EDIT: WOW I JUST REALIZED HOW FRICKIN' SHORT I MADE CYRUS. UHHH. I MADE HIM TALL RELATIVE TO TROJAN HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE TALL FOR BLIKKIM SHEEEEEEEEEEEET I'LL FIX THAT SOME TIME Red - 2 Green - 1 Gold - 1 Purple - 0
Cyrus Tar'Kuul is a veteran of his fair share of battles; his only metals to display of them are his scars, and not all of them are physical. A reclusive fellow, he tends to hang back and assess his situation, calculating his every move, before moving in. That is, when he isn't tipsy. Cyrus has developed a horrible addiction to alcohol, and it's hard to tell when he's drinking or not. The only difference between his two states are subtle mannerisms, and the only person who can usually tell is his adopted son, Trojan. Besides the alcoholism, he's also chronically depressed, but it doesn't stop him from protecting his fellow crew members. If anything, it helps. Today, he's learning to cope with both of his afflictions.
Cyrus's past is a very touchy subject. Not even Trojan knows what happened before he met Cyrus, and has only received basic pieces and subtle clues as to what had transpired.
1x Noble Shield
Roleplay (not really roleplay? just a little drabble from oasis) Example:
Cyrus sat in his reading chair, pouring over a relatively large hardcover book. It was about something in the field of astrophysics, but he had stopped actually reading it a long time ago. A rustic Blikkish lantern sat on the wooden side table to his right, casting a flickering, soft light across the room. Holding the book in one hand, his lower hands sat folded in his lap while yet another swirled a glass of some kind of exotic alcohol. Of course, his metabolism was too high for him to get drunk off of this low of an ABV, but he liked the taste. He thought. He wasn't actually quite sure. He looked from the book to the glass, and stared into the red-amber drink.
He knew he was reading to distract himself. Cyrus had been unsettled ever since Trojan had stolen the money from his writing desk. Damn him! Cyrus drilled an angry glare into the drink as if he wanted it to evaporate right then and there. He didn't understand. Why did Trojan go against all logic?
"That boy will be the death of me," Cyrus growled into his glass. He frowned even further when he had drank the last of the Shaia Nub'aar, an off-world, technically illegal substance. The stuff had been taken off the markets just a few hours after it hit them. It's home planet, Azanir, was a world affluent in natural resources in the form of extremely biodiverse rainforests. Shaia Nub'aar was derived from it's namesake, the commonly found Nub'aar plant- a fern which the sentient species of Azanir fermented to make Shaia Nub'aar. However, it turned out that the Nub'aar plant contained an extremely deadly allelochemical that was poisonous to most alien species, which prompted a swift ban from the Interstellar Trade Regulation Association.
Of course, a Blikkim's powerful stomach acids broke down the allelochemical that had too heavy of a molecular weight to be absorbed through tissues in the mouth, so it was completely safe for Cyrus to consume. And, in case he ever needed to assassinate someone, a few drops would be more than sufficient to shut down anyone's cardiovascular system.
Cyrus frowned in spite of himself. It had been nearly forty years, and he was still thinking in those violent terms. His frown turned into grim stoicism as he remembered rending innocent soldiers limb from limb, swearing vengeance upon those who had struck him down. A pang of sadness hit him as he visibly sunk into his chair, and sighed. He placed down the glass on the side table before leaning back further and shutting his eyes. What had drawn him to this horrible planet? He had hated it from the second he saw it from space. Why-
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Who could that be? "Coming," he said as he got up. "How can I help you-" he cut off as he opened the door just enough to see who it was.