Amril

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• Vital Stats

  • Name: Amril
  • Gender: Male
  • Nicknames: The Laughing Hound, The Kneecapper, Thirst
  • Race: Ocelot
  • Age: 27
  • Body Type: Athletic
  • Height: 5'10
  • Weight: 180 lb.
  • Hair: Reddish-brown
  • Eyes: Yellow
  • Handedness: Left
  • Relationship Status: Single
  • Personality: Driven, focused, ruthless in pursuit of goals
  • Mannerisms: Roguish savvy, gentleman's diction
  • Likes: Having power, mind games, strategy, cognac, port, sweets
  • Dislikes: Self-importance, anything pickled, bad smells, not being at his best

• Description

  Appearance
  
  Amril's face is young, as he isn't yet thirty, but there is a streetwise glint in his gaze that speaks of far deeper wisdom. It's the face of a user, truly, one that sees every situation as the potential to increase his holdings and come out on top. He is broad in the shoulders and his arms are thick - his loose clothing makes him seem slighter than he is - but he's far from bulky or hulking. The ocelot is toned, athletic, and built for finesse.
  
  His hair is long, a little messy, and generally braided. His fur is a duskier shade of typical ocelot coloring. If you're curious about the fur pattern or what the animal looks like, please type "ocelot" in Google and look under "Images." They're a kind of wild cat.
  
  Fashion
  
  His clothing is high-society, favoring mute and dark colors. Most commonly he wears a shirt of white linen with billowing sleeves, black gloves, a dark red vest of the plushest velvet, and black trousers of canvas. High leather boots and a thick belt completes the outfit. If absolutely necessary, he will wear a cravat or lace, but he despises both. Slick and comfortable are preferred to cultured and aesthetic.
  
  The only visible weapon he keeps is a knife at his waist. There are, however, nastier things hidden on his person in carefully concealed pockets. At any one time he boasts an arsenal of at least three blades, including a very, very small one sewn into the waistband of his trousers, in the back. He's had his hands tied behind his back more than once.
  
  Deformities
  
  He has few physical deformities. His personality, on the other hand... those flaws would take pages to list. Amril's right ear has a chunk taken out of it and his right eye is slightly swollen and always narrowed, as though he suffered a black eye that never quite healed. There's also a fine, curved scar on his right cheek, a remnant of an attempt to give him a Glasgow smile.

• History

  Amril has led a rich and varied existence. Though his job as Pherron's right-hand man spanned ten years, there was a lot of time in there for him to experience all the little joys and dangers that life has to offer. He has a living history, meaning that I will update and add things to it as I see fit.
  
  *
  
  Eye for an Eye
  
  Amril's eyes is swollen for a reason. At the age of twelve, he was the leader of a gang of neighborhood toughs and trouble-makers. Thinking they were possibly the most legendary gang to every walk the slums, they even came up with a name that had the requisite toughness and requisite silliness: The South Wharf Reapers.
  
  Very little actual reaping was involved, however. They specialized in using their younger members to stage a distraction in front of people carrying coin boxes from their businesses to their bank or home - be it a little girl looking for her mother or two boys having a brutal "fight" over a piece of food, it would provide a window of opportunity. When the person with the money was distracted, the tougher, faster members would run up, shove the person holding the take, and run off into the maze of alleys with the box.
  
  On one unfortunate day, they managed to take a box laden with a lot of money from a fence working at the behest of a proper gang. The leader of this adult gang tracked Amril to his hideout, kidnapped him, tied him to a chair, and beat him until he told them where the box was. To his credit, he didn't rat on his gang.
  
  During a lull in the beating, he managed to stand up and fall hard on the chair. It broke, he slipped his bonds, and he ran away as fast as he could. All the money he made went to buying his mother medicine, so when his right eye became infected, he visited a friendly barber and had the man drain the abscess multiple times. It eventually healed, but the scar tissue built up and made it permanently puffy and half-closed.
  
  *
  
  Rise to Power
  
  Amril was a street urchin. He turned to thuggery to support his family, and when his mother ended up dying despite his attempts to help her, he stayed in the life to avoid remorse. After many years working his way up from neighborhood tough to racketeer, the damage was done and he had already discovered that he liked doing what he did. And what he did was hurt people that didn't pay. Or tried to stop him from getting paid, for that matter.
  
  Notoriety is a funny thing. Though he didn't know it, he was gaining quite the reputation in the poor districts. There were others who were taller, others who were stronger, but when Amril approached a target with his knowing smile fixed and his trademark jokes, even the most feared tended to cower. They feared the large stick he carried, but there was something in his eyes - a suicide of the soul, the look of a man who had given up trying to fight what he had become long ago - that fixed them in place like nails in their feet. The street name he had then was Thirst, for the mouths of the citizens grew dry when he approached.
  
  He remained a simple thug until he attracted the attention of one Pherron Tierranegra, a powerful ocelot with a lot of monetary sway. Pherron was a smuggler and tradesman who had given up on street crime years earlier in favor of becoming an affluent 'man of questionable legality.' He saw promise in Amril when he spoke to him in a tavern. It wasn't the fierceness of his club that Pherron liked, it was the youth's overall look: restless, driven, careful, utterly dedicated, and possibly a little insane. For an urchin, the boy had remarkable communication skills as well.
  
  Pherron offered the boy a chance to prove himself. He was offloading some illegal narcotics at the dock and wanted to bolster his forced to keep the vulture-like street gangs from launching an attack. That night, an attack did in fact come. Amril not only bested four larger men with ease, but - after Pherron's lieutenant had been killed - took the reins of the operation himself and bluffed his way past port authorities to ensure the goods arrived safely. Amril's life with Pherron was set, and soon his boss and mentor introduced him to the finer things in life.
  
  During his time, he gained two more nicknames. 'The Laughing Hound' was a reference to his smiley nature and the fact that he was Pherron's 'hound', or chief hunter/enforcer. 'The Kneecapper', well... you can guess how he got that name. Despite his cruel reputation, he wasn't exactly a bad person. He was off-putting and a little creepy at times, but kept most of his violence away from civilians. Even went so far as to drop a few coins at the local parish or orphanage. Still a thug, though, albeit one with a softer (or slightly less hard) heart.
  
  After ten years of being a gentleman criminal and chief enforcer, Amril was sad to learn that Pherron had contracted an illness that could not be cured. He stayed by his mentor's side throughout his death, tending to him when he needed, letting no others see him in such a state. Before the man died, he took Amril's hand and told him the truth. Pherron was, in fact, Amril's father, and had lost the boy when his mother had taken him to a different city. Amril was not angry, nor was he sad. He expressed joy that he had come from such a man as Pherron, and he vowed to keep his business safe and secure after his father's death.
  
  Pherron passed away, and Amril spent all of his personal money on buying his dead father a fantastic funeral and massive wake.
  
  Only one man questioned Amril's abilities to lead. Amril silenced him brutally, and no one else objected. Since that day he has increased Pherron's holdings and risen to a place of criminal and economic fame. But he found life at the top to be boring, and he felt lonely. He desired the touch of a woman, but not in the classical sense. Thus began his quest for "romance."