Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-11588669-20140718021119/@comment-11588669-20140718200925

"Nine and four, respectively. My mother...she was unemployed, but a theif. We stole what we had to to survive. The area we lived in was...unforgiving." His upper lip curled back, exposing his fangs. "Gangs, thugs, or just criminals. They...found where we lived...tried to force her to 'pay rent the way a woman should'." He smiled grimly. "I think she bit one. They killed her for it...but it gave my little brother and I time to escape." He exhaled slowly.

"The next was an old man. By that time, I had a bit of a reputation as a...well, I was violent. My first kill was when I was eight." His eyes shut tight at the memory.

'Four older boys- sixteen year olds- kicking his little brother. Nox stepping inbetween them, trying to get them to stop. A knife slash across his eye, blinding pain...and then rage. Something metal in his hand, the feeling of it sinking into the throat of another person. The warmth of blood as it flowed from the wound. Midnight eyes widened in horror. Bile rose and expelled from his mouth. But he had someone to protect.'

'He straightened up, and straightened his arm, the blood covered knife aimed at the other three. They broke and ran.'

"It was...unpleasant. I stole...fought...never killed again, for two years. Then I tried to steal from him...he caught me at the very end. And let me go. Followed me to my home...and took both my brother and I in. Sounds too good to be true, eh? " He exhaled.

"It's how I became a mercenary. Two years of training...and in those two years, fifty contracts alone. 'Nothing like learning on the go.', he said. Old bastard. This continued...and then he died when I was thirteen. Murdered in front of me...again."