Fleir Eitzernal von Boland

A Madman

• What Do You See?

  • Height: Taller than most
  • Weight: Pretty slim
  • Eyes: Blue, with a purple glint
  • Compsure; stance: Usually relaxed
  • Weapons: Something gleams from inside of his cloak
  • Skin Colour: Pale
  • Hair Length: Down to the neck
  • Hair Colour: Blonde
  • Favourite Habit: Licking his lips

• What to expect in a chat w/ me

  Always	Usually	Sometimes	Never
  Always Weird Ready 4 the leppy	Usually Good at typing gud @ not using txt sp33k Molesting somebody Cutting somebody Fighting somebody	Sometimes Sympathizing with somebody Shy I don't have my commie powers. Only old friends would even get that reference.	Never Not ready 4 the leppy Smoking, because that's annoying. Not causing trouble

• Origins

  Fleir was born in what most would call the "Dark Ages," as a girl. Either you fought, were a heretic, worshipped God, or Satan for that matter, or you weren't very important. Funny thing, France was booming with economy and wealth in this time. This meant that he got a lucky ticket out of being a peasant and working the farms. Fleir got to sell things with his rich family.
  
  That was, as long as he pretended to be a guy. This didn't bother him, not one bit. He was actually a bit grateful, as he did not have to worry about being denounced or thought less of. So, as he turned eight, he also took the guise of a male. After a bit of being a male, he became accustomed to it. He didn't want to change.
  
  Travelling in France was rough, as bandits were plenty. But, a rich family would not go outside without a good amount of bodyguards. They easily fought off any type of criminal or animal. They even butchered a band of pagan heretics, which were rumoured to have magical powers. Truly, the best money could buy.
  
  Fleir, comfortably living his life, always having something to eat or drink, grew wary after eight years. He was bored of just riding around, selling random things, buying random things.. It was just all the same to him. So, he decided to have some fun. Every time the wagon train entered town, he made it his duty to kill a person. Just one, because if he did not people would become the wiser. Killing, maiming, skinning, biting, kissing, choking, and burning were commonplace for him.
  
  Seeing people's blood drain from their bodies or just watching their faces as he cornered them gave him the same feeling giving a poor beggar a few coins did. He felt slightly better about his life with every kill, every silence, every mutilation. But alas, it was getting unsatisfactory killing only one. Over two years of killing, he had taken the lives of easily over one hundred people. So he began killing two, three, four, ten, twenty, fifty at every town. It went on until the wagon train's population began dissimating away in fear of being murdered.
  
  They had put the magnifying glass on their own people. This excited Fleir very much; it was his first sense of real danger. The wagon train set up camp like any other night, but the only thing was, it wasn't the same as every night. Out came the mass killer from his wagon, knife in hand. He hade arranged for the guards to leave their posts through his family's ledger. He started his killing with his own family. The people in this puny trading group were no match for him, he thought. None of them, no matter how many, could even do anything to him.
  
  And so, he killed with noise. He made his father cry in pain, and forced his siblings into submission with a beating. His sister, who got the luxury of not changing her lifestyle got the worst of it, truly. He strung her with her own dress' ribbons, and hung her off of the wagon roof's edge. All while getting her skin ripped off of her back, and being stabbed in the gut to the point her guts were practically filled for every trader to see. In this all, he was giggling in the sense of somebody was telling him a joke. "How unfortunate, I bet you'd like to be a guy now."
  
  His killing did not stop though. He had much more to do. The men of the train tried to surround Fleir, but they knew nothing about weapons or fighting. They were all weaker than starving peasants. They all fell before him, and then punished for disobedience, in their eyes. Fleir was just having fun. He was playing a children's game.
  
  He continued to the wives, which had run away. All but two. He easily broke the bones of one of them, but the other had casted a spell on him. She had secretly been a pagan cultist, infiltrating the caravan for sacrifices. She had red hair, the more auburn type.
  
  The effects of the spell immediately began its work. Fleir fell to the ground in a pacified state, and fell asleep. He slept for a very long time, about a normal person's sleeping cycle. A good, seven to eight hours. When he awoke, the girl was nowhere to be seen.
  
  The girl was almost disgusted at the sight outside of her cabin. She was ultimately terrified that somebody would do this under no god or driving force, but that is her stance on life, and not Fleir's.
  
  When Fleir regained his ability to function properly, he set out of one of the horses from the caravan. The horse was terrified of this man, but Fleir treated the horse like it were his child. Fleir named this horse "Gamin" or "Lad" in english, because to be frank, he was not at all creative.
  
  He had no way to kill regularly anymore, now that he thought about it. He went three entire months without seeing a single soul other than Gamin's. He lived off vegetables and berries. He made a tree-house even. He had gotten over his urges. One day, a woman on a horse with three other people accidentally trotted on their horses under his home.
  
  They were, to put it simply, pagan cultists. When he met them, he didn't necessarily like them, but he liked the company. He invited them into his home and they had friendly conversation. The woman had covered her entire body, even her face, and didn't speak. It was almost a mirror of Fleir, as she looked as if she could pass for a guy. Fleir didn't take notice, and let them go on with their lives. To his regret, that is. He was truly lonely. Maybe that's what he wanted all along. To feel emotions may be his version of happiness.
  
  He left his home eventually. He was sick of the dirt. He was sick of the wooden walls. He was sick of Gamin. He was sick of sitting around and wasting his life. Fleir killed Gamin, and regained his bloodlust. He now walks the world, searching for ways to fufill his sick thoughts. To be happy.

• Descriptions of Objects

  His main weapon, his knife; a steel blade that is thicker than most. Not quite a butcher's knife, but not quite a dagger. There is no hilt, and the handle is wrapped in horse leather.
  
  Just for certain situations, in his exploits he had met an eccentric man. This guy, had made the equivalent of a modern revolver. This revolver, was special in the fact that it has a seven bullet wheel. It is made of a shiny type of steel, and in its entire length spans Fleir's entire forearm.
  
  He sells a lot of things, usually precious metals or gems. Clean water is also a very common commodotiy with him.