o c h r e • D.O.D.I. • 
Un soupir bas et presque inhalé s'est libéré des lèvres d'Ochre alors que son regard paresseux surveillait la figure tombée devant lui, sa forme brute sans bouger, outre le spasme occasionnel, tandis que le cercle runique sous lui brillait légèrement avec la lumière jaune et arcane. De petites étincelles presque imperceptibles traversèrent l'orc paralysé, les yeux s'ouvrent mais ne se voient pas sans que le souffle de la vie alimente leur regard. La lame du forgeron glissait avec chaque minuscule arc de lumière qui s'étendait à travers le corps, le sang coulant de son extrémité la même teinte que le liquide coulant d'une seule crevasse profonde à travers la gorge de la bête. Alors que le piège magique s'est lentement évanoui du sol du donjon, sa puissance s'estompant sans stimulus constant de son créateur, le jeune homme s'est à demi-cliqueté sur le côté comme une gouttelette lâche de cramoisi s'éloignait du mouvement.
Honnêtement, ils auraient dû s'attendre à ce que le donjon soit rempli de tours et de mystères, voyant que la plupart sinon tous les aventuriers ici ont au moins trempé leurs orteils dans les profondeurs d'un donjon avant. C'est ce qu'ils ont connu après tout, en plus du butin qui se trouve dans leurs étendues, ainsi que les monstres qui les protègent. Mais aucun d'entre eux n'était tout à fait prêt pour une attaque surprise du sol de toutes choses, en particulier des orques normalement intrépides qui avaient acquis une réputation pour leur manque d'intelligence.
Tilting sa tête légèrement pour regarder ses alliés voisins, il ne pouvait pas s'empêcher de donner un des combattants qui l'a aidé à un clin d'oeil lent de remerciement, l'armure de bronze qu'il a choisi d'entrer dans le donjon avec grincements comme le fond du casque a gratté la plaque de poitrine sous elle. Outre l'orc qu'il avait vaincu par lui-même, il y avait trois autres du genre qui avaient embusqué la petite section qu'il occupait. Heureusement, les autres membres du parti ont été capables de reprendre son jeu avant qu'il ne puisse poser quelques pièges, aidant un autre à vaincre leur ennemi. Avec cela, son épée fut nonchalantement retournée à son fourreau tandis qu'un couteau de sculpture plus petit et plus polyvalent entra dans l'emprise de sa main libre.
Et ainsi, le forgeron prit sur lui-même pour commencer à piller les corps autour d'eux. Pas pour l'or, ni l'équipement, mais les matériaux. Enlever les dents, dépecer la peau dure des orcs, tout ce que le corps pourrait fournir pour son travail. Bien sûr, les dommages causés par ses alliés avaient certainement réduit la quantité d'articles de qualité, mais il avait au moins un corps, le plus souvent intact à récupérer. Enrôlé dans son travail méticuleux et méthodique, Ochre a ignoré les bruits de dégoût venant du plus proche de la fête, ainsi que les cris provenant de deux nuisances les plus fortes à une douzaine de pieds de distance. Ils n'avaient vraiment pas à crier, ils étaient dans un espace clos.
Ce n'était pas propre, ses efforts, mais ce n'était pas le travail le plus nécessaire, de toute façon. Il a sauvé les tracas de la nécessité de négocier dans les marchés pour de bonnes affaires en cuir, os et similaires, ainsi que d'avoir l'effet secondaire agréable d'être autour de la même qualité après un peu de raffinement. Après avoir choisi son propre orc propre, il s'est lentement déplacé vers le suivant, se contentant de son lent, mais ardeur constante jusqu'à ce que le parti commence à bouger à nouveau. C'était beaucoup moins gênant que de parler à une autre personne, de toute façon, et avec quelle pratique il était l'efficacité énergétique l'emporte aussi sur la conversation.
M A X W E L L /// O C H R E

“Not everything needs to happen all at once. Some things just need a little time.”
 O V E R V I E W 
N A M EMaxwell Castillo
A V A T A ROchre
A G E22
G E N D E RMale
V I S A G EOchre can be identified as a lean, Caucasian male, who stands at a relatively average height of 166cm, displaying intriguing jade eyes and raven-black hair. While usually seen in light, leather cloth that boasts a bronze pauldron on the left shoulder, it would not be surprising to see him wrapped within a cloak, equiped with chainmail under scale armor, or donning full platemail while out in the field. His entire figure, despite his current state of movement, seems to be in perpetually sedated position, as if the state of affairs in the immediate world around him are merely just another second in time. 
P E R S O N A L I T Y Ochre is slow.
That is not an insult to his intelligence, despite the popular belief that he is mentally impaired as well. No, the description is used to describe him as a person. Everything he does, despite its true speed, seems downplayed in comparison to the actions of others. If a line of people moved at an equal pace, with the same tempo and in a perfectly straight line, the drill sergeant composing the practice would shout at him to pick up his pace. It is an almost instinctual reaction to his presence, to the lethargic air that seems to encompass his sphere of influence. Even in combat, as he moves throughout the field, setting traps on the fly and slicing at foes as quickly as any fighter, his allies have frequently noted that the man works less than the rest of them. It befuddles everyone around him, even those who are knowledgeable of his passionate side, of the man who would go far and beyond the call of duty to get a job done. If it wasn't for his similarly fervent attachment to the bonds between others, a close friend would think him more suited for Draethir than Sikth
This unhurried nature spreads to his mannerisms as well, having no sense of the word "Quickness" in his consistency of arriving late to every sort of function or meeting. Any person who knows of him understand to give him the time of a meeting up to thirty minutes earlier than the designated, as to make sure he shows up on time. Something to note about him is his patience, and while it may strengthen the idea of his unnatural sluggishness, it is probably one of the main reasons for his success in Pariah. Minutes, Hours, and once, even Days, he is capable of waiting out the perfect circumstance, springing a trap when the most optimal situation may appear. During special occasions, however, one would be amazed at the speed of his momentum, taking him from point A to point B in record time for the sake of his companions. But, as fitting of a Sikth, this sort of behavior is seen rarely, to the point where his closest friends may comment that "a blue moon is more common than seeing Ochre move quickly".
Any who are capable of seeing past such idiosyncrasies would find a young man capable of extraordinary compassion, taking to heart any sort of problems a person may have and seeking to make it right, even complete strangers. Anger is not a word in his vocabulary, accompanying "Haste" in the mental garbage bin, though irritation is very likely to be present within a situation that isn't solved within the first few tries. Most of the time, however, he is usually laid back in his way of speaking, not usually taking offense to many things. Any mistakes or issues with his own person are corrected almost immediately, though retaining his amendments may take a few weeks. The only exception to this is his own skills, and a one track mind is set on developing the strongest set of armor in Pariah. While he is still far from reaching that goal, he gains another step closer everyday.

B A C K G R O U N D Honestly, there's not much to say about his life. He lives in a modest apartment, graduated with a college degree in the past year, and even more recently found an internship as a business associate. His only sibling, his sister, is going through her freshman year in a university, sending him postcards from her little corner of the world. His parents, happy for his accomplishments, drive to see him every month to catch up, enjoy each others company, and generally live life in a joyous manner.
However, a few months ago, his sibling sent him a package instead of an envelope. Curious, he opened the container to find a copy of the latest hit "game", Pariah, and the regular postcard he usually received. Apparently, his parents and his sister had pooled money together in order to give him a congratulatory gift for his currently progressing life. Having forgotten to buy one for him on the day itself, it was agreed to procure a present more opulent than they otherwise would have. Touched by the gesture, he started up the program only minutes after receiving it.
He remembered to thank them for the gift a week later with a surprise visit to his sibling, and a big hug to his parents when they came for their routine visit to his home.

 A T T R I B U T E S 
R O L ESupport/ Tank
A F F I L A T I O NSikth
E L E M E N T A L D O M A I NEarth
A R C A N E D O M A I NSpell Trapping
P R O F E S S I O NArmor Merchant
W E A P O N O F C H O I C EGriffzungenschwert, though the use of a Hammer cannot be unfounded
R O U G H V I R T U A L H I S T O R YA peculiarity within the secretive Sikth, the name "Ochre" would have most people outside of the pathos scratching their heads. Who is that? Isn't that the name of a color? Inside, however, many know of the Blacksmith like one would a childhood friend. A numerous amount of those who know his name have some sort of equipment on their person created by the man, each of them vouching for his efficiency and the longevity of his works. A helmet here, an arm guard there, some have entire sets of armor that they could certify were molded by his hands. Although, many who browse his wares wonder how he procures materials for the durable pieces he makes, and are usually surprised by the answer.
He obtains them, himself.
Supporting large raiding parties, accompanying travelers, and sometimes on his own, each and every one of his creations were made with his tireless labor, both with the anvil and with the sword. Many may call him a fanatic, others a man to stick along side. Those who truly know him, and understand his rather unsightly habits... Don't want to deal with his perpetual down tempo.