WITCH, dallas

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You don't have memories of your life Before, but you've heard the stories. Some say your parents were nothing, just like you are - and you believe them. Someone told you once that they were a rich couple, they loved you very much, and the complications that led them to being unable to keep you would soon make sense. In time.

You hold nothing from them, not even a name that you can keep proudly. The children called you Dallas, and you took it happily. It was an identity, something that you lacked for a long while, and for once you felt like you belonged.

The nuns raised you, along with other orphans. Such an ugly word, a word you've come to hate, and it doesn't occur to you just how much until you're on top of that rat of a boy, small fists leaving bruises. The nuns are angry, they say you're rambunctious, that you need to control your temper, they pretend to understand why you stop listening to lessons, why you turn away from the word of the Goddess. They say that with time, you will have a moment, that defining shining moment that will tell you that you're never truly alone.

Thievery is not something you're proud of, but it's the rush that you enjoy. The close calls, running away from the authorities, and then hiding out with your friends behind cover while silently giggling and marveling over the stash you've acquired. You've been caught on many occasions, and the nuns that raised you were not pleased to find that a passing trend turned into a habit, but they never had an easy time raising you anyway.

At sixteen, you're a troublemaker. You leave the orphanage, out on your own in the big city. It eats you up, chews you, and spits you out. It doesn't take long for your temper to land you in a gutter, except you don't have nuns to patch you up and tell you that some day the Goddess will take care of you. Where was the Goddess when your parents were taken away? Where was She when they left you on a doorstep, in the care of a village?

You learn how to pick pockets, and that becomes your main source of income. Sometimes you sell the trinkets you pick off of the carts, on the rarer occasion one of the teens from your old posse pulls you along on a heist, and you find that's a stronger source of income. Rich people with more money than they know what to do with, and then there's you, with barely enough for your next meal. You figure they can do without.

At twenty-two, you have something of a quarter-life crisis. You want to do something with your life, and while that lasts long enough for you to bounce from job to job, picking up a little bit of every trade (some you were naturally good at, others reminded you that you really aren't worth much at all), you figure it's about time to see the world for what it's really worth.

Travelling was almost as sickly sweet as your first steal. It's peaceful, hitching a ride in the back of some farmer's cart, walking with barely much of a sack on your back, living off the land. It's that moment of solitude you needed, and you find that there isn't anything in the world quite like it, or so you know.

You're a wanderer, looking for that missing place in the puzzle that you think you'd fit perfectly, even if you're unaware of it yet.



A salt witch, that's what they'd call him if he were ever aware of his heritage. Sometimes, there's this tie, as if it's connecting to another person - a string of fate, if he believed in such things - but he's long since dismissed these things as mirages. No one needs to know that he's insane, and he'd much rather keep it that way.

---

WITCHCRAFT -- Dallas is by no means a skilled witch. While it was obvious that there was something different about him growing up, he put more effort into hiding his powers growing up than exploring them, and because of this they happen to be a little stunted. What he's learned, he's had to teach himself - and recently, at that - or he read from a book. (more-so the former)

THIEVERY -- Like most troubled children his age, Dallas got into some rather iffy habits. Unfortunately, he learned that he was rather talented in being a little thief, and because of this, he's picked up a particular set of skills that he's happened to have honed over use. Sneaking around has never been a problem, he can pick locks like a pro (simple locks, that is. his only practice have been simple), and he also happens to be rather good at getting away, especially in a crowd.

JACK OF ALL TRADES (kind of) -- While not exceptionally good at much of anything, Dallas can say that he is semi-capable of quite a few things. He's found that he has a knack for remembering - a prolonged expanse of work under an herbalist helped him with learning what herbs to use and what not. He can treat himself, to the extent of making sure his cuts won't grow infected at least. He knows how to bake a loaf of bread, too, but he can't exactly remember how to make the dough.

[attr="class","appname"]DALLAS

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AGE: 29
SEX: M
RACE: HUMAN
HOMELAND: SHARA
CONTRACT: N