Tavil Whitestone

[Tavil]

Tavil Whitestone Appearance Race: Human, Drykas Gender: Male Age: 19 Birthday: 58, Winter, 494. Birthplace: Endrykas Appearance: Tavil is a large man, standing at a stature of six feet and four inches and weighing just over two hundred pounds. His body is slightly lean, yet muscular, befitting of a Drykas. His windmark stretches across his right arm and shoulder, the mark of Zulrav below his shoulder incorporated into the whole. Sharp designs trail from his back and chest down his arm like intertwining snakes, two sharp points leading from the back of his hand almost meeting in the center of his palm. His face is somewhat attractive, being clean-shaven, symmetrical and having an angular jaw, marred only by several pocked, nearly unnoticeable scars. His eyes are hazel, being a pale green with a broken halo of bright gold around his pupil. His brownish-blonde hair is of medium length and slightly kept, no longer running down his back as it used to. Character Concept Tavil is not as talkative as he once was. His experience with his slaver captors has caused him to not be quite so outspoken as in his own home. He is generally in a good mood, being an optimist in just about every situation. Not betraying his upbringing, he is generally honest when spoken to, only telling a lie when he feels the absolute need. All things considered, he is a pleasant person to be around. Tavil is a man for peace. Though he enjoys a good fight like just about any warrior, he prefers sparring to actual battle. This is simply because a real battle involves death. However, he has no qualms with killing. If given enough reason, he will not hesitate to cut a man down. Just as well, he is an extremely protective man. If someone or something he cares for is threatened, he will not hesitate to protect it. This is also the case if he deems a man's actions unjust toward another person. Respect for others is a value which he holds high, regardless of their status. Character History Tavil's life was, for a time, normal for one of the Drykas. He grew up in the pavilion of his father, Drahs Whitestone of the Diamond Clan. His father had two wives and seven children, typical of his people, of which Tavil was the oldest. As a child, he was treated like any other. He worked with his family, and he was taught what would be expected of him as the oldest son. He was taught to fight from a very young age, seeming like his training began the day he learned to walk. He accepted this training easily and learned quickly. By the age of ten, he had become proficient with a blade and was decent with a spear, which he used while hunting. At the age of thirteen and on a pleasant summer day, Tavil had gone out into the Sea of Grass on his own for a simple walk. He found himself tiring after a while, so he lay in the grass, letting its warm blades embrace him. As he closed his eyes, the grass beneath him cooled, its moisture soothing the heat on his back. He felt as if he'd lain there for hours. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep? He wasn't sure. After a time, he awoke to the sound of something large walking toward him, the grass muffling its steps. He shot up, eyes darting to find the owner of the sound. To his surprise, a great horse approached him. Not just any horse, but a strider, it's dark coat shimmering in the sun. That day, the boy returned home. Side by side with his new friend and companion, he walked back to the Whitestone pavilion. The sun had set by the time he returned, revealing the luminescent properties of the animal beside him. When he was first spotted, his father seemed to be angry with him for being gone for so long. He had also been alone, which made the Sea that much more treacherous. Then, Drahs saw the horse next to his son. His expression of worried anger changed to that of pride in his son. The next day, Tavil was given his sharp, swirling windmark. Tavil was treated more and more like an adult with every passing day. He joined his father on hunts and was beaten by him in spars. His father no longer held anything back, and the young boy was glad, welcoming the challenge. Within a year, Drahs even began to teach his son the intricacies of webbing, "bathing" him in the web so that he may see it for himself. Tavil was no expert at webbing, but he knew the basics of the art. When Tavil was sixteen, his younger sister, a sweet girl with silky, onyx-colored hair, was chosen by her strider at the age of fourteen. Tavil's father had been teaching him how to tattoo, which he practiced on discarded, untanned skin from their livestock, and Drahs instructed him to give his sister her windmark. Tavil was proud of his little sister, and tattooed her windmark on the left side of her back, beaming with pride for his sister. The next year of his life, Tavil had not been so fortunate. Once again, he went out into the Sea of Grass on a calm summer day, this time accompanied by the strider who had chosen him. He rode with his friend, giving the great horse some time to exert its energy. After several hours, the two of them began to tire. He dismounted, removing the yvas from his friend after doing so. They both then sat in the grass, letting it cool their bodies as the sun began to set. Soon, they both drifted off into sleep. Tavil was awoken by the disgruntled sounds of his companion, and looked up to see the horse looking around them with worry. Before he had a chance to stand, Tavil saw a flash of light before him, his shadow trailing out in front of him. The flash had come from behind him. Without even a chance to turn around, the back of his head went white hot with pain, and he fell back down into the grass, unconscious. He awoke the next day, hands tied around the neck of his strider and his vision blurred, as well as his hair cut short. They seemed to be being led somewhere, but he had no idea where. He looked around him, trying to see the faces of his captors, but to no avail. Within seconds, he was unconscious once more. The day after, he no longer felt as weak, but his hand were still bound. From the looks of it, Tavil had been taken a great distance from the Sea of Grass, his home. He began to shout curses at his captors, but they did little more than laugh at him. Soon, he realized how little his words meant, and he fell silent. For ages it seemed that they traveled. Whenever they made camp, several of his captors would split off from the group, returning with provisions many hours later. He assumed they left for a nearby town or city, but avoided taking their new property into town for fear of losing it. Finally, they arrived at a stonework building, and they brought him inside, locking him in a cell with his strider and cutting his bonds. In his time with these strange men, he had been paired up with a small Vantha girl named Misty. The two got along well, and Tavil saw his little sister in her. They shared the same kind disposition and the same black hair. He enjoyed listening to her stories in his free time, free time being when they weren't being experimented upon. Tavil also agreed to any demands his captors had in exchange for the safety and care of his strider, which was kept in a separate, adjacent cell to his own. As a result of his complacency, the men had him help in their experiments, teaching him rudimentary glyphing so that he may prepare their experiments for them. For a time, this was all he did, but then he got his hands on a small nail. For months, he spent his extra time etching small runes into the bonds of himself and his companion as well as the bars of the cell, all when the kidnappers were not looking, and today was the day his efforts would come to fruition. The mages, for whatever their reasons, had been teaching his companion Reimancy, and she had been charging the runes daily. That night, while all but a single guard for their cell were still present in the building, Tavil set off the runic triggers, and with a loud crack, the bonds and bars shattered, scattering the shards in every direction. Without hesitation, Tavil ran forward, clutching their guard by the throat, asphyxiating him until he passed out. Luck was on his side there, and his size and the element of surprise let him overpower the unaware man. He took a sword and some supplies from the mages' stores, and proceeded to free his strider. The two of them had grown slightly weak due to their capture, but they were getting out of this. As the three of them made a hasty departure, they found themselves on the outskirts of Nyka in the Northeast. Language Fluent Language: Pavi Basic Language: Common Skills Skill EXP Total Proficiency Longswords 28 # Competent Spears 5 # Novice Webbing 5 # Novice Glyphing 7 # Novice Tattooing 5 # Novice Riding 10 # Novice Lores Lore of Swordplay Lore of Horsecare Possessions 1 Iron Longsword 1 Set of Clothing -Simple Shirt -Simple Pants -Simple Undergarments -Simple Cloak -Simple Boots -Night Leather Armor 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack which contains: -Comb (Wood) -Brush (Wood) -Soap -Razor -Balanced Rations (1 Week's worth) -1 eating knife -Flint & Steel -1 large tent (4 person) -Large tarp -100 ft of rope -Flint & steel -Lantern -2 torches -Fishing tackle & hooks -Compass -1 large set of saddlebags Cyphrus Strider Heirloom: Ring of the Whitestone Pavilion Housing Location: None in particular House: Living in a tent, Tavil's housing changes as he changes camp. -1 large tent (4 person) -Large tarp -100 ft of rope -Bedroll -Blanket Ledger Purchase Cost Total Starting +100 GM 100 GM Leather Armor, Night -60 GM 40 GM Board at stables, 10 days -3 GM 37 GM Thread List Spring 3, 514-Feels Like A Thumb in My.... Spring 4, 514-[Nyka location] The Fourth Day Market

Spring 4, 514-[Nyka location] The Fourth Day Market