Name: Malack Nena
Age: 25
Personality: Very Calm. His ability to set his mind into a neutral state is a huge reason for his skills with archery. He can be quite the talker at times and can be prone to entire philosophical conversations about what is in the castle and what the stones mean.
Stone: Ruby. He wears it around his neck.
Appearance:
Skills: He's a talented archer though unskilled with swords. He finds the best route of attack is to never to be seen by your enemy. If they see you, You're most certainly dead.
Backstory:
Warning: This is bad. Malack was born in the village. A happy village. A sad village now. Malack was born a hunter. Gathering with his mother in his early ages gave him a feel of the outside world. He has been known to describe going outside as a child as "Paradise." As he grew older, around the age of 6, he began hunting with his Father. His father was a strong man. A powerful hunter. A role model. His father once told him stories. Stories of days without stones. Stories of times when a man could leave his stone at home and fly away into the sky. These stories always gave him hope. Now, when he thinks of these stories it only make him shudder. He became known as a strong hunter. A powerful young man. Skilled with a bow and arrow. Thin. Fast. A perfect hunter. Then the murders happened. The rose garden. The red rose garden. That day was a blur in his mind. Screams. A large man. Strong. Bald. A frown upon his face. Telling him something. Something sad. He couldn't quite remember what. But he knew. Gone. Not quite sure why. Mother and father, both gone. He remembered looking at his older brother. Tears at his eyes. He didn't quite understand why. Mother and Father were just out. He learned of what happened as he grew older. He understood the tears in his brothers eyes. His brother was his father. His protector. That's what he was. Always there. Looking out for him. They made money from Malack's hunting. His brother had a job at the local bar. Age 17. The museum. It killed his brother. Burned him bad. In his states of awareness he remembers fire in his arm. Pain. Horrible, horrible pain. His arm healed. Somewhat. He could still hunt. He was able to make a living. He had a small home. Almost a hut. The next few years were hard on Malack. Yet rumors gave him hope. Rumors of the castle. Like his father used to say. These helped with through the years. When the flyers went up, Malack signed right away.
Anything Else: This was made at 11:00. It sucks. Sorry :/