Name :
Fa Leng Eishandar
Sex :
Male
Age :
26 years
Physique :
Standing at 6'8 with a barrel chest and ash-blue scales that link together so seamlessly that they look like a singular construction, Fa Leng is a Denizen with a reptilian disposition, his rectangular face taut against his skull and imposing. His expressions are reflected more in his body language, particularly in his meaty tail and arms rather than on his face, and his voice has a rumbling quality to it, consonants rolled constantly whenever he speaks. Four arms of equal size jut out from his sides, one pair positioned underneath the lower. In a resting posture, his upper arms would be folded over his chest while his lower ones rest by the side. Of note is the rotational flexibility of his upper arms, capable of swinging back almost a full 270 degrees while parallel with the ground. Less flexible, however, is Fa Leng's neck. While the two prominent horns on the top of his head do little to impede him, he has two more horns jutting out from the base of his head as well. Thus, he is unable to crane his head upwards, and when necessary to look up, relies on his tail to keep him upright as he leans his entire body backwards.
Due to his bulky, somewhat unmanageable frame, Fa Leng prefers loose-fitting, yet durable, clothing. Leather kilts keeps him modest and a thick raincloak does enough to shield him from environmental chills. For anything else, the advantages of his body see it through. Not when hard scales and sharp claws leaves him so little choice for shoes and gloves anyhow.
Background :
The sun rises and falls. The seasons come and pass. The communes migrate and settle. And yet, of the one hundred year history of Ithyan's exiles, should such perpetuity stand?
Fa Leng Eishandar clawed his way out of his mother's womb twenty six years ago, a divergent denizen bearing none of the traits of either parent. Four armed, scaled, and heavier than the average child in their commune, he spent his toddlerhood riotous and aggressive, running amok as he pleased. Physical labor kept him occupied for a time, but his energy appeared inexhaustible. He worked hard to eat well, and he ate well to work hard. To him, consumption and labor were one and same, and as long as he did both, he could face the next day happy, satisfied. His parents saw this as boon, and never truly questioned it. They were blessed with a child of uncommon vim and vigor, one who had willpower and strength sufficient to survive in lands as inhospitable as Ithya. What parent wouldn't be pleased?
Years trickled away, gradually and steadily. Fa Leng continued to work, to eat, to grow, seeing more of the world around him. A horde of multi-limbed pebbles turned the spring harvest into dust. A seven-winged drake plucked his cousin off the ground. Diseases and shortages continued to take people. There was word, word on the lips of far-travelling Troubadours that Briseterre, was finally established, that Ithya was changing, but out here, upon lands stricken day by day with small calamities and tragedies, Fa Leng couldn't feel it. He learned what magic he could, accrued what skills he could, continued to work and work so he could eat and eat, walking with his life's possessions on his back and in his arms. If he so much as blinked, someone he knew would be gone, gone much too swiftly for any of these 'changes' to do anything for them. His commune never settled for long. The sky and the earth conspired together to kill them, and they continued to walk, working to eat, eating to live.
It wore down at him, and when Ithya took his mother, what had been fraying inside of him finally snapped. He attended to her funeral rites, wished the best of fortune to his father, and left.
Two years elapsed in relative solitude, Fa Leng hitchhiking with other nomads and charting a path through more permanent settlements on his way to the fabled Briseterre, before springing off from there to Enia. Travel didn't change him, not much. It only confirmed what he had already known, what had been beaten into his bones already.
Life would be better, if he could eat even without needing to work. If he could work, and be rewarded for it with something equal in value to what he did. If he could live, not having to give what he deserved to someone who did less than himself. If he could live, selfish and free. And as it turns out, Enia was undoubtedly a much easier place to live in than Ithya. Perhaps that was just the four-armed privilege speaking though.
Three years later, Fa Leng Eishandar, now an independent contractor of many skills, found himself in the port city of Monatcier at a crossroads again. Did he remain in Enia, where stable, if stale, work remained? Or did he take the contract to Aepia, where vicious wars and grand rewards awaited? If it had been three years past, the former would have been attractive, but now?
That Ithyan blood was stirring within him again, and he was becoming restless.
Affiliation :
Former Ithyan Commune Member
Self-Employed 'Troubleshooter'
Character Questions :
You had a wonderful dream last night where you were living the best life you want for yourself. Who did you see in that dream?
My father. It would be good, yes. Good to drink with the old man. Show him my trophies, boast of my achievements, sit upon plush chairs while drinking wine from a whole other era. Eat the best of food, of course. Wonderful stuff, the sort of stuff that no sane commune member would waste their time making. Slow roasts, soft enough to melt in the mouth. Delicate pastries, like sweet clouds on the tongue. Beautiful soups, complex and clear. We would feast at my expense, until we were full.
And then, he would leave, and I would leave, and maybe I'll be intoxicated enough by then to think of the dead.
As a child, you learned that your bully, who at every turn has tried to hurt you and your friends, was secretly a polymorph. If you tell the Templars, they will arrest them. What did you do, and how do you feel about what you did after all these years?
I am not, what's the word…a bitch. Didn't use his polymorphy to hurt me, so I won't use his polymorphy to hurt him. Don't need the Templars to do what I want to do instead. And hey.
It's good to have a backup, isn't it?
You and Willow fell into a pit trap. Your allies are on the way to get you out of the pit, but you have a few hours before they get to you. What did you two do?
Willow. We don't talk much before, but we will now. Do you have enough time in your life, that you are willing to spend it here, in this pit, whittling it away as you become numb? I don't. Here's rope. I will throw you up. You will bring the rope back down. We will get out, together.
And after that, let's discuss how much three hours of your time was worth. In coinage.
Gear :
A tough travel pack. There's a blanket there, as well as 50 feet of rope and a tinderbox. The rest of the space is filled with all sorts of preserved foods, from smoked meats to dried berries to fruit jams. A metal flask hangs from the outside, and a coin pouch hangs from the inside of his kilt.
Relationships :
Ga Torr Eishandar - His father. Still alive, last he saw. Hasn't stayed in touch, but they were close, once.