"... he provoked me."


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¤ A human, yet another one of those weirdos. No immortality, fragile, greedy, always bargaining for more than what they could ever handle. This one in particular was of average height, and definitely no mastodon: Voke, who's real name had been long forgotten, was lithe, slender albeit lightly toned, for the man had to have the strength to climb and push his way out of many ill-themed situations.

¤ Button nose, cleft thin, and dimples that made his rare smile even more charming, although no less perverse. Intricate piercings adorned this man's visage, with only two of them forever present, those through his earlobes. The rest of them came and went, with new additions every now and then depending on the current mood.

¤ The man would compulsively attempt to keep his clothes clean. Matter not the endeavour at hand, as soon as he had a moment to spare he'd brush off as much dirt as possible, before adjusting whatever expensive, and quite possibly stolen garbs he was wearing. A keen eye would notice an obvious arsenal: boots, pants, pockets, jacket, all've them possibly containing some kind of weapon or tool. The most obvious, however, the two daggers at the back of his belt.

¤ He was calm, so much so that it was obvious he did his best to suppress the occasional rub to his nose whilst instinctively snorting, perhaps revealing yet another addiction. His eyes would fixate on this or that for brief moments, before his attention fleeted elsewhere. Always wary, always watching, alert, Voke would do his best to stick to his devices, avoiding confrontation at all costs, ... unless provoked. He had to earn that name somehow, now, didn't he?

¤ Yes, he's the long lost brother.

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