Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

Trapped Rat ~ "Kid"

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Kid’s Past

What do you think of when you see a smile so pure …
So innocent …
So young …
So … Happy …

What do you think of when you see that little boy that steps in front of your doorstep every morning, but you never bother to say hello.  Do you not feel any shame or regret when he frowns and slumps away?  What would happen if your life depended on this little boy one day?  Would you find it surprising that when you asked this little boy for help … That he would refuse it?

From child birth until the age of eleven, Sid Vaston was living the happy life of farmer.  Sid had no parents, because at the age of three, he watched as a group of bandits spilled their blood before him.  They begged for his life to be spared, but nothing was done.  That little boy could not cease the nightmares that followed in the years to come.  He heard the shrieks, the painful gurgling, and the struggling of his parents being held down while being mutilated slowly.

His foster father was an elf from Calimport, which happened to be a short distance away from this farmstead.  He watched the boy grow, and he educated him in elven.  Others in the farmstead found this rather unfair that a human boy should be taught the tongue that did not match his own.  The elf would not hear of it, however … This boy would learn to speak it; for it would come in handy once he was old enough to work properly.

Each morning, his guardian, known as Kheldin, would help him get dressed, and then educate him more.  From time to time, the workers would show him a few words of common, but Sid found it somewhat difficult to hold two language sin his mind.  He loved the company, however, so he gladly devoted himself to learning two languages.  They loved Sid, because he did everything with a pure, conscious heart.  Despite the fact that he was forced to watch his parents’ death at such a young age, everyone assumed he eventually adjusted.

It was so mystifying … Sid truly did not show signs of mental dysfunction from the traumatic experience … At least, not while he was awake.  In his sleep, he would move around dramatically, sometimes even scream out for his parents.  Kheldin would sit next to his bed at late hours and keep him comfortable; as there was nothing more he could offer for the child.

During his eleventh year, a raid was made from the local thugs of Calimport.  They were unhappy with Kheldin’s lack of support to his organization, so they made an effort to eliminate him, along with any traces.  When the hour of midnight reached the farmstead, screams were echoing.  Sid’s heart was racing as he climbed from his bed and looked out his bedroom window.  They showed no mercy to the workers, and they were savagely murdered.  Flashbacks of his parents’ deaths cycled through Sid’s mind.  It would only be a matter of time before they would reach him, so he took his chances and ran out the back of the structure.

He ran for hours without even looking back.  The biting winds nearly scared his face, and he would frequently collapse while panting.  His fingers would press against the mud to keep him standing, for he knew that if he stopped now, they would find him.  Surely, they would cut out his intestines first, and then force him to watch his own heart ripped from his small body.  He could envision the entire graphic details … Such vivid details for a child to imagine.

When he reached Calimport, there was no turning back.  He would have to spend the rest of his life, knowing that he abandoned Kheldin and the others; knowing that the people that protected him could not even protect themselves.  That guilt followed him, and it taunted his soul as his torn boots clattered through the wet cobblestones of that darkened city.

He reached a pub and sat in the corner … There was not a place for him to even stay.  Who would want to provide shelter to a young, homeless boy when there was not even room for the adults?  He was at the very bottom of their concern, but he was forced to accept this, by society’s way.

The locals of the pub gave him the name “Kid” to preserve his youth and make him known.  The efforts to make him known failed, however, due to the lack of employment opportunities.  The boy couldn’t even speak common coherently, so what use could he be for business?  It didn’t matter that he had the motivation to work.  He was worthless in the eyes of the big crowds in Calimport.

He was more useful for target practice than anything else.  Sid learned how to keep himself hidden, as it was essential for survival from this life in the big city.  While he learned to keep hidden, the locals at the pub even showed him proper sign language.  They knew that if he could keep his mouth shut and understand their signals, it could be determined whether or not Sid would be safe each night.

That was how life was for the young boy, and that was how life remained.  He never stopped having the nightmares, and the guilt would fill his mind when he was alone.  He hated being alone, because if he was alone, he was hurt.  To keep his mind happy, he would have to be with others or keep his mind off the pain of losing his friends and families.

One day, the locals of Calimport found him, and when the beatings commenced, something occurred.  While blood poured between Sid’s sharp, crooked teeth, and while his painful groans echoed in the alley they were in, a misty formation was surrounding them.  The beatings ceased, and the dark-clad ruffians looked around.  In that moment of confusion, that misty essence kidnapped Sid … And then he was no longer a resident of Calimport …


Sid spent his first several days in the new land of Barovia with uncertainty.  He had no one he could truly bond with, and the closest people he had for friends were traveling acquaintances.  There was Sivius and Anat, his two common traveling partners.  The two always spoke of desires in finding women and booze, but Sid could never follow their examples.  He was raised in the pubs during his last six years, but drinking was never a game:  It was a necessity to keep smiling.

There was a Caliban he considered somewhat close, almost motherly-like.  She referred to herself as “Singer”.  Sid and she were on strong speaking terms when they traveled.  Sid could tell that she was intrigued by his optimism, despite all he had already been informed about her race.  He was told she was a monster, but Sid was patient enough to determine if a monster could be a friend or foe.

And then one day, when Sid was lonely and wandered into the Elven village in the woods, he witnessed something rather incredible.  A tall, brute figure was drawing his blade in a fashion Sid had never set his eyes upon, and he struck in a deft motion ahead of him.  His entire body was in motion as he performed his attacking moves, and when he was finished, his empty facial expression had not even budged.  The man was holding a strong, disciplined expression that was unchangeable.

Sid could not stop watching this man, for he admired that sort of technique.  There were no shields or heavy armor … It was all speed and movement, like a dance.  Sid wasn’t foolish, although he gave many the impressions that he was.  Through calculation, he determined that a move like that could easily render a victim knocked to the ground with ease.

Three friends of Sid were with him at the time.  Ain’a, a young elven woman with low literacy in common, Raywyn, a blind martial artist, and Neithu, another elf who recently was rendered blind.  As Sid approached the brute figure to question his technique, he was immediately shunned.  “Flap your tongue elsewhere,” he said to him.

As he turned away, Sid pondered his attitude, and at one point, Raywyn explained to him in a whisper how Mark, his name, had a lover had been taken from him.  Sid may have been smart, but he was quite naïve when it came to socializing.  When Mark started to walk past him, the young man stepped forward and told him “Ah’m sorreh t’ hear aboot yer loss.”

Mark stood still and silent in front of Sid, seeming to be eating an apple in that very moment.  The others frowned, for they already knew what would happen, but poor Sid did not.  The boy stepped forward and explained to him how he knew what it felt like to lose loved ones.  He did not stop talking until Mark brought an end to it.

His right, spiked gauntlet flung back and crashed against the boy’s face without even a hint that it was coming.  The speed was amazing, and before Sid knew it, he was on the ground, looking up to the figure with blood and tears over his face.  The figure did not say anything, despite all the yelling that came out of Ain’a afterwards.  She spoke in the elven dialect, explaining how taking anger out on the young is never the way, and that there was good in passing education to the new generation.

Sid watched and listened in awe, for they felt that he could not understand them, but he did clearly.  In the end, the figure shook his head and left the scene, seeming disgusted by the scene he was in.  When it was all over, Sid cleaned the blood from his face and looked on with admiration and determination.  His new goal had been clear:  To prove his worth to that man.

The Code

Markrael Candray, after having dealt with Sid’s persistence in wanting to learn from him, presented the young man with two paths to take.  There would be the path of one who spends the rest of his life without violence, and the path of one who wishes to murder through the coldest of means.  To a normal person, the first path would be the safest to take, especially with a bright mind like Sid’s.  He could have lived a rich life, earning profits and raising his own family.

But it did not matter to Sid.  All he wanted was to deliver justice to those that cause wrong in the world.  He was wronged, but he could do nothing but escape.  While Sid lived to tell about this, the pain haunted him every single time he went to sleep.  He never wanted to relive the sorrow and loss, but it continued to return.

Sid told Markrael that he wished to be stronger, and Markrael told Sid that life was not about strength, but preparing for a good death.  There was a sudden pause, and then the young man replied that dieing without having done something to cease the evil would not be a good death at all.  He explained that there was injustice in the world, and it must be stopped before more good people are killed.  It did not matter if the means of stopping the injustice was cold or brutal … Killing was killing, in Sid’s eyes.  Killing someone wasn’t a pleasure in his eyes; it was justice being served.

Markrael stared at him for a long time before explaining to him that Sid’s words would be his ‘Code’ to follow for the rest of his life.  That Code was more important than life itself, and should Sid break it, Markrael promised to let him feel his unforgiving wrath.  The death of a betrayer should be slow and painful, especially one who would betray his own honorable code.

And so the acquaintances became Master and Pupil.  Many days of training would follow, and soon, the young Sid would become a new tool of murder.  He does not need to be a shield to those he wishes to protect, for he would become a sword that could strike and deflect.  He entered the training as a naïve youth, but that would soon change over the course of his learning.  The real challenge would be to see if a young man as pure as he could truly smile after his training reaches completion.

The First Blood

Sid wished to train in the art of murder in order to punish those that would cause wrong.  One evening, he found himself wronged, and justice was carried out.

It all started when he found himself collecting a decent sum of money, as well as a valuable supply of tools to aid him.  He stopped by Murnu’s store to purchase goods, only to be shaken down by a Red Vardo employee for supposedly shoplifting valued goods.  The time limit to prove his innocence was until dawn.

The end of the search resulted in nearly all of Sid’s wealth given to the Red Vardo Traders and most of his new tools toward the pawn keeper Yoshek, who was given the stolen items.  His innocence was maintained, but his heart was cold that day.  All Sid could think about was taking revenge on the person that did this to him.  The person stole his identity in order to leave the blame on him.

Sunset was approaching when Sid spotted the very man himself.  He could not believe it … The figure was wearing the exact same garb as he.  They could pass off as twins, Sid believed.  Stalking the man, the twins eventually clashed in the sewers.  Nothing was said.  One shot was made to the man’s leg, and the other was made to his neck.  The shots were rather inaccurate to what Sid’s mentor had been teaching, but the deed was done.

Blood seeped into the watery grates, and the figure remained still.  There was no turning back at this point.  Sid twitched with uncertainty, but he knew what he would have to do to cover this mess up.  The process was rather disturbing, but it was done.

First, Sid covered the man with the robes of an Anchorite, in order to change his identity.  He then applied pressure to the wounds to keep them from leaking as he carried the body away.  There was a bridge above a large pool of sewage, the perfect spot to dispose this body.  Taking his own shield from his pack, Sid secured it around the man’s body by means of rope.  The purpose of this was to keep the body from rising after being dropped in, since Sid was very aware of how bodies had a tendency to ‘rise’ once dunked.

Before the body would be dumped in, any trace had to be eliminated, and the best way to do this was to remove the only thing the body had to give it a name:  The head.  It took Sid a few moments to keep himself settled, but he eventually committed to severing the head while keeping the body over the edge of the pool to keep the blood from spilling over the ground.  The gore was rushing out of the victim’s neck like a waterfall … It nearly made Sid sick, but he could not turn back.  It was far too late to turn back now.

As the head was removed, he kicked the body into the pool and took the head away.  The last task that would be needed to complete this endeavor was to dispose the head.  If the investigators could not locate a head to match the missing ‘Anchorite’ body, there would never be a case.  And so … He fed the head to a large pack of rats until there was nothing but a skull.  With that, he took his leave, for the deed was done.

Justice … Was served …


Life was steadily changing for the young Sid Vaston.  Each day, a new challenge would step forward, and by the end of the day, he would either conquer it or attempt to.  His training was harsh, yet satisfying, and his friends kept him from losing that bright smile he formed on many occasions.

Markrael and he would discuss many things together, alone and isolated in their own little world.  They shared the same philosophy of delivering merciless justice to the evils in order to preserve the greater good.  It did not matter if the subject was on healthy eating or a guide on torturing a man to death.  Each lesson only helped Sid expand his chances of survival in Barovia.

Nature was the sanctuary Markrael and Sid took advantage of.  They would wear colors to match their surroundings and become one with their trees, grass, and mud.  And when they knew that they were alone, Markrael would either lecture Sid on their martial art, or they would spar.  Sparring sessions consisted of quick, decisive clashes and take-downs.  Each time, Sid would be asked to avoid Markrael’s next move, and then counter-attack with a fatal, killing move.

When it was time for the pair to separate, however, it became a sort of shift in plans.  He would either locate friends or make new ones, where he would learn more about the world by means of adventuring and socializing.  When he grew tired of being surrounded by many, he would retreat to Degannwy and study, meditate, and practice striking movements.  There was so much for Sid to do while his teacher and he parted on those occasions.

The path to memorizing the book on anatomy, of which was written in Balok text, lessened in difficulty as Sid studied his favorite page.  The page depicted a large picture of a nude, human male and female body.  Sid used a feather pen to mark all the spots his teacher instructed him to aim for.  Arteries and veins were a key location to strike in his studies.  The back of the chins released enough to leave a target unable to move, which gave him an advantage.

The armpit functioned in the same manner, only that it was a much more damaging location.  The split arteries would leave pour plentiful amounts of blood, and the wound would be extremely difficult to stitch.  In fact, the wound would become infected in several cases, if it was not treated by a professional surgeon, he learned from lectures.

While the spine was effective and the stomach was a slow crippling strike, Sid took note in the lungs, specifically.  Should the lung be penetrated by the blade, blood would fill the target’s breathing, and he would suffer a slow, painful death.  It was a terrifying way to eliminate someone, but necessary against the foes Markrael and Sid sought to eliminate in their lives.

There was also an endurance lesson Sid found himself carefully attempting for the first time.  His teacher explained that the art of mastering poison required the act of learning to accept poison within his body system.  The more his body accepted venom, the better off Sid would be.  The coating of blades in poison would become quicker, and he would not have to worry about hurting himself in the process.  The other factor was to give his own blood a sort of ‘taint’ against the vampires and monsters that would dare to taste him.

He kneeled in his room at Degannwy sanctum, where he drew out a sterile needle and coated it in a vial of spider venom.  The rich, green tone filled the end of that needle and dripped within the vial as it came out.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and forced the needle into his left thigh.  His eyes widened in surprise as his tanned flesh reddened near the wound.  There was a numb feeling in his leg, and before he knew it, the poison’s effect overcame him.

Sid’s breathing lessened, but he knew that the first time would be the most difficult to endure.  His body was slowly becoming heavy, but he knew that it would be unwise to back down from this.  Markrael’s voice reminding him not to sleep nor drink alcohol in the process of resisting poison echoed through his cold ears.  He groaned quietly and suffered … But he lived.

In order to keep his mind off the pain, he would retrace his memories and recall how wonderful his life was becoming.  The kind, pride-filled elf named Ain’a accepted his request to be part of her loving family she shared with her lover Neithu, Markrael, and the other residents of Degannwy.  It soothed his heart to know that he had a new family to protect, and that was his motivation to endure the poison without giving up.

He also recalled the conversation that Markrael and he shared one evening, discussing the future.  Sid’s teacher explained the value love had for him, and Sid began to wonder what love was like.  He had asked many questions of it, but the answers were wry.  In the end, however, Sid explained to his teacher that finding someone to care for would only hurt his training at that moment.  He would either find love in the future, or never, for he had no real name … Sid was training to be invisible.

The poison had filled his blood, and in that moment, he attempted to stand.  Dizzy and burning with a fever, he immediately collapsed.  His legs and arms shook above the carpet, and when he thought he was about to lose the feeling in his body, he felt the warm, burning fluids rush from his stomach toward his lips.  The vomit was acidic and tainted, he knew, and the smell was putrid.  When it was all out, he drew out the restorative tonic and downed it to purge the rest of the weakness he had.

The first time was always the hardest for everything, but he would adapt to this.  Just like how he would adapt to a new family, he would adapt to a new life.  It was Sid’s decision to become this protector of the good, and he would now face the path of enduring it for the rest of his life.


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