Warning: This is an extremely long bio (more of a short story) of my character. It is many pages long, and may hurt your eyes from the monotonous tone it may or may not be written in. Remember reading for long periods of times may cause permanent damage to your eyes, and to only read in well-lit areas. Read with caution.
The Story of "X"
Silas, otherwise known as "X"
He is a shorter than the average and fairly thin man, and gives off the
appearance of someone who may be sickly at times. On the contrary, he has
strong, lean muscles that prove otherwise. He is aged around 25, but always
keeps the stubble on his beard due to his younger appearance of about 18. Silas
has tanned and slightly rugged skin from working the land for the majority of
his life, and has short, dark brown hair normally covered by the hood on his
cloak. He has a disinterested and tired look in his eyes mostly, and normally
keeps them cast onto the ground. If not focused on the ground, his eyes are
surveying his surroundings or other people, but the hood on his cloak also
covers them at these times. A contrasting feature to his appearance, he has a
smooth, but deep voice that often catches people off guard. He is very fond of
wearing plain, sometimes ragged clothing, but he prefers to always have a long
cloak wrapped his body from head to toe with a small “x” stitched onto the
right shoulder for unknown reasons. This is perhaps from working in both the
burning heat of the summer and the chilling cool of the winter. Silas is the
type of person you wouldn't normally give a second glance, and he is aware of
all of these things.
Silas' fate was believed to be set in
stone from birth to death. His family had an ancient lineage of farmers who
worked the land around Rosemere castle for hundreds of years. The barons and
lords of the area never took notice to this family of farmers, and only gave
them a second thought when they needed a quick job done and they had no
servants to cover the matter. To make things worse, the family could never
obtain a Surname to at least literally give themselves a name. This family
failed to produce any person of significance, be it due to the family not being
of nobility or lacking a certain skillset in most areas. The men were not very
bright. The most they could do was heavy lifting and manual labor that would curse
them for the rest of their lives, and they were never wealthy enough to afford
even the simplest of educations. The women were sadly doomed to also working in
the family, along with cooking and cleaning like most other women that weren't
fortunate enough to be of nobility in that time period.
Silas was different, to his dismay.
Most men in his family boasted tall, powerful builds, almost knightly one could
say. They knew what to do with their hands, at least with the tools needed for
farming. Silas however was frail and not very athletic as a boy. He was shorter
and thinner than most of the boys his age, and was even too clumsy on his feet
to be able to play the sports the others were able to whenever he finally got a
break from his work. To top it all off, he bruised and became sick very easily
to complete the perfect example of someone who should not be stuck with manual
labor all day.
But to both his advantage and disadvantage, he was the smartest boy his family had ever birthed. No one ever knew why, but Silas was exceptionally skilled with both numbers and with words. He would often calculate the current year's profit of the farm in a matter of
seconds, and would predict the next few years' annual income on the spot. He
taught himself to read from simply reading signs and flyers on the nearby
castle walls, and could manage to read the most complicated of texts when he
got his hands on them. He knew from a small age, however, that his family could
not afford to make use of his knowledge. He had to deal with being limited in
his education and studies and had to abandon any reading he might have been
doing on his own to work the land on the outside of Castle Rosemere.
He never complained about his differences, however. Silas knew there was no point in pushing for something that would never happen, so he pushed himself to be the best farmer there ever
was. He did not necessarily obtain a knack for fixing things and working the
land, but the tools farmers generally used became extra limbs to Silas. The sickle,
or a scythe as he preferred to call it, began to become an extension of his
arm, and he walked around all of the country of Easthollow with his trusty
scythe on slung over his shoulder. He even began to obtain wiry muscles from
working so diligently for the whole of his teenage years, but still had a
slightly smaller than average build than most his age.
Besides his physical and intellectual strengths and weaknesses, Silas was a very noble boy growing up(or he at least kept to his own idea of justice and nobility). He was polite to everyone he met; even those who did him wrong, and always gave what he had to offer to
anyone who might need it. He was shy until a certain age, but after breaking
the shell of shyness came quietness and coldness. As a young boy, he was scared
of others, but tried his best to act his best around them. As a teenager, he
began to care less and less about others' opinions but he refused to talk
unless spoken to. Even then, he sometimes gave off a cold personality and
refused to answer if he saw no reason in giving one. He still tried his best to
kind, but it was not in his nature.
Silas did not give up on his individual learning, however, and read any books some careless noble would leaving lying on the ground or anything in the trash piles that his family was
required to burn every month. On one glorious day, he found a Battle Tactics
issue written by the local Battlemaster himself. The Knights of Rosemere could
be seen drilling and sparring every day on the outside of the castle walls,
with Silas watching attentively. He was more of a critic than anything else.
The whole while Silas watched the knights make clumsy swings that left them
open to strikes from seemingly every angle possible he was both coming up with
better attack combinations with less openings and counteractions for those.
Silas looked at the Battle Tactics book, and realized it was an older copy that was probably considered obsolete. The techniques used in the drills that the knights were practicing weren’t much different than those in Silas’ new, but old book. The knights were only
performing a few changes here and there, so Silas figured this book may have
been thrown away due to better siege or tower defense tactics introduced. The
foot soldier’s attacking patterns were terrible, however, and Silas could not
stand it. They were predictable, sloppy, slow, and just outright bad. To make
things even harder for Silas to understand was that even other armies were
making the same mistake! Silas’ land was close enough to the castle of Rosemere
to view a full-scale siege on the castle. Rosemere’s knights usually met the
attacking army’s troops about a quarter of a mile away from the castle, so
Silas took the chance to view the battles from a short enough distance to critique
the soldiers’ fighting abilities.
Silas did not notice it for the longest time, but he had more than just a knack for hand-to-hand combat strategies. He could pick out a warrior’s biggest flaws within one or two
attacks delivered and would often predict how he would fall in battle. “This
soldier always leaves his left side open,” Silas would say to himself. And sure
enough, the exact soldier was cut down by a powerful swing from a greatsword,
crushing his entire rib cage on the left side of his body.
The thin, tanned man decided he was bored with only farming in his life. When he turned 18, he was given a piece of land directly next to the castle, and used it to his advantage to view
even more battles. The Battle Tactics issues continued to roll into his hands
one way or another, and he could keep up with the changes in them with ease. He
started to predict the changes that would be in the next issue, and eventually
did not need to read the books any longer to know what the tactics and
strategies would evolve into next. He managed to visit a few duels between
knights inside the castle walls to get a view on one-on-one combat. Not to his
surprise, the same problems showed up. Silas decided it was time he stopped
complaining to himself about how bad the techniques were, and that it was time
for him to actually do something about it.
In reality, Silas knew no one would heed his advice about how atrocious the knights looked when performing their drills. He was a lowly peon without a last name and the lords and barons of the area were too stuck up to listen to even the most prestigious and knowledgeable
men of arms. So Silas decided what needed to be done needed to be done – he was
going to fight in a war.
Silas was 21 when he fought in his first war. The castle was put under extreme siege defense measures and was evacuated of all of the people of importance. As normal procedure, the two
armies met a quarter-mile away from the castle, which was only a couple
minutes’ walking distance from Silas’ small cottage. He walked with confidence
with his scythe slung around his back, now battle-ready from Silas learning how
to sharpen and shape the blade into an actual weapon rather than a traditional
tool. There was a lone tree set off about 300 meters to the side where the two
armies would first clash. Silas decided to make it his hiding spot, knowing he
could not just join the Knights of Rosemere’s ranks without being noticed.
Silas stood in under the tree, and the grass in the whole open field before him
slightly swayed back and forth like the calm before the storm that was to come.
The sky was overcast, making the midday seem more like the evening.
The two armies began marching toward each other in the distance ten minutes after Silas arrived, with Castle Rosemere and its knights to Silas’ left and the attacking armies’ warriors to
his right. The numbers of the armies were about 400 each, an even match that
would provide a great battle to watch on a normal day.
This was no normal day, however, and Silas was ready to prove that. The two armies began rushing towards each other, and Silas watched intensely for the best moment to strike. The armies clashed, and Silas decided that was the best time to make his away over to the
battlegrounds. He was quiet in his movements, but moved very quickly. Silas was
now in excellent physical shape, and could use his muscles both powerfully and
quickly. He reached the battle in a matter of seconds that would take the
average man minutes and slung his scythe into his hands from over his shoulder.
His cloak was flying behind him, but with his hood still covering his face.
Silas knew the danger of battling with no armor, but he was confident – and
possibly prideful enough to do it.
Silas’ first experience of battle was exhilarating. He entered the fray slightly to his left to prevent himself as appearing as one of the enemy and found his first target. The enemy soldier
just won his bout against one of Rosemere’s knights, but his victory did not
last long as he was cut down by a long bladed sickle from behind. The sharpened
blade of Silas’ scythe cut through the steel of the soldier’s armor much easier
than a regular longsword used by most knights of the current era. Even some
greatswords would find it difficult to cut through many inches of steel along
with human flesh and bone with such ease.
Silas glanced at his first downed enemy on the ground knowing if he spent too much time relishing on his victory he would share the same fate. He realized he made the right decision because another enemy soldier was charging with a large axe in a double-handed grip.
The enemy was easily sidestepped and cut down straight through his lightly
covered torso, possibly for better movement. It was a mistake for the soldier,
however, and many of his brethren fell to the same fate.
The Knights of Rosemere struggled as individuals, but excelled in unified efforts to take the enemy down. They generally moved in groups of 3 or 4, and took each individual enemy down so quickly that no enemy could plan a surprise attack from behind while they were
busy with another. And with the unfortunate fall of one knight, another knight
in a group of 4 would quickly bring a group of 2 to a group of 3 in a matter of
seconds. Silas was complementing this strategy on his own by taking down one
ore two enemies planning to take on a Rosemere group on equal grounds. He could
easily cut the enemy group off, cut one enemy down from the surprise, battle
another with ease toe-to-toe, and retreating to another enemy group without the
enemy or even the warriors of Rosemere knowing what happened.
With these tactics and the strange, hooded figure
cutting down enemies left and right, the enemy army was made quick work of.
When Silas noticed there were only about 30 soldier of the enemy army left, he
made his quick getaway. Not one soul from either side of the battle remembered
the hooded figure, much less paid much attention to him during the battle.
Silas returned to the tree off to the side of the battlefield, and sat down to
rest. He was cut in numerous places. There was a nasty gash across his left
shoulder and he was pretty sure his right arm was on the cusp of being broken
from the blow of a mace to his elbow. Silas looked up, past the tree’s leaves
and saw that the sky was still overcast. The cloudy sky made him realize what
he had done was not the smartest or sanest thing he had done. He killed nearly
40 men if he counted correctly. The thought made him cringe when it crossed his
mind, but was slightly comforted by the cruel fact that it was war. Only about
15 of the Rosemere Knights perished that day, but he could have easily been one
of them. He was lucky that he did not lose an arm or leg, and was glad that he
was able to simply fight alongside his fellow countrymen to ward off yet another
Silas then realized what he really wanted. He wanted
to fight nobly alongside likeminded people. Not a single soul knew what he had
done that day, but he was completely fine with it. No one would ever know what
the young farmer had hidden behind his hooded face, but the deeds themselves
were good enough payment for his works.
Silas continued to fight in wars for 4 more years.
He gained experience in both small and large battles, and could fight
toe-to-toe with every soldier that would fight for honor or was spawned from
the deepest pits known to man. He began to feel invincible – from both skill
and pride. His whole life, he tried his best to humble himself in everything he
did. He knew he could do certain things possibly only a handful of other men
could do in the world but he refused to admit it. When it came to battle,
however, Silas could not contain himself. At first, he only accepted what was
due to himself. He knew what he had done: he helped Rosemere become a
prosperous castle and nearly doubled the area of Easthollow it took up in only
4 years. He failed to stop at that unfortunately and began to assume he was the
best there ever was.
He figured he could defeat anyone in an honorable
fight, be it the most prestigious knight, the most powerful magician, or the
most vicious monster in the entire known world. Silas was confident that he would win, and refused to think otherwise. Even though he never was recognized
for his deeds, he began to look down on others. He was already a quiet man, but
he began to refuse to even give a new a face a passing glance assuming he was
above them in the area of combat. This once humble, generous man became a proud
and disinterested man.
After the 20th major battle fought in, he
began to truly reflect on his actions. In 4 years, Silas managed to kill
hundreds – no, thousands – of men in combat. He always thought of this as an
excellent accomplishment, and realized it was, but only to a knight. A knight,
or any warrior whose official duty was to serve and protect deserved the right
to kill in official combat. What Silas really was doing was equal to that of a
random bandit. He was killing without official cause, and that was murder.
Silas became nearly depressed, and became disinterested with life itself. He was
bored with farming long, long ago, and the only thing that felt like it was
giving a purpose was just shattered and began to give him the opposite feeling.
He continued to fight, however, because it was the
only thing he had left to do. He wanted to at least begin fighting with honor
and dignity, so he confronted the captain of the Rosemere knights and requested
to officially be a part of the Rosemerian forces. To his great surprise, he was
accepted due to some of the leaders of the forces hearing of his exploits.
The battle coming up was a battle against a far away
tribe that consisted of many evil knights, monsters, and necromancers. It
started as any other “normal” war would, but this one would prove different for
Silas. He still managed to kill just as many, if not more enemies in a single
battle than he ever had in a single battle, but the overwhelming power of the
enemy soldiers proved too much. He was struck down by not one, two, or three,
but 4 swords thrusted into his chest. He was never sure if it was due to his
disinterest in battle, the psychology of actually being part of a side in
battle, or his pride that caused him to fall. He would not even find out the
sad fate that would come to his beloved kingdom and farmland due to his failure
in battle. What he did know, however, was that it was all over. He defeated his
fate. He was not destined to be just another peon in the cruel world of
feudalism and chivalry. He beat the odds and practically became a knight,
someone of nobility, before ending his nameless family due to not providing a
His journey was not over, on the contrary. Perhaps
from some necromancer from the enemy forces, he was turned undead. He was
brought back still with his senses, but when he came to was not outside
Rosemere’s castle walls. He was in a jail cell. For what, he did not know. He
did not care, either. Maybe it was from losing part of his mental abilities
from being turned, or maybe it was from the internal conflict he was going
through before his death, but he truly felt like a zombie. For the longest time
in that jail cell, he battled with himself to regain his wits, and he
eventually did. He regained his focus – his original focus before falling to
pride. He was humbled again, and was as attentive as ever. He never regained
any of his memories, and was sad, however. Sadness overcame his thoughts and he
fell back once again into a state of internal conflict.
Now a ways into his journey, and after learning he
was in the realm of Lordran, Silas is standing before a figure staring out into
the distance. The figure is a man dressed in a beautiful armor, and has his
back turned to Silas. Silas walked over to the man’s side with his cloak
flowing in the wind and his hood covering most of his face. His scythe was
still slung over his back, and gave him the strangest hint of comfort.
hello! You don’t look hollow, far from it!” the man dressed in the armor said.
Silas looked to him from under his hood and then looked
towards the sun, which was strangely both as bright as he ever remembered but
not so bright as to hurt his eyes. He looked to the man in the armor again but
with intent to pay attention this time.
“I am Solaire of Astora, an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight.
Now that I am Undead, I have come to this great land, the birthplace of Lord
Gwyn, to seek my very own sun!
… Do you find that strange? Well, you should!
No need to hide your reaction. I get that look all the time!
Hah hah hah!”
For some reason, Silas felt comforted for the first time in a long time in both his live and undead lifetime. Talking to this man
made him both remember and decide that it wasn’t too late to reach that state
of nobility he longed for so long ago. And he now had all the time in the world
to reach it, so he decided he would wait and see where fate took him this time
around. He continued to listen to the man named Solaire.
“The way I see it, our fates appear to be intertwined.
In a land brimming with Hollows, could that really be mere change?
So, what do you say? Why not help one another on this lonely journey?”
Silas thought it over for a while and
said, “Yes, yes that sounds good.”
what is your name, new traveler?” Solaire asked him.
he never introduced himself, he began to answer, but could not recall his name.
He searched his own person for a telltale sign of identity, but to no avail. He
then noticed a peculiar “x” sown into the fabric of his cloak on his right
Silas crooked a small smile from under
his cloak, and said, “X…. my name is X.”