Those that cannot feel pain cannot suffer - isn't that how it's supposed to go?

♔Character Name: Tedric North

♔Gender: Male

♔Age: He’s never been very good at keeping count.

♔Birthplace: Valden, Elusia

♔Physical Appearance: Upon spotting Tedric, the first problem comes with getting the thick cloth of black fabric thrown over his head off. The second is getting him to release his face from the thin, bony things he calls hands. Then you can see his face in full view, from the surprising sharpness of his small jaw to his translucent skin. Beneath his dark green eyes his skin sinks in from sleepless nights and below that are his lips too small in proportion and more often pulled into an indifferent line than a smile. His dark brown hair has been unruly for as long as he can remember. It sticks up whichever direction it pleases and the fluffiness of it adds a good inch or two to his unimpressive height. Tedric’s body has always been small in stature and lacking development in his muscles, though his clothes are thick enough to distract him from the feeling of his ribs. Not one person pays attention to any of those features - all they care about are the black marks stained across his cheeks and around his eyes. He has scrubbed his skin raw in an attempt to rid them from his skin, but not all curses abate for water and soap.

♔Personality: North has closed himself off as best a boy can. Those that would threaten to slip beneath his skin are pushed away with a flick of his tongue and a cold shoulder. He knows how to keep his eyes down, how to walk quickly, and how to stay quiet unless he has to speak. Even the thought of talking in front of a crowd makes his skin itch and his throat hoarse. It's always been safer for him to keep to himself. Anyone who he has trusted or has trusted him has wound up dead or near it. At some point, he realized it was better to stop trying. The only one he cares for now is a scruffy alley cat that likes to visit him. Her name is Sonja.

♔Background: When one is little, there is always someone to teach them how to read, to write, how to smile, and how to survive when they suffer their first stumble and their first step, their first cut and their first bruise. If North had not been cursed when he was born, he could have had that. His father would still be with him. Perhaps then he would have learned to control the magic inside him or how to write better than the half-formed scribbles that are his letters. Instead, the boy learned to stumble and fall on his own and how to get back to his feet, but when one gets knocked back down too many times without someone to lift them up, they tend to stop getting up at all. North doesn't know where he really came from, not what city, not what kingdom. He knows it wasn't Elusia, that much is clear to him, and that much is clear to the other residents of Valden. It's no surprise to the boy now when others find him and see the marks beneath his hood that they begin the harassment, whether it's nothing but spit and words or the bruises that appear on his attackers' skin.

♔Skills: Well, he wouldn't call it a strength but his curse could be seen as one. When any injury inflicted on North is turned onto whoever is closest, it's easy to see the boy as invincible in a sense of the word. He isn't a fighter, though. He runs fast and dodges faster, but that's not much comfort considering how long some knights have trained for.