Name: Tricot Species: Agori Tribe: Rock Appearance: Tricot’s armor is carbon-black, and is surprisingly immaculate for someone in his line of work. Though, there are the signs of conflict on his left shoulder blade, where it looks like someone desperately tried to polish out a long, jagged scar. A thick azure-blue lacy ribbon is tied around his right upper arm. Mottled slate-gray skin can be seen peering through the gaps in his armor, confirming that his is, in fact, Agori. His eyes are a deep purple. Just staring into them races your heart into the ground, making it beat faster than the speed of sound. Under another sun, this man might’ve made a great highway star. Gender: Male Age: 36 Weapons: He’s armed himself with a long-barreled subsonic dart rifle with an obviously mismatched telescopic sight strapped to the top of it. The stock was made from sandalwood, and has a delicate etching of a dragonfly chasing a crane engraved on one side. It’s of extremely odd design, as it contains a four-shot cylinder rather than an internal magazine, and is single action, rather than semi-automatic. Though, that’s not the only thing that sets this weapon apart. The munitions for it have been custom tailored to contain a chemical cocktail that can make one think that they can see the future, and that they are invincible. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if Tricot didn’t have two Zesk at his side. Through a training process that took an agonizingly long time, and more bite wounds than Tricot can remember; the Zesk have been trained to attack anyone exhibiting erratic behavior that the compound tends to bring out in people. Of course, Tricot brings separate “normal” ammunition for people he doesn’t want to get torn to shreds. “Pets”: Tricot has two Zesk that he caught with a large knife and a burlap sack. He did this many years ago, when they were smaller and less likely to bite off your arm when you approached them. Ethics aside, Tricot thought that this was a fantastic idea, and attempted to train them. Originally he wanted them as underlings of sorts, but they proved to be bit uncontrollable at times. So he raised them as attack dogs instead. “Mastodon” and “Cinderblock”. That’s what he calls them. Though they don’t seem to care too much. As long as Tricot remembers to feed them, they don’t care what he calls them. Malus: Tricot can’t fight at close quarters to save his life. If something were to close in on him, and his Zerk weren’t there to aid him, he’d be giblets for sure. Alignment: It’s never really black or white with this guy. He’s sort of in a moral-gray area. He uses semi-sentient beings as attack creatures, and he’s also a murderer, but he speaks of some “greater good”. He has his own set of moral guidelines that he follows, though as of late, many of those have been mentally scratched out, and replaced with “don’t screw up”. History: Tricot was a normal child, albeit a quiet one. He never questioned his surroundings, or the morals of others. Tricot’s father thought this was rubbish, and at the age of 13, sent Tricot on some crackpot spirit quest to the valley of Bethesda Susa, a frozen gorge far from the safety of the village. His mother protested, but his father was adamant, so off he went, into the barren wastelands. Only problem was that Tricot failed to reappear. On the first day after his disappearance, his father worried not, as it wasn’t uncommon for the journey to take time. On the second day, his father worried not. On the third day, his father wavered, but worried not. On the fourth day, his father worried not, but his mother had a breakdown, and demanded that her husband go out and search for the boy. And search he did. What he found, was a weeping bloodsoaked Tricot, wandering listlessly through the forsaken valley, stumbling about as the tears ran down his face, and intermingling with the blood caked on his cheeks and mouth. His father, alarmed at the voluminous amount of blood, rushed to his son to make sure he wasn’t bleeding out. It was then that his father noticed that the valley was littered with snakes with pieces missing from them. Almost as if they were… bitten off. Tricot’s father quickly realized that the blood spattering his son’s face, was not his own. On that day, Tricot became a man, and with that, he realized that the universe was an uncaring place, and that only the strong will survive. That, and valley snakes taste like bile. In the following years, Tricot became extremely distant, and eventually ran away from his village on some unspoken quest. Shame, his mother wanted him to become a musician. Personality: Tricot is an infamous stoic. He’s never one to complain about the task at hand, and only seeks out to find ways to make it more manageable. He’s a very quiet individual, and prefers to let others do the talking. However, he’s not a simple mercenary. He doesn’t believe that money should change one’s opinions on extremely personal matters, such as war or political ideals. Some would say that he is an idealist, others call him a madman with a rifle. Other than that, not much is known about his personality. Those who try to talk to him are usually met with harsh stares and various crude gestures. However, a particularly strange rumor is being spread that at night, if one was suicidal enough to eavesdrop on his quarters, they could hear him speaking to his Zesk, and laughing at unheard jokes and remarks. Other: Cinderblock is his favorite, but he never expresses it, especially not to Mastodon.
