Mithiras Wolfe, Centoraurian Child

Name: Mithiras Wolfe
Gender: Male
Age: Eight
Race: Human
Tribe: Centoraurian
Occupation: None
Title: Rapscallion

Appearance: Standing at about one ped and a palmspan, Ras is shorter than most boys his age. Fiercely he will deny his lack of height, often rising up on tiptoes to create the illusion of a few more nailsbreadths. However, he cannot maintain such a pose for long and must inevitably set his feet back down, though with a noticeable scowl. As he is more bone than flesh, he is weak for a child his age. With his voracious appetite, one can only wonder as to how he remains slim, but such is the nature of young boys. Remnants of his last meal are apparent around the edges of his mouth, remaining there no matter how many times he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Full lips often pout whenever any of his childish desires are denied, and he has the habit of biting down on his lower lip when nervous.

With his fair complexion, nearly as pale as fine ivory, he is often sunburnt during the summer months. Freckles dot his cheeks and nose, offering a contrast to his pale skin. The color of blood, his hair is a dark crimson, the bangs descending to frame his face, occasionally obscuring his vision. Cut short, though beginning to grow out, the rest of his hair is an untamed mass, defiant of all combs and brushes. With the amount of filth customarily apparent in his hair, as baths are to be avoided, it will sometimes appear darker than it truly is. By no means clean, his skin and clothes are often soiled, even encrusted with mud occasionally, so much so that it is difficult to see the boy beneath.

Piercing storm grey eyes are evident beneath his long bangs, alight with a mischievous glint. A broad grin blooms frequently on his freckled, unwashed face, and one could almost believe that it stretches from ear to ear. As much as it pains Ras to hear it aloud, often earning a low groan from him, the adjective to best describe the child is: adorable.

Clothes: Once of fine quality, his clothes are now stained and, in some places, torn. An off-white cotton shirt, once snow white, tucks into his brown leather pants, the pants themselves tucking into his Centoraurian riding boots, crafted of soft leather. Extending to his knees, the boots provide comfort whether the boy is riding or walking, and though cracks are apparent within the nor’sidian leather, they remain serviceable boots. Snug on his hips and legs, the pants provide protection against the elements, particularly against frigid winds; such protection proves necessary on the back of a horse. He wears a black leather belt around his waist, the silver buckle tarnished from exposure to the elements. The shirt fits loosely on his slender frame, tears evident in the fabric where glimpses of pale skin may be seen, surely the result of some adventure or another. Worn over his shirt, providing warmth, is a crimson coat, woven from the hides of the common shir. Pockets abound throughout the coat, usually bulging with various knickknacks, worthless objects that have attracted the notice of the youth, if only for a moment.

Personality: Brimming with curiosity, Ras manages to get himself and Cloud into every kind of trouble imaginable. Questions tumble off his tongue without halt, spoken the moment they are conceived without any hint of tact. Secrets fascinate the boy, especially those of others, and he will use all the wit he possesses to weasel them out of anyone unlucky enough to catch his attention. But his attention is a fleeting entity, focusing on someone or something for only moments before shifting to the next thing to catch his eye. Every little corner of the world has to be explored no matter how dark, and shiny objects, valuable or not, often disappear into worn pockets.

The pride of his people is evident in his every movement and from the very tone of his voice. A Centoraurian is less than nothing without his pride. His clothes may be little more than rags, but Ras wears them like the raiment of a lord. Believing in his own abilities above all else, he refuses the help of others and boasts about his exploits as loudly as any drunken sailor. As with most boys his age, he has quite the time distinguishing fact from fiction, not that he cares about the difference.

Anger the child has in spades. Any remarks about his size will be met with defiance as will any such remarks about the grey gelding. Sadly, his anger is not tempered by wisdom but is instead forged by the foolishness of youth. Arguments are easily entered and often become physical. Reason is foreign to Ras as rage consumes his young mind, and he is not easily calmed. Fits of anger are almost always followed by bouts of sulking that can last for days.

Strengths:
- As is true of any Centoraurian, Ras excels at riding horses. In particular he has grown accustomed to his grey gelding Cloud, the pair often moving as though they possessed one mind between them.

- The boy is not easily deterred once he sets his mind on something. Stubborn and determined, he will have what he wants when he wants it.

- Proud of his independence and confident about his own abilities, Ras relies on only himself to evade the trouble he inevitably brings on himself.

Weaknesses:
- He is a starved skeleton of a child, weaker than most boys his age.

- Proud beyond reason, humility is foreign to Ras. A plea for help will never escape his lips. Nor will he ever admit his own feebleness.

- Inquisitive as he is, Ras is ever stepping in and out of trouble. His very determination prevents him from seeing reason or even feeling fear as he seeks answers to the questions flitting about the confines of his mind.

- The child is angry and defiant, entering arguments fists first with his tongue lagging behind.

Familiar: Standing at twelve palmspans at the withers, the grey colt is undersized for a Centoraurian horse. With an angular and scrawny figure, the colt's weight is as unimpressive as his height. His size raises doubts as to whether or not he could bear any rider heavier than a child. But what he lacks in strength, like his rider, he makes up for in speed, aided by his very lightness. Aptly named Cloud for his glossy grey coat, the horse is gorgeous with dainty legs and a highly arched neck. But most mesmerizing of all are his dark eyes, the depths of which seem to have no end, lit from within by a spark of intelligence.

Belongings: Ras carries only what he has found during his travels as a child is not the most suitable one to plan for any journey, especially a child acting rashly. His possessions are simply whatever he has chosen to stuff into his pockets at any given moment.

History: Born in the city of Salsair, son of a renowned horse breeder, the first few years of his life were joyous and carefree, as should be the childhood of any youth, though fate often intervenes for the worse. Days were spent exploring the confines of his father’s estate, at first exploring only within the two-storied house, but he soon became more adventurous and ventured beyond its walls. The grounds themselves held little to interest Ras, yet his jaw dropped in astonishment upon entering the stables for the first time at the age of five. Standing in stalls along each wall were the glorious steeds, their hides glossy and flanks muscular. A commotion could be heard toward the back, and his curiosity led his feet unerringly on. Innocent eyes widened in surprise as they beheld the miracle of life, the spectacle of a mare giving birth. Rushing to the foal, Ras giggled in delight as he attempted to aid the little fellow in standing.

From that day on, nearly every waking moment was spent in the stables, indeed any moment he could evade the notice of those servants unfortunate enough to be responsible for his well-fare. The stablehands welcomed another pair of hands to aid with the various chores and set him to feeding the mares and fillies, never allowing him near the stallions for fear of the child being harmed. Ras would use any trick to avoid manual labor, but he did not consider work in the stables to be a chore, as he was willing to do anything if it meant spending time with the horses. One horse in particular he visited each day, often “borrowing” treats for him from the kitchen: the foal whose birth the boy had witnessed. Already he was named, if only in the boy’s mind: Cloud for his glossy, grey coat.

A few months later, Ras sat astride a horse for the first time but not a full-grown one or his beloved Cloud, just a colt. Under the supervision of the head stablehand, he rode around in the small enclosure and became accustomed to the colt’s gait. Each evening, after his chores were done, the boy would ride the colt, awaiting the day his own Cloud would be large enough to support his weight. One could almost believe the youth to have been born in the saddle with the hours he spent riding. Grow the little grey colt did, yet he remained noticeably shorter than his brethren, worrying Ras as the boy wondered when he could ever ride Cloud.

At the age of two, the grey colt was gelded along with several others. As Ras had seen other colts gelded and even assisted sometimes by holding the animal still, he did not worry overmuch about it being done to Cloud. Little did he know that his father intended to sell his beloved colt, as he was not suitable for breeding with a small and scrawny frame. Such a colt was not suitable for a Centoraurian, certainly not for his son, or so was the reasoning of the father, not taking into account the irrational, passionate love the boy felt for the colt.

Several months later, the date of the Xara Horse Auction approached, held every three years in the nearby city of Horth. It was there that the father sold most of his stock, as people traveled leagues to buy the fabled Centoraurian horses. After days of pleading, Ras was allowed to accompany his father and their servants to the auction for the first time, delighted to see that Cloud was galloping among the gaggle of colts. Though the grey colt had grown, the boy was hesitant to mount him, fearing to injure the little fellow, and had yet to do so.

The auction was everything Ras had imagined it to be and more. His eyes were drawn to the magnificent horses kept within pens, his senses taking in the familiar aroma of sweaty animals. As his father maneuvered their own stock to a pen on the far side of the auction, the boy could only gape in bewilderment as Cloud was herded in with the other colts. Worried questioning of his father on why his horse was to be sold was greeted only with an answer devoid of emotion: namely that the colt did not belong to Ras.

Fantasies of taking the colt and riding off into the sunset whirled through his mind, and for once he acted on such impulsive thoughts. Leaping from the back of the colt he had been riding, the youth rushed through the yet open gate, wrapping his arms around the neck of Cloud, softly whispering into the colt’s ear that he would not let them take him, would not let them separate the two from each other. Mounting the colt for the first time, Ras gently squeezed his sides with his legs as the horse began to run toward a gate left open by servants too dazed to move. Beyond the limits of the city Cloud ran, colt and child free for the first time in their short lives. Someday, Ras may regret such impetuous actions, but for now he is too intoxicated with the joy of absolute freedom to care.