Hilent Vormund, Wanderer

A life of walking requires something to protect one's body from the elements, and protection was hard to come by. On his back is a cloak, long enough to fall upon the heels of his leather boots, thick enough to protect against all elements, and dark enough to remain invisible under the night sky. Being “acquired” from a district 8 train, it was supposed to be a peacekeepers cloak, but mistakes in the manufacturing gave it a completely wrong color. Meant for function without fashion, the only decoration to be found is old military bars, of the rank captain, on his collar. These silver signs found along with the coat. To Hilent, they are just shiny bars.
Underneath his cloak, past his baggy & patched denim pants, and under his dark green hooded sweater, you'll find scars tracing long tears in his light skin. They run across, down, even up his back. Signs from whips and claws. But corded with muscle, strong enough to live, he's classified as a "medium" build at 5' 11''. His callused hands prove his constant work to survive, but with the amount of scars he bares, one must wonder how he survives.
When his hood is not pulled up, you'll find he keeps his brown hair short. The use of scissors and a mirror helps him blend in with a crowd and not catch unwanted attention. But if you were to stare into his eyes, you'd find a blue so soft they could stir feeling from even the coldest hearts. It takes a single look into them for you to know everything will be okay. But in his face, you could see how deep his scars run. Though none pass his neck, the suffering he's experienced is always evident in his complexion, and the sadness it shows.

He likes being a mystery, someone to see once, and then likely never see again. He has no regards for himself, his caring stops at the need to survive. Once there's food in his stomach, or bandages on his back, he loses the ability to care. But if he sees someone crying, he'll mysteriously appear beside them, asking what's wrong. If there's one starving, food or even coin might be dropped at there side. He finds a use for himself only in caring for others. Though he enjoys company, talking, all the enjoyments of conversation, he tends to be alone. If he feels he can trust someone, they might see him more than once. If he deems someone worthy of friendship, they might actually get to enjoy his company often. But he rarely makes friends, though he is friendly, he meets too many to hang up on one. A lonesome road is his favorite road.
The one thing that he rarely shows, is anger. Triggered by the sight of someone being whipped or abused by peacekeepers, it is a time when he adds to his marks. He'll remove his cloak, offering his own back to take the punishment. He's protective that way, it is though he himself dies whenever he sees an execution. He would do his best to plead to halt executions. Plead, never beg. If the life can't be saved, then it can't be saved. Realism is the way he thinks. But there is the act of payback. If the opportunity arises, the executioner can have an “accident”. A mysterious fall rendered him with a broken leg, or a bad cup of coffee and he's on his death bed. Poison, traps, something horrible, there is always a plan in place. Life taught him to always have one.
Trained in stealth and flawless in the art of knives, he is nearly invisible and impossible to kill. Mid-day or midnight, he can slip past any guard, wall or fence. It's how he wanders, how he survives. He could face a sword with only one knife, and win. He learned to parry, counter, everything to defeat weapons larger than his own. He can stay mobile and agile, his stamina is seemingly endless. If he's in a life or death situation, he'll kill to complete his goal. Whether it's a peacekeeper, or a cougar. But he takes remorse in the ending of a life, unless the cause is just. Killing a deer for food, guilt will stab him once before he can quell the feeling. Ending a peacekeeper for executing a child's parent, he would feel nothing. Having to kill a peacekeeper because he needs to escape, guilt would dog him. But that is how the world works, kill or be killed. Filled with hundreds of animals, but less than a hand of people, his dreams are plagued by the lives he has claimed. And then outside his dreams, comes the pain of his scars, for each one chooses a time to ravage him in a unique kind of suffering. He may go a day without it hurting, he may go a week. But eventually, for a few minutes or a few hours, a pain will plague his body. It hinders his movements, if he manages to move at all. But he endures it in silence. He never speaks of it, or shows it. But it happens, he can't avoid it.

Born in the capitol as Hilent Matrik, one would wonder why he is who he is. Born in a hospital, given the capitol medicines so he would not contract disease or infection, he was a plump child. Five years old was when he saw his first hunger games on the television, and it horrified him. The bloody fights, gory deaths made his very gut turn and wretch within him. He screamed and cried for them to stop. His parents didn't know what to do, they couldn't act fast enough before the peacekeepers came. Through his screaming and pouting, the peacekeepers could only assume rouge elements in the capitol residents. His father was arrested, never seen again while the mother was spared only for her child's needs.
Her husband gone, and her child to blame, his mother's pain turned to anger, anger to abuse every night. Hilent couldn't understand, he couldn't stand the pain, he wanted to run. One night, his mother intoxicated from a lavish party, he slipped into her bedroom. He took everything that shined. Gold, jewels, he had a bag the size of his head filled with precious metals, stones, and fancy clothes. He snuck out, unknowing and uncaring of where he might end up. Long travels in the night brought him to a restricted section of the capitol, the train yards. Walled off and patrolled, Hilent had to creep around the area. He came to a warehouse where crates filled with district resources were unloaded and taken back to the trains to be sent back to the districts.
Determined to escape this twisted land in which death is glorified, Hilent waited until chance had turned his way. A crate, labeled “9” was left open. He paused until the working avoxes and patrolling peacekeepers moved on or turned their backs, then he ran to the crate. There he waited, the crate was shut and carried away. Hilent withheld his cries as his box was thrown into a train, harshly. He calmed down from the adrenalin, slept even, until the crate was moved again. He heard machinery, vehicles. He worried he had been returned to the capitol, the witch waiting for him. But no, the crate opened. He found two old, tired faces staring disbelievingly at him. He crawled out, asking where he was. He was in district nine, found by an old couple of the district. They pulled him from the crate, hiding him underneath their work station as they fashioned vehicle parts to send to the capitol. At the end of the day, the couple smuggled Hilent from the factory and to their home. There, they discovered who he was, why he'd ran away. Hilent wasn't registered into the district's records, he didn't exist. He was schooled in secret from the former hunters, these people, very old and wise taught him the ways of survival. Giving basic lessons in all weapons until he found one he could love, the knife.
Several years pass, he is twelve years old. Having nothing better to do, and a life in which he didn't exist, he perfected the very art of a knife. If it had a blade, he could throw it. Since he could only leave home at night for exercise, he learned to be a phantom in the peacekeepers footsteps. Never seen, heard, or detected. But came the reaping day, and he was twelve. During previous reapings he would stay home and hide. But he was twelve, he thought himself a child of the district. He went to the reaping, unknowing of what he done. As the names were called to check attendance, the boys around him took notice of his presence. He was new, for they'd never seen him before. When his name wasn't called, some became suspicious. Once the reaping had finished, a boy indicated to a peacekeepers how Hilent's name wasn't called. Soon the peacekeepers descended upon Hilent as he returned home. They forced him to lead them to his home. His district parents were accused of hiding a child from the capitol, to protect him from the hunger games. They were executed.
Hilent was destroyed emotionally. Everything they did for him was ruined. The peacekeepers took his name, deriving his last name from that of his executed guardians. He became Hilent Vormund, prisoner of the orphan home. He was allowed to pack his processions, he wrapped clothes around the bag he brought from the capitol and wrapped the entire package in a hand knitted quilt his district mother made for him. He was taken to the orphanage, where he stayed only a night. For that night he escaped, becoming a shadow as he slipped through the district. He tracked the peacekeeper that executed his guardians, and set his home ablaze along with the home of the child that pointed him out to the authorities initially. As the district went up in alarm to put out the fires, he escaped the turmoil stealing what he could before escaping. A knife from the factory, food from a bakery, only things he need to add to his current possessions.
Coming to the train station, chance was once again in his favor. For he was able to slip under the train, hanging on to the undercarriage as it parted from the district. But a few miles out, his strength failed him. As the train slowed to round a turn, he gripped his possessions and dropped to the tracks. He found himself in a forest, alive with wildlife and bristling with plant life. The very thing he was taught about. But off in the distance, he could see the lights of district 8. He chose to stay in the forest, spending the next few years within its embrace.
In the years in the wild, until he was sixteen, he had suffered many animal attacks. His clothes became smaller and smaller as his injuries turned to scars. His solitude only cured by his infrequent journeys to the edge of district 8, but he eventually couldn't withstand isolation. He trekked to a refueling station just past district eight. He waited days before a train finally stopped, it was bound for the capitol. In the two hours it stopped, he boarded in secret and sorted through the boxes. A new knife, fresh from his old district, and a crates of clothes. He barely sorted through it all before the train took motion again. But the end result of hid gamble was the apparel he now wears. He got clear of the train as it started rolling away, and began the dangerous journey toward district 8. It was night when he arrived, and he snuck into its walls without effort. But now he was in a new world, different from what he'd known. He slept his first night behind a store, waking up to a person attacking him with a broom to shoo him away. He eventually learned the ways of the district, surviving on thievery so he was not to expend his precious stones from his youth. But with reintroduction to society brought the reintroduction of the capitols brutality. He found himself helping people out of a personal need, a compulsion he couldn't describe. It became an addiction, the feeling of being the crutch for the needy became his incurable drug.
Now 17, he chose to leave the district. Knowing the price of failure, he carefully planned his escape. He loaded his possessions once again, this time into a backpack. Now he only carried that old quilt and half the valuables he once did. He came to the train station, and soon he snuck on board, riding the undercarriage to district seven. Upon arrival, he set out. Wondering what he could do in this new district.

Note: Hilent's story continues significantly with the following threads. Be sure to read them to get the whole story.
Heroes don't win and Getting away are both essential pieces to his story read them, catch up.

I took pride in writing this, take the time to read it.