Rhylsoemr Halusyn

Appearance

At just over 7 feet tall, Rhylsoemr is straddling the line of minimum average height for a Roegadyn. Of course, this means nothing when there aren't any other Roegadyn around, but it creates an important caveat: for as much as he seems to not want to be seen, he sticks out like a sore thumb when around the other Eorzean races. Even as he attempts to shrink into the shadows cast by tavern stairwells or use furniture to block lines of sight, it's his size that's often the culprit of him getting noticed. If his size isn't what's outing him, though, it's his bulk - like many Roegadyn, there's hardly a spot on his body that isn't covered in thick muscle rewarded from physical labor. Maybe a shinobi of his size could hide with it, but given the size of his arms and the lack of silence to his lumbering gait, it's clear there's no shinobi here.In the darkness, he's a large shadow that can't hide; but what's he in the light? A lot, actually; pale green skin is effective at hiding white scars until you look close enough. Long lines spanning from shoulder to lower arm, shorter lines cutting into the callouses on his hands; a few marring the skin on his face, with one prominently stretching from just above his left brow to the middle of his cheek. It's all a history of fighting and hunting, something he can hide as much as he can hide himself away. He looks almost...wrong in casual clothing and short sleeves, but thanks to the ingenuity and skill of two certain individuals, he doesn't need to constrain himself anymore to the tight corset-like design of the armor, nor bear the incessant rattling of chainmail hidden beneath the leather. For as much as 'civilian clothes' clash with his ragged mop of knife-cut brown hair and show those scars, it's clear to see he breathes easier than his hideaway demeanor should allow.Even if his appearance is more relaxed, though, one thing will always remain guarded and reserved: his eyes. No matter where he goes or who he's with, the 'sunglasses' shielding his eyes are a constant reminder of his seclusion. 'Sunglasses' are somewhat of a misnomer, though; while they do indeed shield his eyes, the lens tint goes beyond protection and into the realm of 'one -way window'. Why would someone like Rhylsoemr need such protection? Only he, and a few select others, know.

Artist: Runescratch.

Artist: Ephy/Orpheus. Paintbrush effect added by me.

Two separate encounters with the primal Ifrit has led to extensive transformative scarring that Rhylsoemr does his best to hide. Volcanic stone-like scales now cover every inch of his arms and shoulders, and creep into his chest, back, and up his neck like claws seeking to wrench him back into the Lord of the Inferno's embrace. These scales are extremely hot to the touch by themselves, but aren't the dangerous part of the transformation. That would belong to the lava "vents" - existing in the cracks and gaps between the scales' boundaries, they're prone to overflowing out onto the scales and dribbling onto whatever poor unfortunate surface is under them, burning and melting anything in their path. Until he finds a way to contain the fiery transformation, Rhylsoemr is a walking fire hazard.

Abilities

To say that Rhylsoemr is a strong, independent man is an understatement. Years of living off the land and taking hunting jobs for gil have made him an adept survivalist and combatant, and if a situation were to involve him that he doesn't have the knowledge for...well, strength goes far in Hydaelyn. Rare is it when he isn't spotted near one of his weapons - his original wicked guisarme, or his gifted Eastern naginata - and these calloused hands are well-adept in handling them in even the most dire situation. With aggressive strikes and seemingly unending stamina, it seems his goal is not to just beat the enemy, but to brutalize them. However, to those trained in the art of the lancer, a keen eye might spy that this Roegadyn likely was self-taught at first, then received official training much later in life. They're small tells: an attacking stance that starts stiff, only to relax a beat later; an odd grip on weaponshafts that quickly adjusts to optimal; the small reminders to himself to charge his swings and stabs with aether, even when his reserves are plentiful, to name a few. Though few and far between, many of his mistakes are reminiscent of novice transitioning into proper mastery, and from even further back, someone who once used an axe instead of a spear.And yet, for all his size, strength, reach, and aggression, he's a paradoxically hard target to hit. His large lances allow him to strike out of reach of most melee weapons, and he thrives in this distance; rarely will he step any closer than is absolutely necessary, even if the goal is total annihilation of the enemy. And for the times when getting close and personal are necessary to survival, Rhylsoemr is oddly evasive, ducking and weaving every which way to avoid even the faintest scratch or bruise. Of course, his technique isn't infallible; his scars and regular injuries tell tales of his failures. Why does he do this, then, when injury is inevitable? It almost reeks of desperation.