Conn Renoson

[Conn Renoson]

Name: Conn Renoson

Age: 44

Race: Human

Physical description: Dirty, hunched, dressed in a long tattered tunic and patched-up boots, most people would mistake Conn for a beggar. His dark hair and beard are thick and matted with dirt. His pale complexion is masked by grime and dust. His eyes are the same muddy brown as the rags he wears. The only thing on him which isn't falling apart is the satchel slung over his shoulder.

Underneath the robe, however, Conn is far from a typical vagrant. He has the body of a wrestler, and his thick legs can carry him at a fast march from sunrise to sunset. When he stands up straight he's six and a half feet tall. His hands are large and covered in calluses, and his teeth are mostly still there (though looking a little brown).

Possessions: Apart from his tunic and boots, everything Conn owns is kept in his satchel. He has a hooded cloak made of wool, a well thumbed book entitled Selected Extracts From the Tomes of the First Settlers, a flask which he keeps topped up with the cheapest whiskey he can find, a tinderbox, a battered old telescope of primitive design, a flat-bladed iron knife, a whetstone, a leather sling with a pouch of ammunition (lead balls), and his most prized possession, two sets of four silver rings which have each been welded together into knuckledusters.

Strengths and Weaknesses: Conn is tough, stoic and ruthless. He's also quite intelligent on the rare occasions that he's sober, and he's a competent tracker with a nose for trouble. His main strength, however, is his fanatical dedication to the cause of eliminating magic from the world. This gives him extraordinary willpower and self-belief. Many an enemy has thought him broken and defeated, only for him to summon up his last reserves of strength and prove them wrong.

Of course this fanaticism can be a curse as well as a blessing. When faced with a magic user or someone of a magical race (especially shifters) Conn finds it hard to control his anger, even if the odds are stacked against him. One particular incident, involving a half-troll bouncer, left him with six broken ribs and a gash in his leg which went right down to the bone. Even now, long after the wound's healed, the scar on his leg becomes painful in wet weather, giving him a noticeable limp. Since then he's been a little more sensible, and can tolerate or even work alongside magic users if he has to. Nevertheless he will always hate them, and will wait for the day when he can gain the upper hand.

Combat Abilities: Conn was trained in boxing and wrestling as a child, and since then has been in more tavern brawls and street fights than he can remember. As well as throws and punches, he will use any dirty trick he can think of to win a fight; there's no deception or low blow he won't stoop to if he thinks it will give him an edge. He can use his sling accurately and with great force. He's also proficient with spears,though he may be out of practice as he hasn't carried one for many years.

The knife in his satchel isn't for fighting; he's never been taught how to use it in combat, and prefers to use his bare hands and whatever improvised weapons he can grab. Nevertheless if he sees it as his only way to win, he'll give it a shot. The silver knuckledusters are his secret weapon against his most hated enemy, shifters. He'll never use them against anyone else for fear of damaging them, and very few people are aware that he has them.

History: A native of Pretana's western isle, Conn grew up as the younger son of a wealthy merchant. His older brother Fain was destined to take over the family estate one day, so Conn was left to choose between the local priesthood or the army. He chose the latter, and at the age of twelve was sent off to be raised at the local barracks. It was a total failure. He learned quickly enough, and all his instructors agreed that he'd grow up to be a good fighter, but he was wild and uncontrollable. Again and again he'd be whipped for being smart with an officer or sneaking out to meet girls from the village, but the punishment seemed to be forgotten as soon as it was over. They tried to get him more invested in his own future, but there was nothing he cared except momentary pleasures.

Finally, after three years of struggling to get through to him, they gave up. Conn was unceremoniously kicked out of the army. Rather than going straight home and facing his father's wrath he decided to stay the night in a tavern in the village. As the son of the richest man in town he got as much beer and brandy as he could drink. He ended up taking one of the barmaids up to guest room, where she helped him forget all about the army and his family.

The next morning he was woken by a respectful knock at the door. He staggered out of bed, hungover and ready to send the knocker away with a few choice curses, and opened the door. Outside stood the innkeeper, the leader of the village council, and (to his shock) Fain, his older brother. They stood with their hats held over their hearts. His father was dead.

Back at his ancestral home, his brother explained what had happened. Their father had been out hunting, as was his habit on summer evenings, when a fierce wolf had set upon them. Fain had tried to fight the beast, but was knocked to ground. By the time he regained his feet it was over, his father lay dead, and the wolf was fleeing into the forest. As the story was told, Conn began to realise that something was wrong. There was something strange in Fain's manner; an unfamiliarity, as though they were strangers meeting for the first time rather than brothers who'd grown up together. Suddenly he saw that Fain wasn't wearing his set of silver rings that had been a gift to both of them from their mother. Instead he was wearing cheap iron replicas, while Conn still wore the originals.

As Fain finished his tale and stood up, wiping away a tear, Conn grabbed him by the arm. As the silver rings dug into the flesh of his "brother" there was a hiss, like a hot blade being plunged into water, and the shifter who had assumed Fain's shape screamed in pain. It tried to strike back, its magical illusion dissipating and revealing a feral figure which was already starting to change. Conn dodged the blow and landed a quick jab into the creature's face with his ring hand. The shifter was left blind in one eye, the lid burned shut, and Conn pressed his advantage with a volley of hooks and jabs into his opponent's face and stomach. Each hit burned through skin and muscle, and the werewolf lashed out in pain, slicing through Conn's flesh with its claws. The fight was brutal, but short. A powerful straight punch crushed the monster's throat, and another took out its remaining eye for good measure.

The fight was won, but Conn burned with a terrible rage. Rage against the monster which had taken his father and (he was sure) his brother. Rage against the pro-magic government of Pretana, which allowed such things to exist. But mostly what he felt was rage against himself. If he'd gone straight home the day before he might have saved his father. Instead he'd let his baser instincts get the best of him. He swore it would not happen again.

He found his brother's rings, hidden in a drawer in his room, and went down to the little forge at the far end of the grounds. Slowly, patiently, he welded the rings together to form his weapons against the creatures he despised; two sets of silver knuckledusters. Then he packed his satchel and set off east, where he knew the puradynic religion was popular. He was sure that he would find a place where he could wage his war against shifters without being on the wrong side of the law.

Further and further he went, and still he didn't find what he was looking for. In his depression he fought frequently, and despite the vow he'd once made he soon turned back to drink. Women, though, were a luxury he would never allow himself. He hated them in a casual, general sort of way, but his real hatred was for magic users. Where once his wrath had been directed solely at werewolves and their kin, now he found himself seeing more and more examples of mages committing injustices against those without magical talent. Some of these injustices were very real, of course, but others he either blew out of proportion or imagined completely. Regardless, the anger grew within him until it was all that kept him going.

Finally, after two decades of wandering from place to place, finding it impossible to settle, Conn reached the eastern border of Eyropa. Still, despite all his searching, he hadn't found a government that despised magic as much as he did. He despaired of ever finding his place in the world. But then, from a passing merchant, he heard about a place where magic was outlawed: Thar Shaddin. It sounded like exactly what he was searching for, and he set off at once with a rare smile on his face.

When he arrived in Marn, he quickly learnt that it wasn't the utopia he was hoping for. Magic was still performed by those with a licence, or those who worked for the government. Magical races were tolerated, even if it lifted his spirits to see them treated as second class citizens. Worse still, shifters were even more common here than they were in most of Eyropa. Conn sank into a deep depression, and for a while it seemed like the only peace he could find was in the bottle or in the grave.

That all changed on one fateful night, when a fellow drinker at Conn's local tavern started talking about the underground; a group of mages who resisted the government's strict policy on magic users. Conn was skeptical, but nevertheless he listened as the young man boasted of his part in this organisation. Just as he was about to give away the location of one of their safe houses there was a cracking noise that seemed to come from every corner of the room at once, and the man keeled over without another word. He was dead before he hit the floor. Conn could only stare, open-mouthed, as the other patrons panicked and ran to call the guards. The foolish young drunk had been telling the truth. Why else would he be the target of a magical assassination?

Later that night Conn made his decision. He would help the government, and the judges, and the guards. He would help them to smash the mages' underground movement. He would do whatever he could to hurt those who practiced magic. And if any shifters tried to get in his way... all the better.

[Niabi]

Hello and welcome to Thar.

Sorry it took me so long to get to your app. The first week of schools being back in session can be a bit hectic.

Anyways, I wanted to say that I really enjoyed reading over your character. I'm looking forward to seeing him in action.

However, there's a few things we need to discuss about the history beforehand. First of all, and it's completely my fault for not updating the new wiki yet, Pretana does not have an centralized government with an established army. Instead, the islands that make up Pretana are dotted with many small villages and hamlets which are independently presided over by a local landowner, wealthy merchant and/or a self-proclaimed lord. Each village has their own set of laws, that can very greatly from the next town over.

Now while I wouldn't necessarily say that any of these human villages are pro-magic (as many Pretanians are superstitious to some degree), you could say that many of them have come to the realization that trying to rid their homes of all magical creatures is a task too great for them to handle. Many types of Fae and other such creatures (read: shifters) reside within a dense patch of forest that spans the interior of the largest island and all too commonly they venture out to cause trouble and/or harm to the local human population for what seems to be their own amusement.

Now I know this doesn't completely fit with your history, I'm hoping that with a few minor changes that we can make it work. Or if you are set in stone about wanting to keep the history how it is, perhaps we could change his birthplace to Corezo?

Let me know what you think.