THE CHRONICLES OF EIRIOND: Characters & NPCs

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B l u E s

B l u E s

Dawn' Sunlight
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​

Zaki Anakahl

Give it a hundred percent. Then ten percent more.​



P O N D

Name :
[ Zaki Anakahl ]
[ Zah - ka - eye Ahn-ah-khal ]

Date of Birth :
[ December 21st ]
[ Sagittarius ]

Age :
[ 32 ]

Place of Birth :
[ Shegura ]

Gender :
[ Female, but presents herself androgynously ]

Sexual Preference :
[ Bisexual ]

Racial Origin :
[ Wyvern ]
[ Mother was a Merus ]
[ Father was Elven ]

Social Class :
[ Pirate ]

Languages :
[ Ardaric is her mother tongue ]
[ Fluently speaks Tarien ]
[ Can manage broken conversational Jorgethi ]

Physical Description :
[ Zaki omits an air of command. In the way she carries herself, in the way she speaks, in the way she looks at others. She's exceptionally tall, almost hitting 6'0 and despite her more slender figure, you can see the muscles from years of hard work have toned her body handsomely. Her hair is long and reaches past her waist and even when at work she keeps it down to cover sharp, knife shaped ears. Her skin is fair and never blemishes, her features strong and her eyes are monolid. Her voice is not so much deep as it is soulful. When looking at others they spark up, as if she's analyzing them. Zaki's brows tend to be always slightly furrowed, as if she's in constant thought.
Her typical outfit is a loose white cloth shirt under a long leather coat, tight coarse pants and worn knee high boots. She likes to wear her captain's hat because she feels it completes the look. Zaki rarely wears jewelry, leaving pedantry to fancier occasions. She carries a scabbard she calls Baby on her at all times, it's silver hilt not especially embedded with any priceless gems but the make of it is very fine, never dulling. ]

Height :
[ About 6'0 ]

Weight :
[ 138 ]

Hair :
[ Black ]

Eyes :
[ Black ]

Limb Dexterity :
[ Extremely flexible, like a dancer ]



L A K E

Personality :
[ Zaki is the type of person who, when she walks into a room, commands the attention of everyone present. Something in the way she looks at people, in the way she talks and carries herself omits confidence; radiates power. She's level-headed, but intimidating. The serious sort, who always has something going on in her head. When dealing with others she ironically honest for a pirate, preferring to deal with things head-on rather than sneak around them. It earns her credibility and respect in her line of work. She doesn't believe in honor amongst thieves, she's not so naive as to trust in others blindly, but her more maternal side pushes her to stick her neck out for those she's in charge of even when they don't deserve it. She's rational, but has the type of stubborn optimism that makes a good leader.
She doesn't care much for social norms, being a pirate, and rather enjoys deviations. ]

Attitude :
[ She likes to have people under her, to take care of as well as lead. Very maternal, in her own way. Easily likable, efficient, dependable. She's worked for everything she has and won't let anyone take it from her. ]

Skills :
[ Navigation ]
[ Command ]
[ Multilingual ]
[ Charismatic ]


Ambitions :
[ She wants to be someone history won't forget. ]
[ Find the Treasure ]

Strengths :
[Resourceful]
[Efficient]
[Dependable]
[Respectable]
[Intelligent]
[Magnetic]
[Charismatic]

Weaknesses :
[Stubborn]
[Cares too much]
[Overthinks]
[Spiteful]
[Carnal]
Liable to
[Arrogance]
[Egocentricity]
[Short-temper]

Fears :
[Failure]
[Not being able to protect those under her]
[Confined Spaces]
[Captivity]
[Weakness]
[Everyone seeing who she is under her mask]

Regular Routine :
[ In the mornings when she awakens, she jumps straight into hygiene. Zaki sleeps naked, finding sleeping clothes suffocating. She doesn't bother fixing her bed because that's what cabin boys are for. Despite respecting the whole pirate aesthetic some of her crew insist on, she pushes for everyone to at least brush their teeth in the mornings so she leads by example. Her hair doesn't tangle so she doesn't bother brushing it, washes herself off if possible, and changes into her work clothes and her hat. Most days it's settling the day-to-day business on her ship, making sure supplies aren't running low and consulting with the navigator that they're rightly on course to their next loot. ]

Attitude Towards Death :
[ Hates it. Spits at the thought of it. She's very antagonistic in her relationship with dying, and refuses to give into it's grips until she's done with what she has to do on the mortal plane. Then, she can rest easy. ]

Religion :
[ She isn't fond of religion, but she's intimately familiar with Dralno and frowns on it. She believes in things she can feel, touch, hear, smell. Sizona is the closest thing she comes to worshipping, and even then the use of the term is loose, more like acknowledging it for having some sort of divine power. She is fond of Lazroel because of her upbringing in Shegura, but respects it more than she practices it. ]

Fetishes :
[ None, but she finds Khaddorians remarkably attractive ]

Sexual Experience & Values :
[ She's tried almost everything in the book with one partner or another. Zaki is a far cry from a prude and life that leads from one port to another leaves room for a lot of exploration. Some might even say she goes out of her way to be sexual at times, and it does make her feel more grounded in who she is. That said, she doesn't like forming intimate long-term relationships, and avoids strings being attached to sex. ]

Education :
[ Learned her craft from a pirate who took her under his wing. She can read and write in Ardaric and Tarien, but has little technical training in anything else. ]

Type of Residence:
[ Her ship's cabin mostly, when not docked at a port, then she treats herself if she can ]

Occupation:
[ Captain ]

Place of Work:
[ Her ship, the Avariel ]

Past Occupations:
[Dock Worker]
[Slave]
[Sex Worker]
[Thief]



S E A
​
Biography :
To tell Zaki's tale, we must go back.
Back to her mother's mother's mother, back all the way to the Goddess Edia, patron of Oracles, to her birth in the land of the East. For from her stemmed the Merus; virginal women- almost Elven in their purity. It is ironic then that her fate is so intimately entwined with the deity who rolls the dice.
Zaki's mother, Vhalor, had been young, beautiful, but most importantly she had been devote. In all her preaching, in all her worship, down on her knees, up on a pedestal, she was exemplary. The Merus were obsessed to an extent with the possibility of tapping into Edia's powers of fortune. They did not involve themselves with the political because they did not concern themselves with the now. Their eyes were as closed as they were open, in a sense. Perhaps it was their connection to Sizona and its magical prowess that allowed them to see what they saw, do what they did. Zaki never really found out.
On their annual voyage to Shegura, Vhalor traveled with her sister to the Eastern continent to worship the birth of Edia, so wonderful and wise. It was there she met an elven man, one of the cult's escorts on their way to praise. Built slender but steady, with eyes that glimmered like obsidian with mystery and mischief. He had seemed to her then so divinely made that he put Edia to shame.
That blasphemy was the start of all their problems.
Vhalor would escape prayer to speak with him, would make excuses to her sisters to meet him in strange, foreign Sheguran groves. They would talk endlessly- about life, about their perspectives on religion, on purpose. He would speak of his ambitions, she would speak of her sisters. He would talk of his home, she would indulge him with stories of hers. He would come to profess his adoration, his love of her beauty and complexity, 'Fairer than Dydva, and over my heart you have more sway than Dralno does the heavens,' he would tease her, but the way those eyes shone showed no ill intent. It only revealed a man desperate at her feet.
Of course she loved him back.
And made it too, several times. Her sisters never spoke of her strange behavior, out of respect for her perhaps. She was the best of them. Then it was time to leave, to say goodbye. How could she be expected to pick between her duty and his tenderness? But a lifetime of living under the Merus won out in the end, she could not leave her sisters, she could not renounce her obligation to Edia. He had only bitterness at her decision, soured by her betrayal and had refused to part with fondness as friends.
The seed of consequence took root in her womb shortly after. It did not take her long to realize she was with child. She should have listened, how could she have done what she did? Lay with a man? Did a man not ruin Edia, rape her like she was something to be owned? The guilt ate at Vhalor for days, she wouldn't be able to keep the secret for long. One of her sisters finally intercepted- they had all noticed how she had been acting lately, but it was Nakamb who drew the conclusions, who intercepted.
'You are with child,' she had stated, a nod from Vhalor was the confirmation. Pity filled Nakamb, a sense of sympathy for the woman who had once stood so proudly. 'Oh Vhalor,' Vhalor's sobs couldn't be contained as the woman embraced her, 'What do I do? What can I possibly do? I have disgraced myself, shamed us all, profaned Edia... I deserve death,'
'If you deserve death for convieving a child I loath to think what the women who are not Merus must suffer,' Nakamb assured,
'You will persevere, as Dydva did. As Edia did. As all women must do.'
'How?'
'Trust me.'
And Vhalor did. Nakamb made sure that her and Vhalor were selected for isolated extensive prayer, a tradition that separated the women from the rest of their sisters to a temple on the borders of Shegura to fast and reflect for a year. After that, they would be considered Elders, who were more leaders than necessarily older women. It was convenient, perfect. The Elders had been overjoyed that Vhalor had finally decided to take on the duty. All that Vhalor felt like she was taking on was shame. She birthed the child at the temple, Nakamb serving diligently as the midwife through the screams and the blood.
Zaki. Zaki. Zaki.
Zaki Anakhal.
It meant divine calamity in Tarien.
Vhalor and Nakamb went on to hide the child in a shed-home hastily built, taking turns nursing the child after they returned to the Merus as Elders. 'We all have our secrets,' Nakamb would assure Vhalor. It didn't comfort her. Zaki, although looked after sufficiently as a babe, was left more and more to her own devices as she grew older. 'Never leave the shed. Never stray. If you are found, you doom us.' Vhalor would hiss. She was not kind to Zaki. Nakamb was better, but took on too many duties to cover for Vhalor to be a dutiful parent.
It made Zaki self-reliant, independent, and.. distant. It was hard not knowing parental warmth as a child, not knowing the full story but knowing well enough she was not wanted. She taught herself to read and write through the books Nakamb would sneak to her, and the basics of the religion were force-fed to her with what little time Vhalor spent with the child. It was not good living, but it was safe. It helped that her half elven heritage sped her maturity rate- by the time she was 5 she looked double her age. But there are no secrets time does not reveal.
How exactly the Elders found out about it could never be surely known. Upon years of reflection, Zaki theorized it was her sizona, increasingly obvious with age and easily detectable using whatever magics the Merus used. Not that it mattered- at the end of the day her mother was disgraced, expelled, stripped of all her standing with the cult and exiled. Left homeless to wander. Vhalor protected Nakamb and her dear friends involvement was never discovered.
Vhalor and Zaki traveled east to Shegura, in search of her father. However, no matter how high or low they searched he would not be found. Dead, perhaps. Vhalor never knew him enough to base her search on anything substantial, and the fact tore at her. Six years and she had been left with the burden of a dalliance that ruined her life.
Zaki was only a child, she didn't understand the implications. She only knew her mother was wrought with rage, feeling naked and exposed to the world in a way Zaki then could never wrap her head around. Vhalor took it out on the child, the result of her sin. Hit her, yelled at her, forced her to work for food or shelter. When kind strangers asked her about her bruises, she'd have to laugh it off and say she got into a fight. They bought that, with the looks of her. All dirt and grime- later in life Zaki would detest the feeling to her core, making her an exceptionally hygienic person. Later on, the dirty looks others gave her combined with racist slurs- 'Hafling', 'Mutt', 'Knife-Ear'. Elves saw her as less on principal. Valekians saw her as a disgrace. She would grow out her hair to cover her ears.
One day, Zaki came to the hostel room she shared with her mother after working in the docks only to find her mother exchanging coins with a Valekian man. Her mother turned to her, smiled, and said 'Ah, there she is,' and the child knew instantly there was something wrong. The Valekian man had asked her to come forward, but the look in his eyes, the shadow over her mothers face and.. something else, something instinctual that told her there was something wrong made her run. She didn't get far before she grabbed by one of the Valekian man's goons and thrown in binds. Vhalor had sold her into slavery, maybe to pay some debts or buy a ticket out of there but it didn't matter.
The years after that were blurry. Most of the time she had been slightly drugged in order to throw off her defenses. She remembered being forced to work at a whore-house as a helper or.. well, everything else you do at a whore-house. She remembered the feeling of being trapped, of having nowhere to run to, of the choking scent of incense and perfume and sex. She was 15 when she escaped; the drugs just weren't as effective anymore and she saw an opportunity and took it.
After that, everything was comparatively brighter. She became a thief in some port, stayed in Shegura because something in her bound her to her homeland. Zaki was good at being a thief. She had a sharp mind and clever fingers. Sometimes, she would do jobs for rich folk who needed shiny things in hard to get places. Those paid well and she never got caught. Made quite a reputation for herself too in the monstrous underbelly of the city; if you wanted something stolen you went to Anakhal.
That's how she met Jolir, a giant man of a Khaddorian. The sly cat had presented himself to her that day simply as 'I'm Jolir, a pirate captain, I need somethin' robbed.' with a heavy Khauran accent and furrowed brows that amused her so much it convinced the Wyvern to take up the job immediately. She didn't even bother what she was stealing or how much he was going to pay her, which was probably the greatest blessing she could have asked for. He had only told her where to go, in what room it was, and advised precaution. 'What does it look like?' she inquired, 'You'll know.'
That was good enough for her.
In the end it had turned out to be a map hidden in a sort of golden cylinder. Zaki had nearly died a total of 4 times by time she was out of the labyrinth of a castle with it in hand. Jolir had immediately confessed to her afterwards it had been meant to be a sort of test. 'You see,' he had continued with that same southern dialect, slightly encroaching on her space to the point where they were breathing the same air. 'I could use someone like you.'
Perhaps it is reasonable to say that was that. Zaki became a sort of apprentice to Jolir, admiring him greatly both professionally and, on the rare occasion, in bed. But he was always more of a mentor or a brother of sorts to her. No one else could have convinced her to pry herself from Shegura in search of some great treasure and adventure other than Jolir. He taught her to find her sea legs, and her place in the world. In a way he was the first person to ever give a shit about her.
Jolir died a few years back from a stab to the gut from some Valekian asshole with a grudge. Zaki took control of the ship- mostly out of force than popular vote- and hunted the man down in a matter of weeks and got the crew their revenge. Kept the sword, named it Baby after the last owner. They respected her heavily after that. Taking the wheel from Jolir molded her into someone more responsible, more like the current Zaki. However, if killing Jolir's murderer earned her their respect, it's been hunting down his treasure that earned her their admiration.
The map he had her steal has been the source of a chase that's lasted nearly a decade. But they're close, Zaki can feel it. In-between it they've made their money taking down Valekian gold ships or raiding rival pirates. Her ultimate goal, however, is the treasure. The Fountain of Edia.​



Trivia :​
  • She speaks with a slight Sheguran accent, no matter the language​
  • Not very vulgar, for a pirate, although a curse or two slips out every now and then​
  • Short term goals: keep herself and her crew afloat​
  • Long term goals: the treasure​
  • Never takes off her captain's hat​
  • She's relatively social with others, sometimes observing and sometimes taking the initiative to push things in the direction she wants them to go, mostly for her advantage​
  • She can't stand racist bigots, she'll sooner slice their throat herself than deal with being called a knife-ear by some egoistical Valekian​
  • Gets along best with Khaddorians, probably because she's not related to any of them​
  • Very tight-lipped about her past and snaps if people push to bring it up​
  • She doesn't want to be forgotten, she wants to matter to people desperately but keeps it on the downlow​

Author Notes: My favorite aspect of this roleplay honestly is the lore, I'm itching to get my fingers involved in a meaty lore-stuffed fantasy roleplay and you seem to have a lot of passion and dedication for it so I'm excited!​
 
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"Desire is strength. Desire for freedom, money, sex, drink... and revenge. It is all us mortals know."​


Basics

Name:

Na'Vosi

Date of Birth:

March 30th ~Aries

Place of Birth:

Dareen Grove

Gender:

Male

Sexual Preference:

Heterosexual

Species/Racial Origin:

Dunmas Elf

Social Class/ Community Status:

Pirate/Smuggler

Language:

Tarien; Tarien--Dunmas Dialect; Conversational Jorgethi; Light Andaric​


Physique

Na'Vosi carries an air of import around him wherever he goes: he is both tall, and gaunt beyond measure. At 6'5" he towers above most, and certainly above all of his former subordinates. He is Dunmas, and therefore his skin reflects a deep obsidian sheen, whereas his long, well combed hair is stark white by contrast. He takes great pains to hide his shoulder-length locks by keeping them wrapped in a tight bun beneath his captain's hat. Of the many imposing elements that strangers seem to notice, his eyes tend to be among them: his irises appear a deep black at first glance, but in the light--and at the right angle--the most perceptive may notice that they are in fact a muted crimson color.

His teeth are a bright white by contrast to his skin, which contributes to his noticeable smile. The young Dunmas is of an excitable nature, and so his posture usually is impeccable. In fact, he typically appears to stand too tall: his chin is often upturned, and eyes downcast. As for clothing, he dresses as eccentrically as one might expect from an unorthodox pirate captain. He wears a long, collared navy coat that trails behind him as far as the backs of his knees. The coat is two tailed, and outfitted with primarily ornamental pauldrons made of some sort of polished aluminum. The buttons of the coat are silver, and engraved with the seal of presumably the manufacturing company that produced it. The coat was stolen during a raid, so even Na'Vosi doesn't know where it came from.

As for leggings, he most often wears a pair of baggy, striped linen pants held at his waist by a wide-set leather belt. The belt is too big on his slender frame, but he never parts with it for his admiration of the fine steel buckle at one end of the strap. The buckle had been shaped to resemble a roaring lion's head, and though he would keep it for fashion's sake alone, the belt itself was a gift from his closest mentor.

His shoes are tri-buckle boots with a folded rim that reach several inches above his ankles and over the base of his pants-leg on each side.


Height:

6'5"

Weight:

142 lbs.

Hair:

White

Eyes:

Red

Limb Dexterity:

Highly flexible due to lean build.​

Equipment:
​
Keeps two falchions in simple leather sheaths crossed behind his back to use in combat. His preferred fighting style is a dual-weapon technique focused on speed over strength, which is typical given his lithe frame.

Otherwise, he keeps a hidden pendant over his bare chest made of an unidentifiable wood native to his home island. The pendant is shaped like a small effigy of Dydva, and it never leaves his side.


Personality​

In better times, Na'Vosi's strength as a captain was matched only by his overwhelming charm. Even among other pirates, he was never afraid to indulge in drink or jest, nor did he prevent his crew from doing the same. Having known what it was like to be ruled by fear--and having been taught how sweet the alternative was--Na'Vosi's priority was to encourage loyalty through incentive. Never for one second did he suspect any betrayal on the part of his crew, as he often encouraged any and all of them to speak their minds even when dissatisfied.

This is not to say Na'Vosi was a pushover. Any member aboard his ship had the right to challenge him, but all violent altercations met swift--and frequently deadly--discipline. If it escalated to a challenge of blades, Na'Vosi's men knew to give the men a wide berth lest they be sprayed with the gore and viscera of whatever poor fool attempted to disrespect their captain. In many ways, Na'Vosi is passionate beyond measure, and this often leads to hardheadedness and a resistance to change. One of his greatest fears is a lack of control, and coupled with his impassioned temper, this fear is what drives him to fight viciously for whatever he has.

Though somewhat unpredictable from time to time, Na'Vosi is not foolish enough to believe himself a wise man in any regard. He knows that learning never ends, which is why he stayed with the pirating profession long after buying his freedom: his curiosity regarding the world, its history, and its magics has never dampened and likely never will. There is always a secret to find, and treasure to repossess. This hunger is what drives him above all else.


Skills

Nar'Vosi is an expert pick-pocket from his days as a galley-boy aboard his first master's ship. He might've starved had he not developed a knack for taking rations and drinks that weren't his to begin with. He is also a deft lock-pick, though by no means an expert. His practice is limited to the padlocks he removes from the necks of slaves and stolen cargo.

He is a sailor as well, and so is talented at piloting a sea-ship. With years of training on board, he is also proficient in knot-tying, deck-scrubbing, and navigating. His time behind the wheel has made him perceptive, and wary of the varying depths and coral labyrinths of the seas he's traveled.

As far as non-technical skills go, he's an avid gambler and bargainer. His appearance--coupled with his charismatic charm--often leaves an impression on those strangers he's met for either good or ill. Typically, for a Dunmas like him, first impressions are everything and he never fails to embody whatever character best serves each situation.


Goals/Ambitions:
​
His primary goal is revenge for what he's lost. The slavery of his youth never dampened his spirit, but it left him with a festering ambition. At the height of his captain-ship he had--at last--shaken free from the yoke of his past. Losing everything so quickly has not only returned that desire, but compounded it ten times over. Otherwise, he has no plan beyond returning to the seas and plundering what he may.

Strengths:

Nar'Vosi is charismatic, dexterous, adaptive, and driven.

Weaknesses:

Nar'Vosi is also stubborn, short-sighted, and paranoid.​

Fears:
​
He fears incarceration, but--more specifically--being locked in chains once more. Nothing gives him pleasure like the freedom of the open ocean, and nothing drives fear into his heart like the prospect of rotting away in a stone cell. Any kind of lack of control makes him nervous, but being physically restrained makes him truly fearful.

Regular Routine:​

When he still had a ship, his routine would begin with a morning drink to wake him up, followed by a meal. Most often this meant some kind of fresh fish if they were anchored, or just simple breads and cheeses if they were moving. Breakfast would be (appropriately) washed down with a second drink. Sometimes, if he was feeling adventurous, he would drink a white rum instead of a gold when he ate his meal. After eating in his bare linens, he would suit up, tie back his hair, and arrange his hat. The process of setting the captain's hat at the perfect angle would take at least 30 minutes in and of itself. Then, he would emerge on deck, and call a lineup of all his men. He would discuss the day's travel plans during this phase of the morning, before releasing his crew members to their day's duties.

Now, his days are typically categorized by excessive rum-drinking, and ill-advised gambling. Without direction nor stability, he no longer has much of a routine despite not having a well-structured one to begin with.

Attitude Towards Death:
​
In his youth, he was taught by his parents to not fear it, and so he does not. He is more concerned with living to see his retribution. Currently, he wishes--in secret--that his end would come soon to rid him of his woes, though he knows these to be cowardly thoughts in light of all the lives lost on his watch.

Religion/Beliefs:
​
He's not too religious, though he fears the divine. In particular he worships Dyvda to aid his adventures at sea, despite the misfortune that has befallen him. It hasn't shaken his faith yet, though he may re-examine that part of his life soon enough.

Fetishes/Strange Behaviors:
​
He is most often attracted to strong and powerful women, though he hasn't explored that admiration in a sexual capacity.

Sexual Experience/Values:
​
He is not a stranger to whorehouses, nor is he unaccustomed to the occasional tryst with a stranger or two when visiting port-side. He enjoys sex well enough, but hasn't desired it since being set adrift.

Education/Special Training:
​
His second owner taught him everything he knows about ship-handling as well as the common languages. He is trained in dual-wielding combat forms, and has a particular affinity for most kinds of saber-based combat. He can read and write Tarien, as well as read some Jorgethi.

Home:
None.

Occupation:
Former captain

Place of Work:
None.

Past Occupations:
Slave. Thief. Galley-boy. Sailor. Navigator. Smuggler. Captain.​

Biography​

Nar'Vosi--like most Dunmas--was born in his people's ancestral home of Dareen Grove, where he lived for much of his youth unperturbed. It was a simple living amongst his kin, but an insular one and though he enjoyed exploring the labyrinthine swamps and groves of his home, he took great pleasure in what little stories his parents told him of the outside world. This curiosity would be his undoing, and when he was nine years of age he stole away from the village and beyond the limits of Dareen.

Children were cautioned not to go running off into the wilds, but the boy had an adventurers spirit and would not be deterred. When at last he broke from the impossibly dense forests of Dareen Grove and found himself staring at the wide oceans beyond, he knew in his heart he could never resume his insular lifestyle. Unfortunately, he did not have to make that decision for himself.

He returned to the sea shore a number of times thereafter, and on one such occasion found that he was not alone: a slaver ship--obscured by the dense foliage on either side of the beach--was docked nearby. Scouts had already taken to the beaches, and though Nar'Vosi made a good attempt at escape, he ensnared himself in a trapper's net. Swiftly, he was whisked away from his home, powerless and vulnerable to his captor's will.

For some time he remained a slave before being sold to a pirate vessel and its captain. The leader of the ship was a brusque, disinterested Valekian with little regard for the servants in his employ. He was a galley-boy aboard the ship from age ten to sixteen, and in those years learned the fine art of thievery. He and the other servants would take what little they could without being noticed--oftentimes from the pockets of the chef himself. On deck Nar'Vosi performed menial tasks, and learned to do them efficiently: he preferred to spend no more time around the sailors as possible given their distaste and distrust for his kind. If he did not perform well, he suffered. If he did his duties diligently, he survived.

The sole pleasures during these years came from the occasional trips to harbor. In Solomon--a Valekian province--Nar'Vosi got brief tastes of culture and glimpses of the exotic world he had dreamt of. Though the public treated him no better there than on his ship, he often stole away when the crew disembarked to go off on adventures of his own. He infiltrated storefronts for food, pick-pocketed trinkets from other sailors, and stole away into gambling dens and whorehouses to learn what it was Valekian sailors did in their spare time.

Sometimes, he would even make a friend of his own or two on those rare nights. When he discovered slaves like him, he would attempt to communicate and--if they didn't speak his mother tongue--he would still try to pay forward what kindnesses he could in stolen goods or food. As it happened, his crew was often too preoccupied spending their plunder, and imbibing in the world's pleasures to care much for where he was or what he did. It was only when they were set to disembark that Nar'Vosi made sure he was on board where they had left him, lest he face the wrath of the captain.

One day, he was dragged from the linens where he slept below deck, and forcibly dragged to the main deck. He was sure that some small deception, or thievery of his had been found out but was surprised to learn he wasn't in trouble. In fact, his life was about to change for the better.

As it happened, he had been purchased from a rival pirate captain in what was an act of good faith. Nar'Vosi never asked for the details (frankly, he didn't care) but from what he would later go on to understand was that his first owner owed some measure of debt to the man who became his mentor, and his sale
was a part of the appeasement. Nonetheless, Nar'Vosi prepared himself for whatever injustice he would face as a slave aboard his new master's ship having already suffered countless beatings and punishments at the hands of his old master.

The captain of the ship he had been relocated to was no ordinary man. In fact, he was not a man at all. Born of the Merfolk, the captain--Marius--was a true sight to behold. For his kind, he was large beyond measure. An impression combination of rotund belly and thick, muscled chest seemed to inflate his presence ten-fold. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his palms as weathered as any slave's. From the moment Nar'Vosi was brought before the man, he respected his authority as though his very aura demanded it. The captain's thick, seaweed-like beard was groomed into a single colossal braid that hung as low as his belly button against the blue-green sheen of his merfolk skin, and his radiant turquoise eyes seemed to penetrate Nar'Vosi's very being.

After disbanding the parley and going on their way, Marius made a point of unchaining Nar'Vosi in plain view of all his crew. The Dunmas was sure he was about to be abused in some form or fashion for the entertainment or education of this captain's men, but instead he was given a clean tunic and set to work as a sailor's apprentice. For a year he worked alongside a handpicked sailor, learning the ins and outs of the ship and its functions. From there, he was initiated as a full member, and came to learn that his captain had a running habit of liberating purchased slaves for his own sake. For the first time, Nar'Vosi had opportunity where before there was naught but suffering.

His dedication to the craft impressed Marius, and the captain took a liking to the young elf in turn. Nar'Vosi was brave and bull-headed: he had no training in combat, but yearned to be a part of the seasoned crew who oft partook in the galley raids from which they made their profits. Marius himself trained the young elf in the dead of night so as to not interfere with the day's duties, and found a fast learner in the spry Dunmas. Though Marius was found of bludgeoning his foes to death with a mahogany cudgel, it became evident Nar'Vosi did not have the strength for such a tool. To accommodate him, the captain had his first mate teach Nar'Vosi the way of the saber beyond the combat basics that Marius was capable of instilling in him.

Over the next four years he sailed with Marius, Nar'Vosi became an expert at his craft. Their trips had been bountiful, and his share of the plunder plenty. With a measure of wealth to his name, Nar'Vosi offered to buy out his freedom: he desired more than anything to captain his own ship despite the generosity of Marius and his crew. Marius, though sad to see a good sailor leave, knew the allure of the open ocean would only drive Nar'Vosi contemptuous if he tried to restrain the free-spirited elf. Instead of outright payment, he struck a deal with the Dunmas: when he purchased his own vessel, his first mate would be Marius's own son and fledgling sailor--Twembo. Nar'Vosi knew the boy to be a strong sailor, but not much more. Nonetheless, he agreed, and the two of them departed at first landfall after that.

Nar'Vosi purchased a small schooner with his accumulated shares, and spent the next decade at sea with a crew of his own from the time he left Marius at age 21 until but a month before his 32 birthday. Their adventures had been many, and the plunder had been spectacular. Like his mentor, Nar'Vosi even got in the habit of purchasing and freeing slaves where he could, and making loyal dock-hands out of the ones that wanted to stay. Twembo, though green when they began, grew into a fine first mate and better friend: the two became nigh inseparable. Though Nar'Vosi was captain, he never made life-altering decisions without his friends' consultation. With each fresh haul, Nar'vosi invested some of his share into upgrading the vessel, until they could outright afford a new one. Though he was loathe to part with any ship, they did upgrade several times until he had a vessel to be truly proud of--and proud he was.


Author Notes: My favorite aspect of the role-play is the fact that you put in a cool polytheistic religion. Give me serious Greek mythology vibes, and as a greek boi this pleases me.

Radio Jelly, Today at 10:26 AM
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Philosophy of Life:
"I don't need any words, actions are louder anyway."

Basics:
Name: Zonran (zohn-ran)
Date of Birth (&Age): November 2nd​, 19
Place of Birth: northern Eorn mountain range
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Homosexual
Species/Racial Origin: Valekian/Khaddorian mix breed
Social Class/ Community Status: Outcast
Language: Jorgethi, Ardaric

Physical Description:
Height: 7'3'' (221 cm)
Weight: 225 Ibs (102 kg)

Detailed Physical Description:
[spoili]
Zonran's an intimidating creature that no one would want to meet in the middle of the jungle at night.
The Khaddorian blood running through his veins was brought into his family 5 generations or so ago, never to be refreshed, yet still so strong. The obviously Khaddorian traits run along his whole body, giving away his heritage to any passer-by.

His face is framed by dirty blond hair, always cut short to stay away from his light reflecting deep golden eyes. His ears are positioned at the sides of his head, like any Valekians, but they are much bigger with greater maneuverability and are covered in black and white fur. His left one is also pierced with three golden earrings, while his mouth is filled with rather sharp teeth.

Zonran is much taller than an average Valekian and a lot bulkier, preferring brute strength over flexibility. His tan skin is decorated in black stripes that closely resemble tribal tattoos. Following his spine goes a thin line of fur that ends in an impressive long striped tail which usually twitches in annoyance. There are some dustings of fur in various degrees of thickness covering the area from his elbows to his shoulders as well as his unusual legs. Their bone structure is clearly Khaddorian as they look like paws - feet almost as long as his shins with meaty toes to stand on. While his feet have obvious claws, his hands have nails, which are made from stronger stuff than a Valekians and are regularly sharpened. His right hand is mutilated, missing his pinky and ring finger and one third of his middle one. This is usually hard to see as Zonran has a habit of hiding that hand in his sash.[/spoili]

Typical Clothing:

Zonran hasn't owned a single fancy item of clothing in his entire life. His self-made attire usually consists of a vest, pants, a sash, arm protectors and weapon holders. His vest is dark grey in color with a thin black fur collar. It is kept closed by a small brown piece of string. His black pants reach his ankles and have cuts in them reaching his knees, so it would be easier to put them on and off. While they are on, these cuts are closed by three buttons made from animals' teeth. The mixed breed doesn't wear any shoes, since he dislikes them and enjoys feeling his surroundings. Although, he reconsiders this decision whenever he steps on something sharp.

The arm protectors are simple pieces of grey leather with holes for the string that keeps it tight around the forearm. Instead of a belt Zonran wears a dull blue sash, more as a sword anchor on his left side than to pull up his pants. All of his weapon holders are made from brownish leather. His bow case and quiver are fused into one and always slung over his shoulder. It, alongside the sword scabbard, is decorated with various tribal patterns and scribbles he drew on them while bored.

Equipment:

Zonran carries his sword with himself no matter where he goes. It's nothing fancy, but it's durable and gets the job done. Whenever he goes hunting, he takes his archer equipment with him: a six-foot longbow with 70lbs draw-weight, bow case-quiver, 12 arrows and an archer's thumb ring. Any other belongings he takes on his person only with the appropriate occasion.


Personality attributes:

Personality/Attitude:
[spoili]
Zonran never shows much emotion preferring a cold stare at all times because he believes they can hinder a person. However there are rare moments when he can't control his fury or the urge to smile, on even rarer occasions - laugh. He's still quite easily embarrassed despite his best efforts, especially if people find out something they shouldn't have. Since Zonran spent most of his life in the forest, he's rather antisocial. Sometimes he even struggles to understand what others mean and when asked a question in the middle of a story, the mixed breed'll most likely just keep listening, waiting for the continuation. The lack of social interaction also left him pretty blunt, while the lack of proper etiquette - unmannered.

However combat is a completely different case. While engaged, words aren't of much use - the skills do all the talking and Zonran takes great pride in his. He's a very fierce fighter oozing with killing intent, broadly smiling in the face of danger. There's absolutely nothing that excites him more than a good fight. He can never allow himself to back down from a challenge, no matter how petty, and he is very stubborn to boot. Most of his actions tend to be quite reckless; he usually does things first and asks questions later.

But under all that toughness lays a very kind heart. The mixed breed's ready to go an extra mile to help a complete stranger and he's always ready to stand up for a weaker person. It's even worse with children, calling him a teddy bear in their hands would be an understatement. Because of this, there is nothing than sickens him more than people abusing their power. However, that doesn't mean he's trustful or naive. Quite the opposite - Zonran's very cautious. He still wouldn't harm anyone without provocation, but he's also always prepared to kill. Gaining his trust isn't an easy feat, but a rewarding one. Earning his loyalty is even harder, though he'd give up his life for those that do. In addition, he hates liars and could never be a one himself, instead he just keeps his trap shut when he can't tell the truth. This might give out the answer anyway, but he can live with that. In general, Zonran keeps things to himself, life has thought him that much...[/spoili]

Skills/Talents:

Zonran has incredible stamina, pain tolerance and endurance accompanied with strong fighting instincts. His swordsmanship is really impressive and he continues improving it. Likewise, he's an experienced archer capable of drawing back a 120lbs longbow. He's extremely independent, at least in the forest. He also has a talent for singing, but he needs a lot of encouragement and convincing to show off his voice. Mostly, Zonran just hums while doing something pleasant. Alongside humming, he enjoys a strong drink. He can chug down an unbelievable amount and still be completely sober. Anyone who manages to out drink him should consider themselves legendary and deserve a medal.

Goals/Ambitions:

Zonran wants to prove his worth to the world, as big headed as that dream is, he is absolutely positive he'll manage to reach it. He just hasn't figured out the how. But he's prepared to take the first chance he gets.

Strengths:

Zonran's generally a strong person, someone you could consider a trained warrior. His iron will and confident stance makes for one fearsome opponent. He doesn't bend under pressure and meets ever hardship with his head held high. For him, helpless situations don't exist. While he can't stand people that whine, he'd still help them out. Although, he might do it while scolding them for not acting on their own. He might not force his ideals on others, but he shows his opinion rather clearly ad loudly.

Zonran stays loyal even when everything goes to hell. He'll be by his comrade's side till his very last breath, which is quite convenient since he's not planning to die anytime soon. But when he does, he'll take very secret he has ever heard with him. He would never willingly tell on anyone, there are no excuses for betrayal. He also always owns up to his mistakes and is ready to take on any consequences.

Weaknesses:

A lot of Zonran's qualities most would view as strengths are actually his weaknesses. He has lived most of his life surrounded by ideals, unrealistic hopes. Because he was so isolated from civilization, he hasn't experienced any racism, discrimination or even rejection besides the few times when he was too young to remember. That left him unable to understand such things like greed or jealousy. The mixed breed's easily outsmarted, while his honestly and bluntness often turns against him. People have a tendency to abuse his kindness the same way.

Besides that, Zonran's eagerness to act makes him reckless and careless. He jumps into situations he doesn't know how to handle and ends up using force when it could've been settled peacefully. Because of his stubborn nature, he pushes things much further than needed refusing to give up or give in. Overall, he's very hard to deal with if you don't understand how his head works.

Fears:

Zonran believes himself to be fearless though there are some things that make him uncomfortable, like overcrowded places. He greatly dislikes when people hate him for what he is rather than who he is. The thoughts of leading a meaningless life and coming out a failure aren't welcomed either.

Regular Routine:
[spoili]
Zonran lives in the Metsa forest and, quite frankly, there's not much going on there besides an occasional fight for territory between animals. That leaves him with more time than he knows what to do with it, which results in immense boredom. But truly, he has no rhythm that he'd follow daily. Though, there are times when even his unorganized life gets interrupted by an intruder. At the best of times, they just pass by without noticing the threat sitting in the trees, at worst – he kills them.

Zonran's day starts whenever he wakes up, whether it is in the middle of the night or late in the afternoon. First thing he does is take a walk around and hunt down his breakfast. Sometimes he catches more than he can eat, so he shares with the animals sniffing about. At least they make some nice company to his lonely existence. That is usually followed up by a nap or a training session. Sometimes he just goes around the forest, butting heads the fiercer beasts living alongside him.

At some point the mixed breed gets hungry again and comes back to his tiny camp for leftovers or gets himself fresh meat. Afterwards he might do anything that he feels is needed – make some arrows, clean up his so called house, patch up his clothes, take care of his sword – or try chasing away his boredom by more training, naps and scouting missions.

When Zonran tires out he calls it a day. If he stinks badly enough, he might even go for a swim. At those times he rewards himself with fish for dinner. When he's feeling rather giddy, he goes to clean himself at the seashore – a place he's marked as dangerous territory. He usually practices his swimming skills or plays with the fishies, but doesn't stay there for too long. Once he's back at the campsite he cooks his meal and goes to sleep. If he can quiet his thoughts, that is.[/spoili]

Attitude Towards Death:

Zonran knows it's unavoidable, but that doesn't stop him from trying to save its victims. When it comes to facing it himself, he feels an undeniable thrill rather than fear. Though, he absolutely refuses to die somewhere in an unnamed swamp unknown to the world, like some meaningless bug. He wishes for an epic, memorable death that would go down in history. If he won't get it then death won't get him.

Religion/Beliefs:

From day one Zonran has been taught to believe in the Dralnian gods, both by his parents and by his mentor. He was most pressed to pray to Ilen and Ysmir, as his mentor did so. However, they didn't really stick to him, he was far more keen on believing in fate if anything. And if by any chance he was wrong and there really was some supreme being watching over them as these horrible events unfolded in this messed up world, then he is one cruel bastard. At least, in his opinion.

Fetishes/Strange Behaviors:

Zonran doesn't have any fetishes he'd be aware of, simply because of his lack of experience in that subject. However, he does have a few abnormalities in his behavior. For one, he can sleep anywhere anytime while staying a light sleeper and waking up at the smallest of disturbances. Through his life, he has also honed a great dislike for bath time. Though, the most noticeable quirk of his would be the insane care he shows for his sword, like it would be a child of his.

Sexual Experience/Values:

Zonran's as virgin as they come and just a tiny hint at anything sexual leaves him flustered and a blushing mess - a feeling he resents with all his being. He's not very interested in the aspect of sex, rather sees it as an unnecessary distraction from the important things in life. He's much more interested in a romantic relationship, in the idea of having someone you can rely on, though only as long as it doesn't get in his way.

Education/Special Training:

The only education Zonran ever received was from his mentor, a Khaddorian, so he can speak, read and write in Jorgethi and speak in Ardaric. His math is solely limited to counting. However, he excels in combat and has a lot of knowledge in archery and swordsmanship. He knows how to use the forest's provided recourses and is pretty crafty in a sloppy kind of way.

Place/Type of Residence: Boarder of the Metsa jungle
Occupation: The Metsa forest's ghost (swordsman)
Place of Work: None
Past Occupations: None

Backstory/Biography:
[spoili]
Zonran was born in the Eorn mountain range separating Eadith from Khauran, since his parents were traveling through there at the time. They were trying to get away from all the harassment and injustice they experienced at the hands of their own kind. His father was a Nord Valekian, Talkah, while his mother, Kasha, was a mix breed like her son. They both hoped he'd look like a normal Valekian, but that wasn't the case. After he was born, his parents stayed in the mountains for a little while so he would grow up a little and then moved on to explore Khauran. They mostly kept to the north, away from the Khaddorians, since they didn't like their kind any better than the Valekians.
Zonran hardly remembers anything from those days with his true parents. If asked, he wouldn't even be able to tell their names. But he does know that they were the ones who gave him his name and put down the fundamentals for his Ardaric's knowledge.

Yral was a Tauren Khaddorian leading a group of bandits, however he was still a very honorable and an easy going man. He was the best swordsman that he had the pleasure to meet. He was still rather unhappy when he heard that some of his men went out and found something unusual without his permission, so he followed them to investigate. What he found was a wrecked campsite and two dead bodies alongside a couple of his men. Yran asked them where the third one had wandered off, but before he got an answer a child's shrill scream made his blood run cold and his heart drop. Like a hurricane he swept in to save the child and he was absolutely positive his subordinate won't forget that beating for his entire life. But no amount of punishment would ever set right the wrongs that his men did that day. The little boy was utterly terrified, shrinking away from his touches and answered his every word with barely contained hiccups, and to top it off he was homeless and a freak of nature. Yran felt responsible for his men's sin, he had failed them as their leader, and so the next day he resigned from the group and took the boy under his wing, much to others protests. Afterwards he packed all the necessities he could carry on his own, took the child and left for the south.

It took him over a week to finally get the boys name and he thanked all the gods for learning Ardaric. It was obvious that Zonran saw his parents killed, though it didn't seem he fully understood what that meant. The boy often shook and started randomly crying, in addition to being very cautious of Yral. He endured all the trouble brought by the child while always staying kind to him, trying to talk with him and otherwise distract the child, because he believed things would get better. Together, they traveled all the way to the edge of the Metsa forest where they created a small home for themselves. He showed Zonran how to make a tent, though he didn't trust himself enough to bring the boy hunting with him. Soon, Yral started teaching him the most basic of things, like speaking in Jorgethi, counting, sewing.. But what surprised him the most was when Zonran showed interest in combat. Of course, he gladly started teaching the child and he found much potential hidden in that small frame.

By the time Zonran was six, he already started regarding Yran as his mentor, taking all his lessons very seriously and goofing around with him at other times. He didn't even notice how he started to trust the much older man, but it was hard to see him as a threat when he'd sing in front of the campfire while getting wasted. But above all, Zonran loved his laughter, it was a harsh hissing sound that tickled his ears and made his bones buzz. Sometimes he would sing along with the big feline, sometimes they bickered over the most trivial things, sometimes he was silent and the man just talked away. Then again, Zonran was a quiet kid with much character behind his glare or annoyed face. Yral still had a lot to teach him if he ever hoped for the boy to be someone he could be proud off. But they were going in the right direction.

After another year, Yral started grinding the most important principals of a fighter and a person. How you couldn't strike someone who's down or has their back to you, how one persons deed shouldn't be applied for the whole race, how one should always stay true to himself. Though, the chitchat about hatred and kindness stuck with him the best. Zonran doubted he could ever forget that hatred was an overused, thus no longer very effective, weapon that everyone freely exchanged. That kindness was a much stronger force that some didn't even know existed. That only the very strongest mentally were able to use it. He also remembered the small vow he made to be that strong when Yral left to make dinner.

Later on, Yral dumped a bow in his lap for the very first time. From then on Zonran started practicing archery alongside swordsmanship. It was a lot harder than mastering a sword, there were so many things he couldn't just improvise. But he was forced to study all those ins and outs, make his own arrows and string his bow. It took a tiny forever to impress Yral and get his permission to go hunting together for the first time. That one was followed by many others and Yral noticed that his little boy wasn't so little anymore and there was something sinister in his eyes when he fought. Those were the first signs of the beast inside the mixed breed and Yral had to make sure to tame it properly.

When half a year passed from Zonran's tenth birthday, Yral allowed him to go on his first personal hunt - without his mentor at his side to save his butt. And there wasn't anything in the world that could've ruined Zonran's mood after he came back with a successful kill and his mentor simply beamed with pride. Though, the crushing hug afterwards could've been skipped. On the same evening Yral agreed to pierce his ears, something the mixed breed had greatly wanted after Yral had explained how he got his earrings. Apparently, in his family there was a tradition to pierce a child's ears when the parents considered them grown up and a worthy family member. Afterwards a piercing could be added with any special accomplishments or events, anytime the child chose to. Zonran decided to get three golden earrings on his left ear. He didn't even flinch when a thin hot needle went through and he was happy Yral didn't feel the need to comment how proud he was or something else as ridiculous. But he just had to ask the mixed breed's reasoning and crush him in another hug while getting snot all over his hair, when he said that one stood for his mentor and two for his parents.

However, life wasn't always kind. One day when Yral went to the city to sell their handy work, Zonran ran into a group of Khaddorians. Surprisingly, they were very nice to him, asked him a million questions too. He was even more surprised when they told him they were looking for an old friend, his mentor. So Zonran led them to their camp site, warned that Yral will probably return when the sun set. He hadn't even considered they could turn the tables on him the way they did. He never expected to be tied to a tree while the men searched through their belongings out of pure boredom. Didn't think they would start cutting off his fingers, joint by joint, just to entertain themselves. But when it happened, Zonran refused to scream or beg for mercy, even when hot tears ran down his cheeks. He deserved it, a fitting punishment for a stupid brat. He was just as shocked as the man who cut off the tip of his middle finger when an arrow pierced the Khaddorians throat. Then there were frantic shouts and everything became blurry to Zonran until the ropes around his body loosened and Yral snapped him back to reality by clicking his fingers in front of him. He didn't throw himself at the man like he wanted to, didn't sob his heart out. He only lowered his head in pure shame.

Yral never held this against him, yet the boy's eyes were always full of guilt. The old man saw him struggle drawing his bow, how his sword kept slipping and the teen's frustration. He still didn't press the issue; Zonran clearly didn't want him near right now. However when the mixed breed took out his earrings and wanted to return them – that was one step across the line. Yral had none of that. He dropped the bow he was making and talked things out, a bit aggressively when Zonran refused to listen to him. His mentor agreed that the boy made a mistake, but stressed the fact that he lived through it and would know better now. It still took a while for Zonran to get his confidence back, to accept it and move on. It helped greatly when Yral taught the boy of a different bow draw, the pinch one, which suited his mutilated had much better.

The experience changed Zonran's outlook on the world a little bit. He began to realize how different he was from most. Most, unlike him, seemed to view animals as inferior beings, but why? Was it because they followed instincts and killed to feed rather than their own pleasure? Because they ate everything raw and had no need for more than their fill? There were so many people taking the life of others without a second though and then just leaving the bodies for animals. So many frowned upon the act of murder yet killed animals on a daily basis. Zonran honestly didn't see any difference between the two. He was pretty sure he wouldn't feel any different when killing a man rather than killing an animal. Did that make him a murderer everyone hated so much? Well, he was already quite hated, so it didn't change much. And there were times when they ate meat raw.

Just before turning eighteen, Zonran set out on his own journey. It was long overdue, since his mentor always said he'd leave him on his own after he came of age. Of course, nether actually knew when that is for a mix breed, but it still felt like he had been ready for ages. So they bid their goodbyes, though there were no tears or sad words. Both of them just grinned as fools and Yral even threatened to come back and beat him into shape if he ever heard that Zonran lost his way. And he promised a lot of mortification with it. Though, the mixed breed was pretty sure the man teared up at least once when he was traveling back to his bandit group. On the other hand, Zonran headed deeper into the forest where he found a humongous tree he labeled as his house. There he made a makeshift home where he continues to live, often pondering on troubling thoughts and how his first times would go.

And a time did come when he needed to kill. Zonran hadn't planned on running into that hopelessly lost pirate, felt the dread when he refused help and promised him torturous death. On top of that the man knew some magic spells, oh how he hated those cheats. The whole fight was annoying, he kept worrying about unwanted attention, how loud the man was. Just as he guessed the mixed breed didn't feel anything when the pirate fell for the last time, but the tiny gasp that followed froze his blood. He quickly found its source - two Khaddorian brats looking at him with terror in their eyes. He couldn't tell how old they were, he had no idea how their size reflected their growth. But they had to have just stumbled upon him, otherwise he would have noticed them sooner. They might've not seen the act of murder, but they sure as hell saw the body and him. Zonran thought how he should just finish them off too, he couldn't risk it. He'd make it quick, as painless as possible. He could even take them both out in one swipe; the way they were huddled together, nether would suffer more than the other. They didn't even run as he got closer, frozen still in fear. They'd be dead in a flash, such an easy kill... Yet why was his sword back in its scabbard, why the hell was he kneeling and petting their heads saying everything will be okay? Why did he offer to lead them home when they told him they got lost? This was way too dangerous - he couldn't get that close to Khaddorian cities. Yet he still did.

That night Zonran couldn't sleep, waiting for the sound of footsteps, for raised pitchforks like in those stories he heard as a child. He almost beheaded an innocent bird in his paranoia. All night his thoughts were a jumbled mess, but he did figure out two things: he was a merciless murderer after all, but also somewhere inside a helpless softie. Yuck.[/spoili]


Author Notes: To be fair, I love everything about the RP, though the most amazing is the work the GM put into it. All this world building, communication and dedication, I'm simply in awe.
 
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. : Philosophy of Life : .
"With life comes chances, and with chances comes two things: You can either not try, and regret playing safe for the rest of your life--or you can take that chance. You'll either lose, and the Gods will grant you a small amount of wisdom from your mistakes-- or you'll succeed, and the Gods will grant you the rewards of playing dangerously."​

Basics Physical Description Personality & Attributes Backstory & Biography Extra
  • [fieldbox= , solid, #ff0022]
    . : Name : .
    Cerylia Tiballa Dwynwen
    / Sa-rye-lee-a / - / Te-ball-a / - / D-whine-when /

    . : Date of Birth : .
    Prekius 10th​
    / 97 years old \
    \ Dragonfly /

    . : Place of Birth : .
    Vardarianna-Oronti, Shegura

    . : Gender : .
    Female

    . : Species / Racial Origin : .
    Alozahnì

    . : Sexual Preference : .
    Unknown
    "To me, love isn't something exactly defined by a physical aspect. Instead, it is something that only Edia can foresee, something only Ysmir or Aelia could create. It is beauty, though it is also a battlefield that not even Vunatis himself can conquer. It is as eternal as Dralno, and yet as unforgiving as Xabton. It is something you are able to find, yet also something so easily overlooked that it can be lost forever. That is love."

    [hr= ,dashed] [/hr]
    . : Social Class / Community Status : .
    The daughter of the village shaman, it's only natural that Cerylia is well known within the community. Like her father, she is constantly spending time in the village, doing anything from telling the younger villagers stories to helping the local doctor gather herbs. She tries her best to keep everybody content, but she doesn't allow herself to be used. Helping is one thing, but having everybody become solely dependent on her would be catastrophic.

    . : Language : .
    Cerylia is bilingual, being raised with both the Tarian and Ardaric languages (although she prefers Tarian much more). She's been learning Jorgethi for a few years in preparation for becoming the next tribe leader--however, she's not very well-spoken in the language.

    [hr= ,dashed] [/hr]
    . : Family / Friends / Pets / Etc : .
    Sorcha Celia Dwynwen - "My mother, who committed a crime so heinous not even father will speak of it. She was executed not long after my birth, or so I've been told."

    Zephyr Gawain Dwynwen - "My father, the village shaman. He raised me to become his successor, to lead our tribe to new heights. He's wise, charitable, and above all--he's extremely prideful of our traditions. It's no wonder he refuses to accept my coming-of-age ceremony--he's just too stubborn!"

    Rein Wynd - "My primary mentor, who used to teach (and to a certain degree, raise) me along with his claimed when Father was too busy. Unfortunately, she died shortly after my 20th year of birth-- leaving Rein in a constant state of nostalgic grief for about thirty years. He's now constantly thanking me for helping him 'get out of a slump', although I'm unsure as to what he means. I don't think he realizes how grateful I am to him, though- for it's because of him I became so adept with the bow."

    Merai Wynd - "My secondary mentor, who taught me all about how to be a proper woman. She was...a beautiful dancer, and as such inspired me to follow her along the path of a dancer. Unfortunately, she died shortly after my 20th year of birth--but I like to think I'm honoring her through my dance."

    [/fieldbox]
  • [fieldbox= , solid, #ff0022]
    . : Height : .
    5'6

    . : Weight : .
    120 lbs.

    . : Hair : .
    A subtle blonde, whose color appears more akin to silver in moonlight, Cerylia's hair is often kept up by a string of cured leather, only a few strands of the mostly-straight hair being let down to frame the sides of her face (which is hidden by a mask, but that's besides the point). When held up, it ends just above her the middle of her back. On special occasions (or while bathing), when it is let down, her hair flows down the length of her back and ends just where her hips begin.

    . : Eyes : .
    Fuchsia in color and heavy-lidded, Cerylia's eyes are the most expressive thing about her. They soften when in the presence of a friend, stare blankly into the face of most aggressive behavior, or can portray her as looking down on somebody when she isn't in the best of moods (no matter whether she is actually looking down on them or not).
    They are also slightly reflective, making it easier for Cerylia to see in the dark.

    . : Limb Dexterity : .
    Relatively flexible, Cerylia has no extraordinary abilities concerning her physicality.

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    . : Detailed Physical Description : .
    Nimble and modest in her build, Cerylia can be described as beautiful--though her tribe would rather illustrate her simply as graceful. Her skin, a golden olive in color, has a clear complexion--with the exception of the markings found on her hands, face, and back.

    On her hands, slightly clawed as they are, lie all of the reminders of who she should be. Her left hand is mainly focused on the qualities most important for leading her tribe. The words written in Arderic script are: "Grace" on her smallest finger, "Patience" on her ring finger, "Bravery" on her middle finger, "Selflessness" on her pointer finger, and "Cleverness" is written on her thumb. The back of the same hand houses a golden sun, so that Zuras' wisdom can easily reach her when she prays for it.

    Her right hand reminds Cerylia of the qualities most important for being herself. The words written in Tarien script are: "Honesty" on her smallest finger, "Loyalty" on her ring finger, "Confidence" on her middle finger, "Discipline" on her pointer finger, and "Gratefulness" on her thumb. On the back of her right hand is a flower- the edges curling outward mid-bloom to honor the Goddess Ysmir, and to remind Cerylia to remain at peace with herself.

    On her back, the elven girl portrays her faith within a heavily-detailed depiction of the Tree of Life--as she is most loyal to Ysmir. At the base of this tree lies a pond, containing fish within the water (to represent and appease Dvdya, so her wrath wouldn't hurt the village), and lotus flowers floating atop the water (to represent Aelia, and provide "good fortune for childbirth"). A warhammer rests on the trunk of this tree (to provide "good luck in battle", as it is a representation of Vunatis). Next to the weapon lies a sleeping snake (a token of good health, in honor of Durena). Near the top of the trunk, where the wood begins to split into a multitude of branches, a balance sits (to guide the girl to make honest, lawful decisions, as a sign of Edorr).

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    . : Typical Clothing / Equipment : .
    The one thing that remains a constant, no matter what Cerylia is wearing, would be her mask. A large skull, which resembles an oversized ram, it manages to cover all of the girls face from the front, though only her mouth and chin remain visible on the sides. While no visible slits are seen from outside the mask, a multitude of thin cuts from the inside help the girl see--along with years of practice. Preserved flowers adorn the horns, which curl slightly at an angle away from the main body.

    Her day-to-day clothing consists a top--made from tightly woven rope, with small teeth and bones hanging from it--similar to a dreamcatcher. This strapless top covers her upper torso, leaving the rest of her body bare until her waist--where a multitude of fur tails hangs from a leather belt, forming a skirt that reaches unevenly to her ankles. Underneath this skirt, Cerylia wears a pair of dark brown pants.

    On more formal occasions, the elven girl wears a dress, which length falls to the floor elegantly. Fur pelts and leather make up the entirety of the gown, and a single pelt acts as a strap, wrapping around the girl's shoulder.

    As for equipment, Cerylia keeps a small dagger sheathed on her right thigh, slightly hidden underneath her skirt. A stout machete hangs from her right hip, hanging from a brown leather belt, which overlays the leather waistline of her skirt. A quiver of arrows hangs from her back, easily accessed by reaching over her right shoulder. A longbow also hangs from her back--the handle placed over the quiver and tucked into her back diagonally to prevent the large weapon from dragging.

    When hunting, her machete hangs from her left hip via a larger belt-- which also holds various knives used for dressing animals, the sheaths for these tools located frontward of her right side.
    [/fieldbox]
  • [fieldbox= , solid, #ff0022]
    . : Personality : .
    Cerylia's foundation for her personality would have to be the high expectations she gives herself. She expects herself to be elegant, thoughtful, wise, powerful, strong-willed, kind, and much more. As such, she spends a majority of her time training, hunting, or studying--leaving no extra time to make "friends" or any such thing.

    The elven girl hates letting her emotions run wild and get the better of her, as she's convinced that being overly-emotional can lead to bad leadership. Because of this, she does her best to use her head in most situations--though this doesn't always work.

    An extremely organized person, she does her best to help out those in need, but hypocritically hates asking for help herself. She's quite paranoid about showing weakness, and as such forces herself to appear over-confident in front of strangers and her villagers. In reality, while she may feel confident in certain situations, the girl is constantly worrying about how she appears to others--taking into account her superficial appearance and constantly thinking about how she needs to improve.

    . : Attitude : .
    For most, Cerylia is a quiet, disciplined heir to the Village Shaman. She takes her work seriously, and as such some may find her intimidating- and hard to approach. She politely stares at people when they do approach her, but this habit tends to be off-putting- as nobody can make eye-contact with her directly. Usually not one for talking unless approached, she makes sure to be courteous and formal--keeping her honesty from being sugar-coated, and making sure her emotions don't get the better of her.

    For those she is closer with, the elven girl warms up a bit more--appearing more comfortable to speak around these people. She's kinder with her words, and appears not to mind helping her friends out near as much as with others.

    For the few people who manage to make an enemy of Cerylia, she presents herself as superior-- making sure her enemy knows his/her place. She will be extremely cold with her choice of words, if she chooses to speak at all, and always makes sure to demonstrate her superiority compared to them. She'll try her best not to help them, unless circumstances demand otherwise.

    [hr= ,dashed] [/hr]
    . : Skills / Talents : .
    Cerylia is adept with a bow and arrow, as she was taught how to use one from a young age. As such, it is common to see her with a quiver of arrows strung around her waist, a longbow easily accessed on her back.
    The elven girl also has taken a liking to dance- as her dancing acts as a way of praising and worshipping the Dralnian Gods. After performing at village festivals for twenty years, it's only expected that she performs decently.

    . : Favorites / Likes : .
    Cerylia enjoys hunting, and target practice. Really, anything that lets her use her bow is most likely an activity she would enjoy. She adores nature, the ocean especially, as Dvyda's water often tickles her toes lovingly when the girl runs through the shallow sands. Cerylia also enjoys the stars, as they make her feel more safe in the vast darkness of night.

    . : Most Hated / Dislikes : .
    Above all, more than anything in the world, Cerylia despises unnecessary bloodshed. While she may enjoy the excuse to use her bow, if the target has no need to be under fire, than it has no need to be targeted at all. While she may believe this, she also understands that unnecessary violence will happen one way or another, and it will become her responsibility to make sure that this useless violence causes no harm to her or her tribe.

    She hates it when people insult her faith, or the people who follow it. While she understands there are people who do not believe in it, there is no need to be overly aggressive towards any other faith. The same applies for insulting her tribe's traditions.

    Some other things that Cerylia dislike are bitter foods, and a lack of respect for nature.

    [hr= ,dashed] [/hr]
    . : Goals / Ambitions : .
    Currently, Cerylia would prefer for her father to approve of her leadership at her coming-of-age ceremony- where he would retire the responsibilities of Tribe Shaman (and of maintaining the Dwynwen Bloodline) to her. In order to do that though, she must first try and keep him from dying--by any means possible.

    She would also like to find true love--but her duties keep her anchored to the village, so she will just have to make do until the Gods grant her mercy.

    . : Strengths : .
    Disciplined, Ranged Combat, Patient, Strong Work Ethic, Loyal.
    . : Weaknesses : .
    Close Combat, Hard to Relax, 'Feels with the Mind'.
    . : Fears : .
    Inadequacy, Failure, Weakness , Suffocation.

    . : Hobbies / Interests : .
    Cerylia's favorite hobby would have to be polishing her skills with a bow and arrow- whether it be from hunting, practice, or battle. Focusing on a target helps her think more clearly, and in a way the act provides relief from the stress of other things. Another hobby she enjoys would be star-gazing, something which she enjoys doing whenever she can. Something about the way the stars in the sky twinkle...it inspires her to do great things.

    . : Regular Routine : .
    Cerylia wakes just before the sun, changing into her clothes quickly and then spending a decent amount of time stretching her body--which effectively keeps her from falling back asleep. Equipping herself with her hunting gear, she then leaves her village at sunrise, usually making her way towards the coast to catch a couple of fish. Afterwards, she returns home, greeting her father and engaging in morning prayer with him before preparing and eating her breakfast. For the rest of the morning, she practices her dancing technique, stopping at mid-day for some stretching. After this, the elf spends some time practicing her archery-- before moving on to studies, with either her mentor in hand-to-hand combat, or her father in politics and the duties of a Dwynwen. By early evening, she makes rounds around the village--helping with mundane chores and such without letting the villagers depend solely on her. Once she is done with this, Cerylia returns to her father for evening prayer, which doesn't end until after the sun sets. Then, she goes out on a night hunt, making her way up the mountain and usually ending up with a small kill- commonly a rabbit. Returning home, she prepares dinner, bathes (during this, she also washes her mask), and then stretches one final time before falling asleep.

    . : Attitude Towards Death : .
    "Death, like life, is something that happens to us all--whether or not we welcome it with open arms is a matter of our good faith. For we should only welcome entering Aher's kingdom when we have lost all of our will--when we have naught else left in our souls but despair, and a hope to end our own suffering.

    ...There's also the possibility of me punishing you on behalf of our gods, but let's not focus on that."

    . : Religion / Beliefs : .
    Cerylia is of Dralnian faith, as is her father and a large majority of her tribe. She is very intimate with the religion, and often prays to multiple Gods alongside her father--in addition to her own prayers.

    . : Fetishes : .
    None, as her interests lie elsewhere.

    . : Strange Behaviors : .
    Barefoot: Cerylia can't stand having her feet confined inside small containers--even if some societies require it. As such, callouses cover the bottoms of her feet, and she is often found barefoot--wiggling her toes into whatever surface she is standing on.

    [hr= ,dashed] [/hr]
    . : Most Instructive / Painful / Memorable Experience : .
    On Cerylia's 50th birthday, her father took her to have the tattoos of her choice placed onto her skin. She had been working on the design for her back since she was 20, so her overwhelming excitement helped her deal with the pain of putting all of them on. After her back was finally finished, she then returned to get the rest of her tattoos over the course of the next year.

    . : Sexual Experience / Values : .
    Being a complete virgin, Cerylia has absolutely no sexual experience. Likewise, it isn't something she considers herself interested in at the moment, as she has always been busy worrying about other things. To her, intercourse is just an activity people do to either impregnate the female... or for recreation. But, she sees no point in the recreational aspects- as she could just hunt, or polish her skills in combat.

    . : Education / Special Training : .
    Cerylia was raised to become the next Village Shaman, so she was taught politics by her father, in addition to an education. This education consisted of learning how to read and write Tarian and Ardaric, along with some basic mathematical skills. Her combat skills were taught to her by Rein Wynd.

    However, her mentor's claimed - Merai Wynd - noticed that both her father and Rein had forgotten the fact that Cerylia was indeed a female, so she than began to teach the girl all about being a woman--which included poise, manners, and 'the talk'.

    . : Place / Type of Residence : .
    Currently, she lives alone in her father's old house; a small cabin made purely from stone, located at the top of her village. Moss and ivy flood the outside appearance, as the house was originally built for the founder of the Cu Tribe.

    . : Occupation : .
    Political Heir to Leader Position

    . : Place of Work : .
    The village of the Cu Tribe, Vardarianna-Oronti.

    . : Work-related Skills : .
    Multilingual, Archery, Leadership, Dancing.

    . : Past Occupations : .
    None
    [/fieldbox]
  • [fieldbox= , solid, #ff0022]
    Born as the only child of Sorcha and Zephyr Dwynwen, Cerylia has spent her entire life within the Cu Tribe's territory--and most of that time has been within the walls of Vardarianna-Oronti. The girl took more from her mother's side than her father's in appearance, but in personality she was more akin to her father. With her mother disappearing shortly after her birth, the first 10 years of the girl's life was spent solely with her father--though he often took her with him when he traveled around the village.

    After Cerylia turned 10, her father left her with his best friend--Rein Wynd, who was a master archer. For the next five years, he taught Cerylia a basic education--and also introduced her to archery. His claimed, Merai Wynd, began to notice the girl's lack of...well, girly-ness, around Cerylia's 15th birthday. Taking matters into her own hands, she started to train the girl how to become a proper lady-- and along the way started to become something of a mother figure in the young girl's life.

    5 years later, shortly after Cerylia had turned 20, Merai died of an unknown cause--Rein suddenly waking up one day to find her dead next to him. It was a time of mourning for both the Wynd and Dwynwen families--as Cerylia became extremely depressed for the next year. During this period, she became extremely engrossed in her village's religion--sometimes praying for hours at a time, without food or water. Although these habits were considered unhealthy, soon enough changes were seen in the youth. She became happier, an uplifting spirit in the face of her villagers.

    Fast forward 40 years, where a 60 year old Cerylia began to live alone, as her father began to give more and more responsibility to the girl. More specifically--she was now in charge of what would happen to criminals. As the law dictates, all illegal acts were punishable by death, and public execution done by the Village Shaman was often the result of such violent actions. So, when a villager woman was accused and found guilty of murdering her twin brother--it was up to Cerylia to choose her fate.

    Would she follow the law, and execute the woman for her crimes? Or would she follow her heart, and exile the woman--hoping she would never come back again?

    The elven girl chose the latter, believing the story the woman despaired about to her. A story about how her brother had come at her with a knife, and that it was only in her rights to defend herself. Of course, what kind of sister would willingly stick a knife into her own twin's chest?

    Sadly, a few months later, it turned out that Cerylia made the wrong decision. Taken in by a Bakonin village, the woman had been sent to assassinate the next Dwynwen--as doing such would surely damage the village as a whole. Breaking into Cerylia's cabin and waiting for the girl to return home from her morning hunt before striking, the woman must have been shocked to find none other than the girl's father walking in, incapacitating her and forcing his daughter to kill this would-be assassin.

    From this experience, Cerylia became convinced that her head was more reliable than her heart, and became more entrenched in her charade that had started back in her twenties.
    Ten years later, at age 70, the elven girl was finalizing her education on politics with her father. By now, she knew almost everything there was to know about becoming the next Dwynwen leader--but her father wasn't convinced.
    With more and more sightings of mysterious foreigners appearing on the borders of Cu territory, the prospect of war wasn't seeming as far-fetched as it had almost a century ago. And with his daughter getting closer and closer to becoming the next Shaman, Zephyr realized that his influence on the village would surely lessen more and more as time passed. Surely It would be easier to convince his daughter, who already held him in high respects, to believe in this political movement than attempt to go against her leadership.

    With this in mind, over the course of the next 25 years, Zephyr Dwynwen slowly began brainwashing his daughter that unifying the 13 tribes and bringing back Alozahní was the best way she could help her tribe.

    Now age 97, three more years of childhood remain for Cerylia, before her coming-of-age ceremony shall appear. Her father refuses to acknowledge this fact, instead sending her away to go train some more whenever she approaches him on the subject. A sudden invitation to a royal wedding leads to the elven girl leaving her home, her father busy preparing for a war soon enough to arrive as she leaves her homeland for the first time in a Khadorrian vessel.
    [/fieldbox]
  • [fieldbox= , solid, #ff0022]
    Hex Code: #ff0022
    Theme Song: Serpentine by Solace

    [hr= ,dashed] [/hr]
    Trivia:
    ~ For an accent, Cerylia's Sheguran origins should be apparent in her speech--but her Ardaric is much more obvious than her Tarian.

    ~ It's common for Cerylia to say phrases based off of her religion, versus the normal vulgarity some would use. Phrases such as "What in the name of Dralno?!?" and "By Aher's Realm!" are commonly heard coming from the girl's lips.

    ~ While fame and fortune doesn't matter much to the girl, she does wish to be remembered as the leader who lead the Cu tribe to greater heights--no matter whether or not she unifies the 13 tribes as the Alozahní once again.

    [hr= ,dashed] [/hr]
    . : References : .
    ~ Face Claim (here).
    ~ 'Casual' Outfit (here).
    ~ 'Formal' Outfit (here).
    ~ Mask (here).
    [/fieldbox]
. : Author Notes : .
My favorite part of this roleplay would have to be the actual world itself. With all of those diverse cultures, politics, and locations to explore...what's not to like? ​
 
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Excluding the magic, but people are free to teach him!

Philosophy of Life: Khajiit is innocent of his crimes!
"A guardian's goal is not to return home, but make sure those he swears to protect make it home... That is what defines a true guardian."

Basics
Name (&Pronunciation):
Ansen Leegot (An-sen Lee-got)

Date of Birth (&Age):
May 5th (23)

Place of Birth:
Tauren Farmland

Gender:
M

Sexual Preference:
Straight

Species/Racial Origin:
Khaddorian

Social Class/ Community Status:
Middle Class ((Military))

Language:

Primary Language:
Jorgethi

Secondary Language:
Ardaric ((His knowledge of the language has developed over the course of his military career. It has helped him very well when communicating with foreign merchants/adventurers most of the time))

Family/Friends/Pets/Etc:

Father: Rajj Leegot

Mother: Kai Leegot((*Missing*))

Physical Description
(please follow the norm of each race. For exemptions, ask me first)

Height:
7' 08"

Weight:
235 lbs

Hair/fur:
Brownish tan ((Flat Dark Earth))

Eyes:
Yellow on Black

Limb Dexterity:
Above Racial Average- Excessive training along with his racial advantages has made Ansen more quick and agile. It wouldn't help him as a ranger if he were just as fast as a typical Khaddorian

Detailed Physical Description:
Ansen Leegot would almost maintain the typical image of an active Khaddorian. With a medium build that is not one that would bring shame to him the young man stands with pride regardless of the circumstance. It is hard to find him with his confidence and will broken to the point where even a untrained eye could see it.

With his cloak concealing most of his features, the Khaddorian despite his young age carries his proof of combat. On his left arm Ansen carries the remnants of a slash injury that has now developed into nothing more than a light patch of fur surrounding the wound that is now a rather fresh scar. The scar is the only significant feature that Ansen carries.

Despite his constant isolation from society during his deployment the Khaddorian does well maintaining a rather clean image. Like many other soldiers that come from a high standard he does what he can in order to keep his fur clean and neat. The only time a speck of fur will be out of line is during a serious situation or a fight.

Typical Clothing/Equipment:
During his travels outside his hometown whether answering a call to action or simply venturing beyond the boundaries of the plains Ansen religiously carries many things around in order to address any issue that might arise when you are in the wilderness without help being within shouting distance. When it comes to apparel he wears a set of leather armor, crafted and reinforced by the outfitters that shape the uniforms and armor that the Tauren military carry today. It is what he has trained with and fought with to this day, but it is always subject to change like anything else. His armor or clothing is usually concealed beneath a hooded cloak that has been dyed a dash of dark green so to help him conceal himself in the Khauran vegetation. It might not do him well in other regions, but he still prefers to keep it clipped around his neck with the hood up wherever he goes. That same rule applies to a golden ring that he wears on his left ring finger. To those who are aware of the Tauren social norms that ring is the equivalent to a soldier's insignia or a officer's badge. To loose it would be very discouraging for the young ranger.

When it is needed the Khaddorian also carries a set of commoner clothes in his travel backpack. The travel backpack contains a few other necessities as well such as:
Sharpening Stone
Sewing Kit
3x rolled ointment bandages
1x 90 foot rope
5 pages of parchment
1 ink vial and feather
1 bedroll *Tied to the outer side of the bag*
1 Flint and iron bar ((Fire!))

It would be foolish to say the ranger wasn't armed. He is trained in a variety of weapons but mainly carries a short sword, a 8' knife, and a recurve bow and arrow. Unlike traditional warriors the ranger keeps his swords on his back with the handles on his right shoulder blade for quick access, the strap trailing from his right shoulder to his left hip with the quiver of arrows crossing over the sheathed weapons. Between the quiver and the swords is where one will find his bow sheathe, the bow's upper crook angled over his left shoulder with it's strap positioning opposite of the swords. The 8 inch knife which typically is a tool or a last resort can be found just above the base of his tail. All weapons except the knife are pulled over the cloak, meaning they aren't concealed one bit.



Personality/Attributes
Personality/Attitude: Ansen has grown to what many people would say a "white knight in a dark world." That being said he has indeed developed a mindset that was greatly influenced by his close family and his military career. Ansen is a warrior and will not hesitate to stand for his better judgement even if the odds are against him.

To those who have had the opportunity to meet him in the wilderness they'll find that he is cautious yet caring to those he comes across. The same Khaddorian that will wrap a bandage around one's open wound would not even hesitate to draw a blade on those under his care until his trust his bought. Once that bridge of trust is built, the ranger will go through great length for those close to him.

He'll fight for the innocent, he'll die for his friend. Ansen is indeed a stubborn one during a combative situation. When beaten down he is defiant, when victorious he will conduct himself according to his discretion. One might be able to fool Ansen with the 'mercy' card, but they'll have to be quick if they wish to exploit that vulnerability when they do.

Beneath all of that is a troubled past event, one that will take a lot of prying in order to even convince Ansen to speak of that said event. Away from the eyes of friends and strangers the young man reveals a more troubled nature, one that is at conflict to this day.

Skills/Talents:
Archery- The bow and arrow are a ranger's bread and butter, Ansen is a proficient bowman.
Swords ((one handed))- Basic training and past experiences have helped sharpened the Khaddorian's swords, but he is no master.
First Aid- To start bleeding and start breathing, with one hand he can save a life and the other he can take a life.
Sewing and weapon maintenance- A soldier must maintain his blades as well as his uniform!
Ranger- He is a ranger. His training along with his experience in the wilderness have helped him become enduring beyond the reach of civilization. He is more able to be on alert, even when pushed to his limits. Ansen is indeed a godsend when someone has to do night watch.

Favorites/Likes:
Peace
Green environments ((woods, plains, grasslands, etc.))
Honorable deeds


Most Hated/Dislikes:
Chaos
Lost of control
Prejudice

Goals/Ambitions:
Personal- Long ago Ansen lost his mother. He can barely remember her face... But her voice haunts him to this day. Some day he will go looking for answers, but deep inside he hopes he could hear her reassuring voice while being in her warm embrace one more time.

Duty- As a warrior and a soldier Ansen maintains an oath to protect those around him. That oath is his mission, and one of his greatest ambitions.

Strengths:
Calm under pressure- Even when it's hell on earth Ansen remains cool. There are some things though that still can make him 'black out'

Attention to Detail- The ranger keeps attention to detail. If it's out of order he usually is first to know.

Weaknesses:
Merciful- Ansen follows a rule of engagement. On a code of honor he will not execute a surrendering combatant. A clever opponent could exploit that weakness to their advantage.

Stubborn- It has its strengths and weakness. In this case failure can weigh heavily on the Khaddorian's shoulders. Loosing a comrade, being forced to retreat, etc. Like any soldier it is hard to retreat without being given the order. Only those he trust can make him back down from a fight.


Fears:
Defeat- Every soldier thinks of it, the potential danger of defeat. Every day Ansen fears the coming of his defeat.. Could he still be able to hold his head up high when down on his knees? If someone close to him dies, can he continue pressing on?

Captivity- A more natural fear. Almost every ranger find himself working alone.. There is usually nobody coming when a ranger calls for help. What if he did get captured? Would he perhaps follow the same path to slavery like his mother did?


Hobbies/Interests:
Reading- During downtime if there's a book around he'll probably try and get a good read in. He's read a lot of genres form romance to epics

Smoking- Hookah, pipe, or just even a blunt of something, the Khaddorian is an occasional smoker.

Regular Routine: He is a military man. He wakes up whenever it's time to do his part, then goes straight to work. When it comes to his sleep schedule there is no day and night for the young ranger. There is a civilian side to Ansen though. On days where he is home or perhaps in a tavern without worrying about the dangers beyond the walls the Khaddorian typically wakes up late, around lunch time. He'll sleep in if he is able to, unless a schedule is made that tells him otherwise. As a result of that he might occasionally miss breakfast, which is fine with him.

If there's a priority task whithin a group he'll typically volunteer if it is within his scope. If there is down time though his first to do after eating is working on his gear. Making sure the blades are sharp and the arrows are plenty, Ansen is always wanting to be prepared.

On his own he'll typically do different things depending on the downtime he has. He might go to a tavern to get a drink, or even sleep some more. Regardless, you'll probably find him back in his room once the sun is down unless he gets caught up in something.

Attitude Towards Death:
Ansen hasn't really thought much on the inevitable end. Thanks to his training he is a rather reckless individual and is willing to throw his life on the line more frequently than the average Khaddorian. A soldier can die, but gods forbid a citizen dying...

Religion/Beliefs:
The ranger is no man of gods so to speak. You usually won't find him attending the local temple on a weekly basis or carry a holy scripture on his person . While he does believe in an afterlife and a deity, the exposure to many cultures has put Ansen in a sort of 'religious identity crisis,' one that is not really a priority to him.

Fetishes/Strange Behaviors:
On the sexual side of things there is necessarily nothing out of the ordinary due to a lack of exposure. However when it comes to habits that are out of the norm the withdrawal from the safety of civilization has brought about some strange behaviors in the Khaddorian. At times Ansen can find it rather difficult to not maintain that soldier's image and in some cases it is difficult for him to relax or be at ease. His low standards are also strange in the eyes of many. Sometimes he sleeps on the side of the road to save some coin instead of renting a bed.

Most Instructive/Painful/Memorable Experience:
Aside from his on-duty injury Ansen can still recall the day he heard the news of his mother's disappearance. That moment has troubled him to this day, and becomes one of his few aspirations.

Sexual Experience/Values: A very shy side of him, Ansen has never really been exposed to such experiences. Like many young military men on constant deployment he can only hear about it, but never really experience it. One that might approach him in a rather 'heated' manner might quickly get a very hesitant and flustered Khaddorian as a result...

Education/Special Training:
Basic Education- In a civilized society Ansen has had the privilege of learning basic education.

Tauren Ranger Training- One of the most rigorous and difficult fields, the ranger training process is indeed the primary source of Ansen's skillset.

Place/Type of Residence: Campsite- It is rare for Ansen to have the privilege of being stationed in a area where he could occupy a cabin. He's usually moving around from campsites and sleeping wherever shelter is available. If available he will prefer to sleep in a barracks where safety is usually guaranteed.

Occupation: Tauren Ranger
Place of Work: Everchanging, he works where ever his superiors place him.

Work-related Skills: **Refer to Skills/Talents**

Past Occupations: Full time Student

Memberships: Tauren Armies ((Interchanging between branches))

Backstory/Biography

During a time of prosperity a young Tauren couple's paths crossed, two Khaddorians from different walks of life. A military father and a merchant mother who fell in love in the jungles under the night sky. After coming together the two found a home in the capital lands. There they'd raise a child who would be destined for greatness and tragedy. There a Khaddorian entered the world, one that was given the only thing nobody can take from him: the name Ansen Leegot.


Ansen was raised in a rather healthy environment, one that was without the worries of war or evil. Most problems were local or political, giving Ansen the opportunity to find himself and learn a set of skills from his parents and the education system that was put in place. It was a privileged life, one that would eventually come to an abrupt end.


Autumn was transitioning to Winter on Ansen's 16th year, the year when many boys cross over to adulthood. His father tended to the house at the time, expecting his mother to return. She didn't arrive the day she was expected to arrive. In her place though was a courier, one that carried a grave message. A Khaddorian caravan had been raided of its valuables before it could reach the Tauren border. Many women and children were kidnapped and potentially kept as slaves, while many of the guard fell against overwhelming odds. Ansen's mother was on the list of missing persons, a devastating discovery for the young man and his father.


That moment while tragic set the path for the young Khaddorian. He could have been a merchant, a teacher, anything, but during the following year Ansen turned to the only thing that suffered like he did: his father. At first his father protested against the idea, fearing that he'd loose Ansen in the unforgiving world that he had lived beyond the settlement that Ansen had been raised in. When all attempts to steer Ansen off the path he was on, the father finally gave in on one condition: Ansen will not pursue the whereabouts of his mother. The military was as safe as he can be when it came to carrying a sword in the wilderness. Ansen made that promise, one that would be the greatest barrier for him to cross when it comes to the journey to find his missing mother. He tries to not think about it, but his ambitions slowly gnaw on his soul, tempting him to go against his father's pleadings.


The following years shaped Ansen to be the man he is today. He went to training for evaluation. Once he got through his basic training Ansen achieved one of the greatest and most independent role: he became a ranger. With his assignment, Ansen became one of the few to go through the hell that was coming his way, and one of the very few to make it out. They molded him to be independent, to hit as hard as a battalion of soldiers, to adapt to an environment and turn it into his hunting grounds before the sun goes down on the first day, all while being alone and aware help won't come all the time.


He graduated around the age 21, being deployed in the unknown. Never had he fought a legitimate force, his only taste of combat being the skirmishes with bandits and insurgent groups in the area. Most of them were simple: he shows up, they run off. There was one encounter where things didn't go that way...


It was a summer, the sun being high in the sky. During a routine patrol Ansen encountered a caravan being stopped in the middle of his territory. At first glance it looked to be a holdup, all he had to do was intervene like he always did. Little did he know, someone else lurked in the surrounding woods, someone who saw him long before he realized what he was in for. He had time to survey the situation, to get the basic details, but he didn't have time to react when he heard something land behind him in his hiding spot. Even with his speed, the ranger was grabbed and tossed out of the vegetation he hid in before he could draw his weapon. The prompt removal from cover thrusted Ansen in the open, and the raiders quickly turned their attention to him. Something rose from where he had been grabbed, he could hear chuckling at first, but then he quickly discovered who his attacker was: It was another Khaddorian. He didn't know who this man was, or how he was able to move undetected. He simply glanced over Ansen as if sizing him up, then went over to the bandits who gave him a pouch of gold. With that the Khaddorian left, leaving the ranger with the other bandits.

He could only predict their intentions... In this world one could gain a profit from playing a good ransom game, or perhaps they'd try and force him into mercenary work. Whatever it was, he would be damned if he became the victim. He drew his blade, he used his training as best as he could. First a sword came at his front. He lifted his short sword to meet it, the clean metal grinding against one another for a brief moment as the ranger lifted the blades up between the two fighters and pushed into it, causing the two to lock in place. Even at the moment, Ansen was able to keep attention to detail. Any soldier can be pushed to the edge, but few could keep a clear mind with death looming over them. It was a gift that came from his training, a gift that would save him.

It felt like soo much time had passed, later on Ansen would find out the fight didn't even last a minute. All he could recall was the shift in the air to his right and the impulse to dig his feet in and quickly drive his blade against the sword that he had blocked, causing both him to push forward, and his opponent to stagger backwards. That split second he ducked, and a axe came whistling over his head. It wasn't over yet even with the danger evaded. Right after he ducked and the axe passed, a shadow was cast over Ansen to his left, meaning his third attacker was lifting something over the now down low Khaddorian. That demanded quick action, and without a second thought he lifted his free arm to glance the metal coming down on him. It was a sword, and it slashed through his flesh, but the angled bone made it glance down his arm, almost carving it like a turkey. There was no cry of pain, no agony. No, there was desperation, adrenaline had made Ansen already numb, and his eyes were almost primal. The blatant disregard for safety shocked the man to the left, and he didn't expect Ansen to follow through and slash at the man to his left. The strike connected, dragging down from a shoulder blade to an abdomen and leaving a wound in it's wake, one that was critical enough to knock the man back and loose his combative posture.

The others upon watching this happen quickly tried to pounce on the vulnerability by attacking at the same time. With the left side open though Ansen pushed himself up and dodged the sharp edges by the hair, his sword coming down and sweeping across his right to trip the man on the front. It was a fight or flight situation after that. As Ansen slowly turned to face the two now getting into formation he took in every bit of his surroundings during that twirl. If he retreated now, he could perhaps survive, but that meant the bandits would still be around and maybe even kidnap another passerby. He was in no condition to fight though, and it was a three versus one. Against everything he had stood for, he made the retreat.

To this day, though the assurances that he made the right tactical choice, the right move, Ansen longed to grab his bow and right his wrongs, to prove himself he was a capable ranger. After healing and waiting for what felt like an eternity, the young ranger will receive his assignment, and an opportunity to show his true colors once more. To this day he didn't know that fate had something greater in store for him.
Author Notes:
I get to play Khaddorian ^^ Unique races are always a + for me when deciding where to toss my hat.

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