navigation skills with the wilderness only a day or two in. Everyone was hopelessly lost, but Red lead them on, sure of their footing in 'The Vally of Death'

And one based on speculation of their voice, by the only time Red had ever spoken to anyone, usually seen speaking to those who laid dying before putting them to death via a mercy blow. A tinge of masculine strength and fairness, although questionably female.

The context in which they had spoken to the living was never given and, because of this, any assumption of 'Red's gender is considered blasphemous.

Bio [+]

"...Red..." The man says from across the fire. The light from the fire flickers against the shrouds along the windows of the old gymnasium while I ignore him, a single muffled pop from the fire being all of his answer as I go about bending the rings of my shroud back into place. He stared at me in silent, this thirty or forty something year old squatter which we should all look like, given the state of the world. Convinced he meant me, I looked up at him. The gesture was enough since he continued, "Why is the world like this?" I prayed they he could not see my expression of bewilderment at the mere inclination that I knew anything more than he did; shit happens and you make the best of it...
It was nothing new to me, really. My father and I hunted often, mostly for ourselves. We learned to respect life but understand its sacrifice for the sake of progression. Hunters, poachers, peasants, fugitives...many could call my family many things, but I was thankful enough to have this...curse. I was simply myself to those whom it concerned. The plague had done wonders for me, since the world was now my hunting ground...as well as father's resting place.
I sighed, drawing the small urn which still held father's ashes, tipping a bit onto the fire, causing it to flicker a dull green for a moment. I was with him wherever we made camp, wherever we rested to dress a hunt for the half-week provisions...only what we needed.
"The world is how it is..." I began, setting the small urn back into my messenger bag and proceeding to continue my work on a hook I was crafting from a rib of a wild boar, "...Because it best suits humanity."
I blew away the dust from the nearly finished hook, drawing my father's knife from the holster on my armor, if only to carve 'BOAR' into the length. I smiled to myself; foraging was my life, and the way of the world held me as its favorite. Nature has begun to retake civilization and with the bloodlust for human flesh that The Fallen have adapted, food is present, if you know where to look. Still, the man looks unsatisfied. "Here" I offer, with a chuckle, my work of the last week, "-If you want it. It is hope" I say, unironically. "You four will live and people will wonder why" I say as I sheath the knife, looking back to the fire, contemplating what I gave up to give answer to hopelessness. "Tell them death delivered you"

Ability: Noctomancy (control over darkness, most notably to manifest blades and other bladed instruments of destruction)
Physical mutations: None that anyone has seen, given their obscured appearance. However, Red has displayed appalling strength on numerous occasions while endeavoring to protect.
Standard weapon: A fairly ornately designed reverse crossbow as well as what some claim to be "blades" or various sorts which emerge from under the cloak.

(Subject to change as information arises.)

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