Roleirn, Prince of the Southern Plains

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--- Name: Roleirn (pronounced "ROLL-ayrn") of Ve'rrdann, Disowned Prince of the Southern Plains Gender: Male Corporeal Species: Technically human, though I wouldn't really draw him as one by preference- Age: Early-Mid-20's Personality: Opinionated, Polished, Talkative, and Unyielding - Rol is constantly caught up in a battle between honesty and dishonesty. A gifted liar and most at home in winded debate, were it not for Rol's habits of demanding that which is out of his reach and commenting on the behaviors of those he considers uncouth, it would be difficult to distinguish his royal heritage from that of any other commoner's. True Form: A white and grey creature with a long snout, massive fangs, dull crimson eyes, a feathered back, a bushy, feathered tail, stretched skin along its sides and massive webs between its paws - when feathers are bristled and the webs on its sides/between its paws are stretched, it is capable of gliding Weapon(s) of Choice: A dagger with a leaf-shaped, mica grey blade and an incricately carved black hilt. A dull red stone sits in the center of the blade, though its exact purpose is unknown Harnessed Abilities: (As a Human) Like all creatures of the Southern Plains, he is unusually agile and is capable of jumping above-average heights, though nothing superhuman - surprisingly, however, Rol is also a skilled eavedropper, and blends into shadows and crowds rather easily.. Known Family Members: Father - Haesrall ("hay-SHRALL") of Ve'rrdann, Current Lord of the Southern Plains / Mother - Nalorj ("nahl-orj"), Monarch of the Southern Plains (Deceased) / Unnamed Deceased Sister Backstory: Roleirn ("Rol" for short) was born into a lesser noble family of the Monarchy of the Southern Plains. Aside from his lineage, there was nothing remarkable about him or his family. After all, they were just relatives of the great Monarch. They had no true standing politically speaking, rather than the permission to live on royal grounds, and the general respect of the commoners. However, one day a great sickness swept over the Southern Plains, almost unnatural in its fatality... Many were struck with the disease, among them being the Monarch, the Monarch's spouse, and Rol's own older sister. He had not known any of the aforementioned few very personally, so the event would not affect him much... At least, not emotionally. It just so happened, oddly enough, that Rol's mother was the closest living relative of the Monarch after the illness passed... As a result, she ended up taking the throne soon after. Which, to clarify, made Rol a prince. He was four years old at the time. Strictly five years from that fateful day, a small band of foreigners came by way of ship to the coastal border of the Southern Plains. They wore odd black garments and rode sleek desert horses, complete with headscarves that masked all but their eyes. Under normal circumstances, never would the Monarchy allow such a group into the kingdom... And yet, as if the Ve'rrdannite people had been expecting the group, the ominous desert riders were permitted in something that came just short of a warm welcome. The leader was a straightforward fellow. His name was Serr'khalt. He entered through the gates of the underground palace without challenge, despite the uneasiness of the surrounding folk. The Monarch Nalorj greeted him briefly, hardly sparing a thought to the sheer amount of impatience the foreigner radiated. "Well, Nalorj? Have you held to your end of the bargain?" "I no longer go by that name, as I trust you must know... It went more smoothly than I could have expected, I must admit. Though, the added casualties were... most distasteful..." "Couldn't be helped. Such things are inevitable. That being said, our bargain, I believe..." "Ah, yes, of course... Very well, take it. I have done as you have insisted - you will find no better learned of his age. Now go - my guards remain evermore impatient for foreign injury... And to finish off a potentially rogue royal shall be a brilliant touch." With a brief nod, she turned away, leaving the room... Exactly a moment later, two things occurred. A youth, approximately nine, and with all the characteristics of his mother, entered the room. And not long after, a torrent of guards flooded into the parameters, each eyeing the lanky foreigner and the prince in his grasp with a grim stare. "My, my... A classic double cross. Rather cold, wouldn't you say boy?" The youth looked up at the blazing chocolate gaze, finding none of the voice's faux warmth evident in the stranger's fearsome gaze. "Rol - Roleirn, correct? I'll call you Rol. Now then, Rol, allow me- that is, Serr'khalt of the Ska'rabbian Hills, so I should say- to present you with your future should you choose to be a loyal lad... And if not- ah...' The man appeared to shrug dismissively. But his gaze hardened, visibly. "Well? Come on then. Fate awaits us." ---