Author Games: Welcome to Alianza

Berrano Male Two: Alck Cortal

Name: Alck "Harvest" Cortal

Age: 16

Sex: Male

Country: Berrano

Physical Description: His skin, dark. Hair, dark. Eyes, dark. Clothing, typically on the darker side of the spectrum. Everything about this boy screams dark, the brown of his eyes a near black, complimented by a set of bushy brows. His hair is a thick black, kept short. He is lanky, far too tall to be graceful in his movements. His apparel is often torn, either from accidents, having found it lying on the side of the road, or just having plain cut them apart so air could reach his skin. In a scorched land, any small breeze is a gift, or rather, a miracle, as gusts of wind are scarce.

Background: His story is no different from the rest in Berrano. Born, grown, living. The heat doesn't bother him very much, as he's learned to live with it. Somehow he's still kept his parents alive, and the other way around. He has no other siblings, as it was deemed too risky to raise another child in a climate such as this. As time went on, he found it harder and harder to speak to people, slowly tearing himself away from the company of society. Death surrounds him daily, but he still goes on strong. The only thing differentiating him from the others is that the Reaper hasn't paid him a visit just yet, and he's earned the nickname "Harvest," as it's no secret that he loots the bodies of people that died throughout the day. Nothing too extravagant, but he wishes there was.

Personality: Alck is known as the boy who speaks gibberish. At this point in his life, people have stopped trying to coach words out of him, as anything he says is indecipherable. A large majority of them are pretty sure he speaks another language. However, this is not so - whenever someone approaches him, he can't help but speed up his words, desperate to get out what needs to be said as quickly as possible. He's usually laidback working around the others, living with them, going through his daily routine with them. It's just when they want something from him that he gets all flustered and fidgety. He wants to help, he really does, it's just near impossible. The only time he speaks clearly and takes the time to articulate is when the sun is directly above his head, but almost no one knows this, as they've all given up on trying for him.

Weapon of Choice: He'd take a scythe, if only for kicks and giggles at his nickname. Otherwise, a serrated dagger.

Strengths/Weaknesses: He's well-suited to hot, dry environments, and knows the right places to find water and food. He'll hold no remorse over taking things from the dead. With long legs, he's quick. However, he's not too high in the strength department, and when face-to-face with an enemy, he'd flee, unable to fight. Additionally, his lack of speech will prevent him from making allies, at least not easily. A cold climate would completely destroy him, as he doesn't adapt well to such dramatic change, both physical and mental.

Token: A black marble he found in someone's pocket during "harvest-time."

Reaped/Volunteered: Reaped

Reaction/Reason: He knew there was nothing he could do about the situation, and there was no use trying to talk his way out of it, so he stepped up without a word, without a struggle.

Alliances: He is definitely looking for them. Doesn't matter who, as long as they don't look like they can bite his head off.

Other: N/A