Henric Veneburg

Description
A ruggedly handsome young man, Henric stands at a stout 6'3. Lean and athletic due to a laborious upbringing on the other side of the coin Henric may attribute to this the multitude of scars and blemishes that pepper his body. Henric bears ocean blue eyes and long unruly hair held back within a modest lace. Streaks of stark white run rampant through his onyx locks despite his over abundant youth. He is usually seein wearing a thick leather jerkin beneath a light cloak. He sports black hunting boots and trousers.

History
Born just upon the outskirts of the Ironguard territory, Henric is the bastard son of the notorious aviator, Harren Venebrug. Whom upon military leave sought fit to relieve his drunken seed in Henric's mother, Esmeralda of the silver blade, an infamous warrior most noted for her brute strength and undomesticated demeanor. Henric however, knows very little of the man. According to his mother she'd found him lying in fetal position, in the wreckage of a downed ship with nothing but a pipe in possession upon the battle field. Escorting him to safety, they met in a tavern later on and thing led to another. Shortly after conception Harren left to be with his wife in Cindervale, only staying long enough to bestow upon his illegitimate son the family name.

Henric's upbringing was nontraditional at best. Raised deep within Ironguard's most inhospitable of forests, his mother showed him what it mean't to be man. His schooling was elementary at best, but instilled with the Veneburg's innate sense of self preservation and the instruction of his mother's guild compatriots, Henric was a highly independent young man. He knew how to hunt, prowl, scavenge, and fight; efficiently at that. At the age of 8, Esmeralda left for a job in the Silver Blades. Henric didn't fret for his mother's safety, this wasn't her first quest. Though weeks turned to months and months into years and she'd yet to return to her worrying son. Grief stricken and in shock, Henric fell into a gang of teen age misfits who stole vandalized and terrorized the local community through usage of sheer strength and their latent Vis whom dubbed themselves, The Iron Fist. Always an extremely strong lad, even without knowledge of what his Vis actually was or if he even had one, he more than earned the title of vice head of the Iron Fist. Though it wasn't long before the Ironguard themselves caught mention of the hoodlings and sentenced their immediate termination.

Henric remembers the blood shed vividly, and how easily his comrades were slaughtered under the light of the full moon, how within the blink of an eye he was the only one left, and the moments leading up to the point where he snapped. Awakening in chains days later he was approached by a woman with platinum hair. She'd told him he had a choice, execution for the homicide of 30 of the Ironguard officers or servitude within the military. Still alive it's obvious what he chose. Long story short under the tutelage of militaristic mentors he learned everything the silver blade couldn't teach him, including how to control his outburst, anger and emotions.

Henric found outlets for his rage in the form of smithing and hunting, between hunting bounties for the Ironguard and the Silver Blades. Now on militaristic leave he's made his way to Cindervale in search of his father.

Personality
Henric is just as tough, bitter, and angry, as he looks personality wise. He's seen his fair share of self inflicted hardships, thus taking everything he hears with a grain of salt. This principle of "irrational skepticism" as some deem it, has kept Henric safe from many a quarrel, however it also hinders his ability to ally with others or decide friend from foe. Henric is genuinely a solitary, seclusive human being. He doesn't have layers, he has walls, erected from misplaced trust and betrayal, and behind each of these walls lies thicker than the other. Henric truly is a Tootsie pop.

Powers and Abilities
Werebeing Physiology: W.I.P

Heavy Weapons Mastery: W.I.P

Tracking: W.I.P

Smithing: W.I.P