Information

Wroth has a minion!

Lars the Ratkist

Wroth
Legacy Name: Wroth

The

Graveyard Wyllop
Owner: Abysmal

Age: 20 years, 3 months, 3 days

Born: July 20th, 2006

Adopted: 20 years, 3 months, 3 days ago (Legacy)

Adopted: July 20th, 2006 (Legacy)

Statistics

Level: 30
Strength: 32
Defense: 31
Speed: 32
Health: 31
HP: 31/31
Intelligence: 91
Books Read: 77
Food Eaten: 2
Toys Played: 0
Job: Stock Worker

Art:
1 by Mark
2 by Objection

Masochist/ Taciturn/ Shrewd/ Callous/ Insecure

Name: Wroth
Alias: None
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Orientation: Demisexual
Status: Single
Race: Caucasian
Occupation: College Student
Roleplay: Closed

Height: 5’9”
Build: Thin and bony, malnourished.
Distinguishing marks: Countless tiny scars litter his body, more prominent in certain places though most are no larger than pinpricks. No tattoos, but he does have several piercings.
Eyes: Pale green, always with shadows underneath.
Hair: Black and messy, unkempt and cut short

Likes: Pain, sharp objects, destruction, reading, fire, knives, coffee, sweets, history, booze, needles, handcuffs, books, mint flavored things, sleep, isolation, coffee, caffeine
Hates: Food (especially meat), people, talking, crowds, bright colors, long hair, insomnia, television, nagging, grooming, summer, insects, elderly, children

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Extra Info

Wroth’s insomnia stems from his frequent reoccurring nightmares, most commonly containing the death of his mother and the following skinning procedure. Rarely does the teen get a full night of sleep that isn't riddled with tormenting dreams. When the exhaustion becomes too much for him, only then will he resort to taking over the counter sleeping medication. More frequently, however, he simply passes out from sheer exhaustion. The primary reason that he doesn't eat is that he simply doesn't have an appetite, the very sight of most food makes him feel sick (especially meat). After spending a great deal of his life slaughtering and skinning various animals, he just doesn't find much of anything very appealing, even vegetables (though he will tolerate them). The only thing that he will consider eating without being forced, is coffee or alcohol, but he also favors sweets and mint flavored things. He isn't necessarily anorexic, but by the looks of him most would consider the young man to have some sort of eating disorder.

Wroth has never cut himself too deep or with the intent to end his life. Though it is an addiction, his love for pain, he has control over it for the most part. As a masochist, he does gain sexual pleasure from harming himself, but it is also used as a mean to simply relax. As anyone would with such a rough childhood, Wroth has suffered lasting consequences. His masochism could be traced back to only ever receiving contact in the form of physical abuse. Wroth holds a relative lack of interest for the world around him, which is why he rarely bothers to talk. As a general rule, people bore him.

Back Story

Unaware of the fact until much later in his life, young Wroth was one of the unfortunate souls born into hardship. The child's family was broken before he ever came along. An unplanned pregnancy resulted in his birth. He was unwanted from the beginning but his father soon realized the opportunity the boy could offer in the forum of unpaid labor. The instant he was old enough, Wroth was put to work. His father, a self proclaimed taxidermist, put his son to work doing tasks that would make most cringe. To skin, gut, and otherwise perform any command soon became the norm for the young child. He protested at first, sickened by the very smell of the shed in which his father worked. Yet the man forced him to do the work, beating the boy with no regard for his size or age. In fear of receiving more punishment, Wroth did as he was told. After gutting the kill (which ranged anywhere from rabbits to deer), Wroth was handed a knife to use in the skinning process. Eventually he learned to tolerate it all and even gained expertise in the skill. He knew how to avoid the foul "gut bag" and just where to cut to make the pelt peel off with ease. Yet, despite this, his father always found some flaw that was reason enough to beat the boy. Wroth's mother knew little of the torture he endured. She was never to be found in the house, off at her job at the local bar most of the time. Even when she came around she made no effort to interact with her son. At times Wroth even doubted if she knew his name. He had no interest in his parents. In fact, he would go for days on end without a single word. This fact only gave is father something else to complain about. With the belt as an incentive, Wroth would mutter a yes or no sir to spare himself the pain.

Around the age of ten, Wroth witnessed his mother with another man. It was late at night, after his father had finally fallen asleep. Wroth would sneak out like he often did to get away from the wretched place if only for an hour or two. Attracted by what sounded like a struggle, Wroth found his mother with an unfamiliar man holding her close to his body. He starred from the cover of a tree, unsure of what was happening. When he stopped thrusting against her, the man began to kiss her neck. Wroth knew at least that was wrong. He loosely understood the restraints of marriage enough to realize wives weren't supposed to kiss other men. He fled back to the house, leaving his mother behind the car with that stranger. Fearing to wake the man, Wroth waited until morning to tell his father. He was certain that if he kept the secret, the man would learn of it another way and punish Wroth for his silence. Having already suspected infidelity from the woman, he saw no reason to distrust what his son had told him. Instead of working that day, he waited throughout the long hours for his wife to return home. Wroth was commanded to do the same. Each time he fell asleep, he was struck against the head by the butt of his father's gun. It wasn't until late that evening that the woman returned, surprised to see her husband waiting (though more so by the firearm in his hands). Standing from the chair, Wroth's father aimed and shot, not a word spoken. No accusation was thrown, nothing except the cold bullet shattering through her skull. Wroth stared, wide-eyed as the woman's body crumpled to the wood floor. Ordering his son to follow, the man left the room while dragging his kill behind. Wroth obeyed numbly, eyes locked on the bloodied and unrecognizable face of his mother. Reaching the makeshift slaughter house, the man lifted his wife onto one of the hooks that hung from the ceiling. He then handed Wroth his skinning knife.

"Get to work" He growled.

Gripping the cold bone handle tight, Wroth closed his eyes and tried to imagine her as a deer. He was shoved forth impatiently and instinctively stuck the blade into her stomach. Once the prep work was complete, his father began the next step. The end result chilled Wroth each time he glanced upon it, a stuffed version of his mother, now stuck in an upright position on a base of wood. Her face was the worst part, preserved in a mangled state with false eyes and hair. His father acted as though nothing had change. Stationing her in the living room, he would chat with his wife and insisted that Wroth hug her before bed. This pattern continued until the police began to investigate, alerted that the woman had failed to show for work. They soon discovered the mounted body in clear view in the house. Shortly after his arrest, it became apparent to the officials that the man was unstable. He admitted freely to the murder of his wife and the details of what took place thereafter. No mental evaluation was needed to know the man was off. Instead of life in prison for murder, he was place in a facility specializing in the criminally insane. Wroth was questioned by a psychologist but he refused to speak. They could only speculate on what had happened to him and with no way of knowing he was sent to his nearest relatives, the family of his father. Although they seemed normal t first glance, Wroth soon realized the truth. He was no better off in their care than he had been at home. His grandmother was a decrepit, senile old woman who remained bed ridden most of the time. She tried to school the boy but failed miserably. Her idea of teaching was to ask Wroth questions he couldn't possibly know and then verbally reprimand him afterward. Having never attended a real school, he didn't even know how to read or write let alone the answers to the impossibly questions she posed. His grandfather was by far the worst member of the family, however. The elderly man was a butcher who slaughtered his own livestock. Wroth, already experienced in cleaning an animal, soon learned how to cut and prepare meat. The work load was massive but he was too afraid to slack off, having learned early on where his father got his violent behavior.

This way of life continued for only a few years. Tired of the boy's ignorance, his grandmother enlisted Wroth in the local school. His potential soon became obvious to his teachers, who put extra time in Wroth to catch him up on all he had missed. Despite this aptitude for learning with proper instruction, Wroth gained no favor from his teachers because he still refused to speak. Once at the correct grade level, he excelled past his fellow students. No longer a dumb farmhand, Wroth became troublesome for his grandparents. His greatest display of rebellion was the night before he left for college. Armed with matches and gasoline, he torched the field of crops (well most of it, he ran out of fuel). Wroth had enough scholarships earned to gain a free ride through college and moved as far away from his hometown as possible. Since escaping the restraints of his mad relatives, he hasn't changed very much. He still rarely talks to anyone and retains a strong love for pain. Wroth isn't quite sure what he wants to do after college, but he always enjoyed History the most over other subjects such as English. He admires how barbaric things were in the past, especially the events that took place in Nazi Germany.

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