LOWBORN, Slynn Flint

[attr="class","bioheader"]personality.

[attr="class,"bioentry"]Distant. Outside of combat, the boy always has his mind elsewhere. This means that Slynn is often quiet and keeps to himself. He's inattentive to others which often leads him to be seen as uncaring and rude. His lack of knowledge on Westerosi etiquette beyond the north doesn't aid in alleviating this impression. Perceptions don't seem to bother him though.
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Curiosity is something that powers Slynn's mind. While he's not one for twenty questions he does like to observe either from up close or afar. This doesn't ease the odd impression he leaves on the other denizens of the seven kingdoms. Still, much of the reason he left his old life was to learn of the greater world around him, so he might find ways to improve the FirstFlints.
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He also seeks a deeper relationship with the gods. The northern mountain clans remember the old gods, and his faith runs deep into his soul. Slynn has seen things, the hearts of animals, the tears of a weirwood, the power of a giant. The young man seeks guidance and lessons from whatever the old gods deign to set before him, accepting it as a blessing.
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In battle this passion becomes more readily apparent. The mountain clans are a martial people, fighting wildlings, ironborn, and even themselves. Slynn killed his first enemy at nine and has fought ever since whenever and however he needs to. The boy is fierce and reckless, believing that he hasn't truly fought unless he too bleeds.

[attr="class","bioheader"]history.

[attr="class,"bioentry"]Born the eighth child of twelve, and that's only the count currently, Slynn never wanted for company or attention within his family, or the First Flints at large. He wasn't a hellion like a lot of the other mountain boys, which drew him plenty of ire. Despite all the company, it seemed like the child preferred solitude. When he did interact, he had plenty of questions, not only about the mountain clans, but the wildlings, the first men, the northerners, the southerners and everything else.
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This didn't make him popular with many adults either, so the boy typically wondered on his own. His confrontations with his siblings or other children ensured that he was scrappy however. Slynn quickly learn to fend for himself, as many Flints believe in might makes right. When he wasn't brooding, probing with questions, or fighting, he was eating up what information the adults would give to him. Hunting. Survival. Weapons. The old gods.
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Many of his older bothers and his father often went to hunt, or fight, both other clans and wildlings when not tutoring him. At the age of seven, his father never came back from one of these skirmishes, wildling ambush it was said. When he was eight it was one of his older brothers was never seen again either. At nine, he began to hunt along with other Flints. Tracking a herd of deer for his first outing, Slynn's party discovered that they weren't the only ones who were hungry.
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Set upon by wildlings, the parties clashed and the young Flint used his bow to as great effect as often as he could. Charged by one of their men, he knocked Slynn to the ground and proceeded to stomp upon the child. Finding a sizable rock where he lay, the boy attacked the man's feet and legs to knock him to the ground and proceeded to beat his skull in with his improvised weapon. As the wildlings retreated, Slynn took a knife from his victim's belt, a trophy of his first kill.
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In the years since, the growing young man has been taken on numerous hunting, scouting, and even war parties, always fighting viciously and coming home bloody, but victorious. His questions about the world around him never ceased however. After a while, any ability that he possessed just wasn't worth it to the 'the Flint,' the chieftain of the Flints. He told the boy to go, leave the clan, find the answers to his questions, and to not come back until he had no more to ask.
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Elated to sate his curiosity, Slynn packed his bags. His eldest living brother gave him the sad excuse for a family sword, and then he started south. No longer part of the clan until his return, he began to refer to himself as 'the Slynn,' since he was in charge of his own destiny, his own champion. Though this is often shortened to his nickname, 'the Sly.' Though as an ignorant mountain kid who cannot read or write often has his clashes with civilization.
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Perhaps he'll end up in jail unless someone looks out for him.

[attr="class","bioheader"]inventory.

[attr="class,"bioentry"]PAIN TOLERANCE[break]
Scraps of every level of ferocity have been a constant in Sly's life. Beatings as a boy, cuts, bruises, and gouges as a young man, he has plenty of scars across his young body, a litany of a lessons learned the hard way. His recklessness in battle earns him plenty of stitches and bandages. His blood has been drawn so much that he hardly notices any more. Superficial wounds are almost entirely important against Slynn, and even some more serious hurts, though one cannot just ignore a missing arm, or eye.
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JACK OF MURDER[break]
Never trained with a specific weapon, the boy was instead taught to see weapons as tools, as they are. Slynn has used whatever was provided by the Flints or the old god's grace to kill the enemy before him. Swords, hammers, knives, daggers, bow and arrow, there's nothing he's not killed a man with. Sure, 'the Sly' might not have the finesse of a knight with a bastard sword, but he's quite effective with anything you press into his hands.
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''CROW'S BEAK''[break]
A knife taken from his first kill as a child. The blade is wide at the base and tapers to a fine point at the business end, with a single edge. The glossy black sheen of the blade is starkly contrasted against the grooved bone handle. Unlike most dragonglass weapons, the blade was worked as close to absolute smoothness as it could be, rather than the rough chipped form it typically comes in. Slynn likes to think it's a relic of the firstmen themselves, but there's no proof of that.
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''GARBAGE''[break]
Legend has it that this blade once was called Unukalhai, perhaps a long forgotten word of the old tongue. It was said that it was wielded by a Flint leader in the Age of Heroes. It certainly looks that old. Not being made of the vaunted valyrian steel, the weapon did not stand the test of time well. What was once an eight foot blade alone, has been reduced to a weapon of six feet in totality. It has no proper handle. Two pieces of wood branch are lashed to either side of the raw haft with leather and twine.
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A circular stone with a hole whittled into the center forms the guard, also largely tied in place, same as the handle. The steel haft protrudes from the bottom of the handle with no pommel to cap it, though it had been sharped to a rough point. The blade itself has been reworked and reworn for hundreds of years. What edge there still is is sharp, but chips and dings are readily apparent. A strip of leather has been tied and strapped on within the center of the blade, a poor man's ricasso.
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The runes of the old tongue engraved into the blade are almost entirely invisible. A hole has been bored through the center of the blade just in front of the 'ricasso'. From this a leather strap is tied and run to the makeshift handle, where it's also tied so that it can be slung over shoulder, as it has no scabbard. Slynn keeps it as sharp as he can with a whetstone, the tip as pointed as it can be, but it still looks awful. A highborn from the Neck once said that it was the worst sword he had ever seen.

[attr="class","bioline"]sixteen

[attr="class","bioline"]male

[attr="class","bioline"]bisexual

[attr="class","bioline"]5' 7"

[attr="class","bioline"]151 lbs

[attr="class","bioline"]lowborn

[attr="class","bioline"]gangsta, nicolas brown

[attr="class","bioline"]sovetskii soryuz

[attr="class","bioicon"]