Wenlit was only seven when he had to learn to fend for himself. His story really started at the dinner table. He voiced his worries to his parents - simple farming folk. He told them he wanted to protect them - that there was dangerous things outside, that there was monsters out there. His father hurried him off to bed, but he couldn't find sleep. <br><br>He didn't know it, but he wouldn't be able to find sleep for the next 3 days. <br><br>His mother and father found their last sleep that night. Wenlit hid in his usual hiding place, and managed to escape his parents' fate. He watched the bad men from the ceiling. They lazily went through his things, examining a thing or two, and left. Wenlit climbed down, and moved towards his parents room. His brother didn't make it either. <br><br>Wenlit never reached what he worked for. He'd tried his hand at every guild that Seringale offered, but was consistently unable to qualify to a point where they'd allow him to begin his ranks. His situation slowly reached desperation - he was unable to pay for food. He was reduced to begging - and eventually, against everything he had experienced in his lifetime - thievery. He ended up joining the guild, and remaining a thief. He didn't have much of a choice. If he was going to learn anything about combat, he would have to learn it with the thieves.
Description:
Wenlit is a bright looking fellow, with hints of shadows that adorn his person. He gives a slight smirk from time to time, apparently thinking of something that happened in the past. He has a small image of a wizard scarred into his right arm, that shows occasionally when his clothes shift. His movement is quiet and deliberate - demonstrating a skill and perhaps a wisdom that isn't otherwise exhibited - and if it is, subtly. He hasn't been very careful in keeping a cleanly shaven face. Where a quiver would usually hang, he has fashioned an assortment of bags that cascade down his back.
