AELRED KISSER.

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Aelred is a house of cards made of half-truths and lighthearted jokes. He avoids serious topics like the plague, preferring to defuse the situation before it calls for any sort of sincerity from his part. Always ready for a good time, he tries his best to lighten the mood or to "bring the party."

NICKNAME
RED.DATE OF BIRTH
5th Astral Moon, 18th Sun, 1552 6AE.PLACE OF BIRTH
██████████ ████████AGE
25GENDER
CIS MAN.PRONOUNS
HE/HIM.SEXUALITY
GAY.

POSITIVE : HUMOROUS OUTLOOK. EYE FOR DETAIL.
NEUTRAL : CURIOUS AND NOSY. FLIRTATIOUS.
NEGATIVE : EMOTIONALLY REPRESSED.
STRENGTHS : LONG-RANGE COMBAT. CHARISMA.
WEAKNESSES : DEXTERITY. SINCERITY.LIKES : BEING A NUISANCE. PHYSICAL CONTACT.
DISLIKES : SENSELESS KILLING. DRINKING.
MUSIC : PLAYLIST.
HERITAGE : ELEZEN + ███████
HOBBIES : SLEEPING AROUND. PEOPLEWATCHING.
EYE COLOR : GREEN.
HAIR COLOR : BURGUNDY.Aelred stays true to his lighthearted nature even in the middle of combat. He fires his gun with a cocksure grin, takes orders with a mocking salute, and above all, makes jokes with every blow.Even with trusted friends—if he has those—he maintains this façade of lightheartedness. He's reliable for a sensible chuckle or quick laugh. If anyone seeks anything deeper, however, they'll find he's evasive and dodgy.

EDUCATION : FORMALLY EDUCATED. LITERATE.
OCCUPATION : SKY PIRATE.
SKILLS : GUNNER. RECONNAISSANCE. ENFORCEMENT.

"THERE'S MISTAKES THAT I MADE—BUT I MADE THEM MY WAY."

PARENTS : DECEASED.
SIBLINGS : ONE SISTER, LIVING.Aelred attempts to keep his usual fun-loving mask even in front of those he dislikes. Despite this, however, his humor becomes particularly pointed in this case. He rarely engages in sarcasm at other people's expense, but this is the exception.Though usually talkative, he will attempt to remove himself from a situation immediately if it's party to someone he dislikes. Despite everything, he's not a fighter; he's a runner.

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"I KNOW I'M NOT FORGIVEN—"

The snow stung his face as he trudged forward. He had long since lost the need for subtlety; he was well within the border now, and the raging blizzard would ensure whatever path he left would be wiped away in a quarter-bell.It was a storm that reminded him of home. After traveling through Gyr Abania and the Black Shroud, he had almost forgotten what it was like to have the cold bite at him, to have to fight for every step. He'd almost missed it.He squinted up at the horizon, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes. A yellow glow honeyed the fog in the distance, diffuse and soft and still a half-bell away at his current pace. He sighed and lowered his head to return to the grueling pace.The howling wind filled his ears, an easy sound to drown himself in. It worked to stave off his memories, to ensure he didn't think about the lifeless goggles over his brow, to prevent him from turning on his heel and going back to the only person who could fix them.But it didn't work to disguise the keening wail nearby.

She finally fell silent.He couldn't swallow his relieved sigh, winded as he was. What had been a half-bell walk at his best pace was turning into a bell-and-a-half trek, thanks to the new cargo on his back.He adjusted his grip on her legs, ensuring she didn't slip from his back. Her blood was warm, soaking his back, but it was all he could do to keep carrying her through the snow. He was positive they left a trail that wouldn't easily be swept away by the winds—one that would easily lead another pack of wolves to them, to finish what the first had started.Her leg was in dire straits, and though he appreciated the newfound silence, it was cause to worry. He tried to step faster through the knee-high snow, only occasionally glancing towards the soft light on the horizon.

"What's your name?"It was a question that wouldn't have given him pause, once. It was only natural to ask; he'd saved her life, she deserved to know who had done that. Still, he couldn't shake the hesitation that accompanied the thought these days.

The syllables and vowels were too superfluous for his tongue; he needed a replacement, but for now, it was the only name he had. As soon as it fell from his lips, however, the warm hospice felt as icy as the wind outside.She asked him to repeat himself, so he did. She asked him if it was a joke, so for the first time, he said it wasn't. She asked what he was doing here, then—and he chose to be honest.To help people like you.It was the wrong answer, though he wasn't convinced there was a correct one. She was angry, hurt; he couldn't blame her. She told him that it was all his fault, that he had to be held accountable. Though he might have agreed, he couldn't let her be the executioner. Not that night.She lashed out; he left. The snow stung more when he had a bruise blooming on his cheek. He could only hope there was another tavern shortly down the road, or that the winds would die down soon.He sighed as he began to trudge down the road again, reaching up to rub the new injury. Her remaining blood left a streak on his face, staining it red.

"—BUT I NEED A PLACE TO SLEEP."