Khariss Sevrath
12-12-06, 02:41 PM
Name: Khariss Sevrath
Age: 29
Race: Human
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Dark Green
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 205 lbs.
Occupation: “Merchant”
Personality: A grim, cheerless man, Khariss cares about himself and only himself. He is a shrewd businessman, able to advertise a product with the best of them. Unfortunately, he resorts to violence and crime in his ventures very quickly, and many a competitor has mysteriously ‘vanished’ at his hands. He also refuses to hire others to do his dirty work: his trust for scoundrels, murderers and footpads is nearly nonexistent. Additionally, he is fickle. In an argument, he will almost always take the side that he believes will net him the most profit in the end.
Money makes the world go ‘round.
Appearance: A bulky, muscular man of average height. He has short, raggedly-cut brown hair, and his eyes are dark green. He sports a short beard. A long, thin scar is hidden by this beard, testament to a forgotten deal that had gone bad. He has one tattoo; a long, stylized serpent that winds down his left arm with the head on the back of his hand. The man prefers nondescript clothing, sticking to plain shirts and pants on all but the most special of occasions. Khariss’s voice is deep and booming.
History:
Enko snorted with a hint of ultimate rejection. “I’m sorry… Khariss, was it?... but you’re going to have to do better than that for me to consider cutting back in that particular market. It’s a lucrative business, and I can’t be forced to do the bidding of a smaller competitor. It sets a bad precedent; I’m sure you understand.” With one last insincere smile, Enko left his seat and exited the office.
Khariss Sevrath’s eyes were slits as they followed the cocky businessman’s every step out of his office.
The door closed behind Enko, and Khariss’s breath hissed out of his mouth. A fist slammed on the desk in front of him. With a sullen, frustrated growl, the merchant leaned back against his chair, eyes moving to the ceiling in thought.
Enko’s business had him cornered; there was no way around it. The fat man’s resources were too large, his contacts too influential for Khariss to stand a chance in the same market.
Another explosive breath was expelled from the bearded man’s throat. Why did it always have to come to this? Damn near every deal that he tried to strike ended up like this. The results were always the same: he either threatened them into striking the bargain, or he just slit their throats. Either way was fairly effective, and Khariss knew the system well enough to avoid getting tagged by the authorities. In increasing ire, the man’s fist crashed into the hard wood of his desk once again. Did they expect him to lie down and take their arrogant demands without protest? What the hell did they take him for?
The cutthroat merchant closed his eyes in an effort to relax. He didn’t even have to think about his course of action. It was common sense: he would pay Enko a visit that night. When he left the man’s home, he would be happier, richer man. Enko would or wouldn’t be alive. Khariss didn’t care. As long as he got his way in the end, he had no concern for the people behind him.
The blade would press into the portly man’s throat, and the offer would be posed one last time. If he said “yes,” his hand would be shaken and Khariss would leave. Enko wouldn’t tell the police. Every damned merchant in the stinking hole they called Radasanth had a few things to hide. To involve the police would only shine a spotlight on their own unsavory activities, and no dealer was that stupid.
But if he said “no,” the blade would press into the flesh of the man’s throat. Skin would part, blood would flow, a choked cough would exit the man’s mouth and a deceased soul would exit the man’s body. The corpse would be disposed of, and nobody would ever know.
Nobody ever knew.
Skills:
Swordsmanship: Khariss can hold his own against the mediocre swordsman if need be. Many deals have gone bad in the past, and his blade has tasted blood at the conclusion of several of them. Although he is a decent swordfighter, Khariss prefers the knife to the sword, preferring the silent, secretive way of the assassin over the garish skills of the warrior.
Stealth: Under the right circumstances, the untrained eye and ear will probably be deceived by the cutthroat merchant’s stealth. He is by no means excellent at snooping around, but his ability has helped him in many situations.
Equipment:
Iron shamshir: A long, thin, curved blade. Far from spotless, numerous chips and nicks grace its surface, telling of the many blades it has crossed in the past.
Steel dagger: A short blade, scarcely a foot long. Khariss’s favored weapon in combat, it is kept in much better condition than the sword.
Age: 29
Race: Human
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Dark Green
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 205 lbs.
Occupation: “Merchant”
Personality: A grim, cheerless man, Khariss cares about himself and only himself. He is a shrewd businessman, able to advertise a product with the best of them. Unfortunately, he resorts to violence and crime in his ventures very quickly, and many a competitor has mysteriously ‘vanished’ at his hands. He also refuses to hire others to do his dirty work: his trust for scoundrels, murderers and footpads is nearly nonexistent. Additionally, he is fickle. In an argument, he will almost always take the side that he believes will net him the most profit in the end.
Money makes the world go ‘round.
Appearance: A bulky, muscular man of average height. He has short, raggedly-cut brown hair, and his eyes are dark green. He sports a short beard. A long, thin scar is hidden by this beard, testament to a forgotten deal that had gone bad. He has one tattoo; a long, stylized serpent that winds down his left arm with the head on the back of his hand. The man prefers nondescript clothing, sticking to plain shirts and pants on all but the most special of occasions. Khariss’s voice is deep and booming.
History:
Enko snorted with a hint of ultimate rejection. “I’m sorry… Khariss, was it?... but you’re going to have to do better than that for me to consider cutting back in that particular market. It’s a lucrative business, and I can’t be forced to do the bidding of a smaller competitor. It sets a bad precedent; I’m sure you understand.” With one last insincere smile, Enko left his seat and exited the office.
Khariss Sevrath’s eyes were slits as they followed the cocky businessman’s every step out of his office.
The door closed behind Enko, and Khariss’s breath hissed out of his mouth. A fist slammed on the desk in front of him. With a sullen, frustrated growl, the merchant leaned back against his chair, eyes moving to the ceiling in thought.
Enko’s business had him cornered; there was no way around it. The fat man’s resources were too large, his contacts too influential for Khariss to stand a chance in the same market.
Another explosive breath was expelled from the bearded man’s throat. Why did it always have to come to this? Damn near every deal that he tried to strike ended up like this. The results were always the same: he either threatened them into striking the bargain, or he just slit their throats. Either way was fairly effective, and Khariss knew the system well enough to avoid getting tagged by the authorities. In increasing ire, the man’s fist crashed into the hard wood of his desk once again. Did they expect him to lie down and take their arrogant demands without protest? What the hell did they take him for?
The cutthroat merchant closed his eyes in an effort to relax. He didn’t even have to think about his course of action. It was common sense: he would pay Enko a visit that night. When he left the man’s home, he would be happier, richer man. Enko would or wouldn’t be alive. Khariss didn’t care. As long as he got his way in the end, he had no concern for the people behind him.
The blade would press into the portly man’s throat, and the offer would be posed one last time. If he said “yes,” his hand would be shaken and Khariss would leave. Enko wouldn’t tell the police. Every damned merchant in the stinking hole they called Radasanth had a few things to hide. To involve the police would only shine a spotlight on their own unsavory activities, and no dealer was that stupid.
But if he said “no,” the blade would press into the flesh of the man’s throat. Skin would part, blood would flow, a choked cough would exit the man’s mouth and a deceased soul would exit the man’s body. The corpse would be disposed of, and nobody would ever know.
Nobody ever knew.
Skills:
Swordsmanship: Khariss can hold his own against the mediocre swordsman if need be. Many deals have gone bad in the past, and his blade has tasted blood at the conclusion of several of them. Although he is a decent swordfighter, Khariss prefers the knife to the sword, preferring the silent, secretive way of the assassin over the garish skills of the warrior.
Stealth: Under the right circumstances, the untrained eye and ear will probably be deceived by the cutthroat merchant’s stealth. He is by no means excellent at snooping around, but his ability has helped him in many situations.
Equipment:
Iron shamshir: A long, thin, curved blade. Far from spotless, numerous chips and nicks grace its surface, telling of the many blades it has crossed in the past.
Steel dagger: A short blade, scarcely a foot long. Khariss’s favored weapon in combat, it is kept in much better condition than the sword.