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Race: Benshira Gender: Male Age: 18 Birthday: Fall 54, 505 Birthplace: An Oasis in Eyktol
Appearance: Ebrashi is a thin young man with graceful limbs, lithe muscle and skin that is a light shade of sun-kissed brown. Given more exposure to the sun, he would surely darken which would only serve to highlight the already stark contrast of his pale blonde hair which sits in a disheveled mess atop his head. The rough cuts provide layers to the feathery locks which often dance in front of his golden eyes and obscure the bright soul reflected within. His features are small and slightly pointed which matches the build which lacks thick bones, broad shoulders or heavy muscle. One scarcely notices his lank which comes in at just under six feet tall simply because of the bright hair and large, luminous eyes.
Character Concept
Ebrashi was a simple herder and daydreamer from the desert. His life was turned upside down when some traders turned out to be mercenaries who didn’t wish to barter for the flock of oryx. Many were killed and some were taken captive but only a few survived to be sold into slavery. Ebrashi is a somewhat lost soul because of these things and struggles to understand his purpose in life, the gods he loved and the loss of the world he knew.
Character History
Ebrashi was born into the Selben tribe. He had the white hair of his mother and the rich, golden eyes of his father. Aside from that, he shared very few traits with the rest of his family. They were dark-skinned, well-built people who looked like herders that worshiped and lived in Syna’s light. His family, like many others, raised the Oryx but it was far more than a matter of farmer and livestock. To the Selben, the creatures were family, purpose, and the way to a full life. Ebrashi was taught to love and care for the animals as a primary function of his world, not some mere means of survival.
Storytelling, fighting, and playing a horn flute helped to fill his childhood but the focus was always the animals and the duty to one’s family. Ebrashi was a gifted herder and small enough for many of the creatures to allow him the chance to ride them. He was not a warrior, though he had some skill with his javelin. His ambitions were never high enough to aspire beyond what was asked of him by his betters. It was this slothful trait in his character which would ultimately save his life.
Not long ago, a trade of somewhat regularity went horribly wrong. The Benshira were not only taken by surprise but they were overwhelmed. Many were killed and the rest were taken into captivity along with the majority of their flock. Ebrashi is not outstanding in any way so he was near the middle of the entire ordeal. He was captured without much protest as the shock and weight of what happened crashed against the walls of his soul. The sudden realization never came, rather, it crept up on him in the following days and nights that he would never see his mother’s smile again, nor hear his father’s booming voice.
As the terrain changed and landscapes became unfamiliar, the joyful youth of Ebrashi finally died. No more would the warm sands be his refuge and dreamland. The flock that he had loved was still there but the young man was fearful of how they would take to a new environment. Little did any of them know that the caravan was only temporary for a ship waited to spirit them away.
One of the hardest things to endure on the ship was not the collapse of his world. Ebrashi was young and knew little enough that his oblivious point of view kept him safe from a complete downward spiral. No, it was having to watch as the captain fed his precious flock to his pet Ixam - a large, lizard used as a mount once they were large enough. This monstrosity was like some kind of nightmare that moved about on the ship as it was treated better than the slaves. One look into its eyes revealed a scary sort of intelligence that kept the young Benshiran man awake for many nights on the harrowing voyage.
Language
Fluent Language: Shiber Basic Language: Common Poor Language: Fratava
The mark is located on his right arm from the back of his hand and up his forearm. "The burnt flesh was now replaced by a slightly glowing tattoo of intertwined black and gold flames that mirrored the paths taken by the fire."
Lores
Animal Husbandry - Every animal deserves respect Ashta: Appearance & Personalities Ashta: How They Greet Newcomers Ashta: How To Tell Them Apart Ashta: How They Graze Body Building: Uprooting Plants Javelin - Can be thrown or used in melee Lars: Appearance & Mannerisms Lars’ Herd: Two Bulls, Six Cows, Two Calves Psychology: Working Through Trauma/Grief/Loss Sawmill: Location & Appearance Singing: Singing To Sooth/Greet Strange Animals Swine Swells: Location & Appearance
Possessions
List :
1 Set of Linen Clothing -White shirt with long sleeves and an open chest -White pants that are loose but gather around the ankles and tie at the waist -Light blue armwraps, a family color, that go from the backs of hands up to the elbows -Dark blue cloak for nighttime activities -Light blue headwrap which can cover everything including his neck -Leather boots 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 -Lantern -2 torches -Bedroll -Blanket -Fishing tackle & hooks Mortar & Pestle Half-hatchet Large Wooden Chest Good Bronze Lock Good Bronze Key 36-gal Barrel 2-gal Bucket Javelin Kukri Steel Gauntlets 205.6 Gold Mizas
Heirloom: Oryx Horn Flute - A handmade flute from an old buck’s horn. It was made as a gift by Ebrashi’s grandfather for his uncle, the youngest of his father’s brothers. It is slightly twisted so the natural tone is a half step down. Minor key signatures sound the best and have a haunting sort of chorus when played.
Housing
Location: Skya, a tent on the beach with the rest of the refugees from the Iron Tiger
House: Ebrashi’s tent is somewhat large for one person. He has room for all his things which were scavenged from the wreckage. It is a dull grey color with four walls, four posts on the corners and a tall set of twin posts which form a point in the middle to hold the roof up and shed any rainfall.
Navigation +2, Psychology +2, Observation +5, Socialization +3, Animal Husbandry +3, Body Building +1, Singing +1; Swine Swells: Location & Appearance, Psychology: Working Through Trauma/Grief/Loss, Sawmill: Location & Appearance, Ashta: Appearance & Personalities, Lars: Appearance & Mannerisms, Ashta: How They Greet Newcomers, Lars’ Herd: Two Bulls, Six Cows, Two Calves, Ashta: How To Tell Them Apart, Ashta: How They Graze, Body Building: Uprooting Plants, Singing: Singing To Sooth/Greet Strange Animals.
Last edited by Ebrashi on June 15th, 2023, 10:10 pm, edited 7 times in total.
Attn: Thread Partners Ebrashi has level 1 Azenth. If your character is having strong emotions, he will be able to sense that. Feel free to use this as a plot engine!
Azenth :
An Azenth with one Mark has one very important ability; they gain the immunity to fire. At one mark, the heat of a fire can still be felt, but it does not burn them. If they work with fire routinely, say as a magical discipline of Reimancy or routinely build fires, then the heat of that fire is often absorbed by them and keeps their body temperature relatively higher compared to 'normal' individuals of their race. Singularly marked Azenth often make incredibly talented firewalkers and firedancers with very little effort. In addition, at this level, Ivak marked people often sense the underlying strongly building emotion of another person, but cannot tell specifically what has caused those emotions. For example, if someone is experiencing a powerful upheaval of emotion - say grief - the Azenth can detect that, but will not understand what caused it. Mundane emotions - everyday joy, sorrow, etc are not picked up by Azenth. Instead, Azenth hone in and narrow down on only strong intense boiling emotions. They can often tell when someone has newly fallen in love, or if another completely hates something or someone with a passion. The only rule is that the emotion has to be intensely strong for them to feel it. Even urges, like the desire to steal, can be detected if they are overwhelming.
Winter 15, 522 AV Slave camp near the northern coast of Eyktol After sunset
Ebrashi stood in the fighting pit with only the lone Drykas warrior opposite him. The man had done well for himself and stood at the base of the ramp where the taskmaster and his personal guardsman stood only a few feet higher. The pit was a terrible noise again tonight. Blood pools littered the sands as many had been sent to the Ukalas at the behest of wanton gamblers and degenerates. Torches flickered on the edges and several were clustered in a rough teepee several feet on either side of the center so the whole of the arena was lit enough for the onlookers to see death in all its grisly detail.
The young man had a javelin in his hands. Tonight was the night he was supposed to fight with the Drykas warrior who had slain dozens. Tonight was the night the taskmaster earned his reputation and a fat purse of coins for his trouble. Except it wasn’t. Ebrashi casually dropped the javelin between his feet so the tip sank into the sand several inches. The weapon stood on its own and the enslaved herder folded his hands behind his back.
The crowd booed. The Drykas threw his arms out in frustration and everyone turned to look at the taskmaster. The Myrian started cursing in his own language and his guard started to move but was stopped by the taskmaster’s own hand. He motioned to the Drykas who understood immediately. The warrior roared around and walked with a quick purpose towards Ebrashi. He spoke in his own language with a spiteful grin. The young Benshiran did not know what the words meant but the crowd loved the spectacle and roared above the speech anyway. The club, covered in viscera and flesh, hung loosely at his side as the warrior passed between the torches. His tattooed body was leaning in for the kill but his face was pure mockery.
Ebrashi stewed inside. He wanted to act but he had to tell himself to wait. As the Drykas neared, he twisted his upper body. The large club-wielding arm went behind him and the free hand came out to grab Ebrashi where he stood. Right before he took the last step- the one that would allow him to take hold of the desert dweller’s clothes, a flurry of movement erupted like a volcano from the thinner framed man. Ebrashi’s hands shot from behind his back and grabbed the javelin with a fierce grip in both hands. The motion was forced to follow through which ripped the weapon from the ground and forced it straight up.
The silence of the crowd was instant for anyone not on that end could not have seen what had transpired. The javelin’s tip was buried up through the neck of the Drykas warrior. His body arms hung limply at his sides as the wooden shaft pierced skyward through the tongue and the roof of his mouth. The once wicked eyes now held fear and surprise as they gazed upon the burning stare of Ebrashi’s golden irises. With gritted teeth, the herdsman tried to push the javelin even higher. “You die first, chag!” The words were quiet but the Drykas heard them. He probably did not understand but the meaning was conveyed for his eyes closed and he slumped forward. Ebrashi stepped aside and turned slightly so he could yank the weapon free with a sickening slurping noise.
The taskmaster was laughing. He had won his bet! Ebrashi was not finished. He took a couple quick steps and hurled the bloody javelin at the Myrian. To the surprise of many, the weapon sailed through the air effortlessly all the way across the pit. It might’ve even hit the man for whom it was sent but his guard stepped in at the last minute and deflected it with his buckler shield. This was not acceptable. The taskmaster waved his hand at his guard. “Kill him.”
The man was armed with a small shield and a scimitar and dressed like a desert warrior. Ebrashi did not care except now he was unarmed. The guard used the hill to gain momentum and started running towards his kill. The slave doubled back and scooped up the club of the man he had just killed. When he turned back around, he scrambled to come up with a plan. He did not panic but he was doubting his chances of survival and that was not how this story was supposed to end.
Ebrashi waited until his attacker got a little closer because if he started running too soon, he would not be able to make his angle of escape. Once the moment came, he sprinted along the edge of the pit and towards one of the torch clusters. The guard chased after him but missed wide with a swipe of his blade and this cost him time in changing direction. The crowd roared to life and new bets started to pour in on the bonus fight.
Ebrashi was past the torches before he pivoted and wheeled around. His attacker was trying to come around the cluster of sticks and flame so the young desert man swung the mighty club in an arc which knocked the fiery poles into the guard’s clothing. His sword arm instantly caught fire as did part of his side. The man began to swing wildly but quickly lost interest in Ebrashi. His scimitar did manage to cut clean angle on all of the torch sticks left in the ground but the guard soon twisted and fell back through them as he dropped weapon and shield in an effort to strip himself of his burning garments.
Ebrashi leapt forward and brought his club around from his side, above his head with both hands, and then crashing down towards the guard. The seasoned warrior rolled out of the way of the death blow and into Ebrashi’s legs. The two bodies collapsed together and began to roll around in the burning mass of clothes, sand, and violence. The crowd roared their approval and the taskmaster came down a few steps to the floor of the pit to get a better look at the chaos taking place.
Ebrashi was clearly no match for the guard except that his sword arm was almost completely consumed by fire. So much so that the muscle and meat smelled in the night and the man could not use it to even hold leverage against this slave. The oryx herder grappled and fought like a wounded animal. He felt his chest heaving with the intense pain of Adara’s assault. The burning desire to inflict justice upon this man brought a sudden burst of clarity and the young man found the top part of one of the torches, its wood black and red from the flames, then grasped it and drove it into the eye of the guard. The fire tore at his skin and clothing but it was nothing compared to the growl of triumph that escaped his throat as he forced the object deeper and deeper until he used the momentum to stand up and flip the guard onto his back with the scone still burning as it sat lodged in his eye socket.
Ebrashi’s scream was so loud that he masked the dying rattle and final plea of his attacker from the assembled gamblers and slave owners. The taskmaster was in disbelief and was already backtracking up the hill when a powerful looking man strode into view with an armed company of men who fell in at his flanks and several more groups who appeared around the ring itself. Everything grew deathly quiet. Even the wind ceased to howl. Ebrashi eyed one of the torch stakes and used his feet to shuffle it slightly closer as he moved out of the pile of burning man. All the while, he watched the scene unfold.
The powerful man moved towards the taskmaster who backed himself down the hill once more until his feet were in the arena again. “This ends now!” Clearly, this man was someone of importance. His black gaze seemed to cow every single person gathered at the fighting pit. “Slaves can be bought and sold but gathering them is expensive! I grow tired of diminished stock and so this stops tonight!” He waved his hand about at the ring. “Not only are we light on men but now I’m short one of my men.” The lecture turned intimately against the taskmaster.
Ebrashi did not care anymore. He inched off to the side just a little more as the words of the leader continued to rain like hammers upon his target. Tired. Burned. Committed. The Benshira bent down and took hold of his makeshift javelin. He sprang up and planted his feet then allowed his arm to extend and swing in a powerful arc. At its zenith, he released the shaft as several armed guards jumped down into the pit and shouted warnings.
The leader looked up, the taskmaster turned around, and Ebrashi was tackled to the ground. Just before a mailed fist crashed down upon his skull, he saw the look of shock and fear pierce the smug face of his Myrian torturer. The shaft had gone clean through his bare stomach and had come out his back. Then his world went black.
Back in his cage later that night…
Ebrashi came to with a start. His head pounded so the sudden jolt almost made him puke. He rolled over and posted up on his hands and knees in a coughing fit. It passed after a moment and the slave curled his feet beneath him and sat down. He had to get his bearings but seemed to be where he always was when he awoke in the morning. Oddly, the rest of the slaves who normally shared this space were gone. Ebrashi looked up to the sky and saw Leth retreating into the horizon. Morning would be here soon and likely his death. Honestly, he was surprised to be alive.
An uncomfortable sensation clawed at his right forearm and hand. Upon inspection, the golden eyes saw a great deal of flesh burned and curled up as a scar. “A small price to pay for Adara’s justice…” He mused to himself. His voice did not even sound like his own. Ebrashi looked around and saw a guard fire outside his cage and across the footpath. He watched the yellow, orange and red tongues dance. He felt the fires inside of him react with a tinge of pride but mostly just a sadness at the emptiness left behind by killing those men. They deserved it but it did not ease the nightmares wrought on his people.
Ebrashi thought he must be hallucinating. Some of the flames seemed to have come to life and formed a ball of fire that floated across the way and into his cage. He watched it warily but when the guards did not react, he began to doubt his sanity. The flames changed colors slowly as they danced over one another. A voice not his own entered into Ebrashi’s mind. As it spoke, the brilliant display seemed to illustrate the points that were being made through the monologue.
“This fire is raw like your talents. It knows hunger and longing but cannot create or sustain a means to those ends.” The fireball moved erratically against itself as if it was going to be torn asunder.
“Yet you persisted as, too, shall this flame.” Ebrashi cradled his burned hand and wrist close to his body, frozen with awe. “You were broken by your capture. Enslaved and bound is no way to live a life. You were also a slave to your emotions -doubt, fear, loneliness, insecurities all held you down.” The fire dimmed but the voice continued.
“Despite this, you sought out ways to help others. You pushed through the exhaustion and the heartache even when it turned to anger.” The fire flared brightly and began to swirl faster and faster. It took on a pulse to match the rising heart rate of the Benshiran man. “That rage purified the things within you that were holding you back. Like a wildfire, it cleared away the unnecessary parts of you that made you weak, and vulnerable.” The swirling flames widened then contracted as if they were about to come to life as some kind of beast.
“Then, you discovered you didn’t need those things. You started to make a way for yourself that relied only upon your own will.” The display did come to life but not to show a creature. It played out the shaping of metal from ore into molten material then forged into a mighty axe. “This is the vessel the divine seek.” The flames moved closer to Ebrashhii but they did not make him feel afraid and so he did not move. He simply watched in awe as the golden eyes reflected the fire’s light much like the burning deep within his core. The axe pulsed with red flames like it was breathing.
“You seek purpose. I come not to give it to you but to empower you to continue your search.” He smiled at Ebrashi and the radiance of heat from the man was felt. The young man slowly lowered himself to sit on his knees while he watched in reverent silence. “You can continue to be of service here; to these people, to this land, and to me. Anywhere you go, you can choose to be a force that must be reckoned with.” The apparition of fire transformed from a dull red flicker into a roaring inferno that lit the entire cage as if it were daytime. “Grab hold of my fire and that burn on your hand will be the last burn you ever receive.”
Ebrashi rose to his feet. He could see a face in the axe as if the fire moved around him- obeyed him. Without hesitation or sporadic movements of childish excitement, the Benshira forced his wounded arm into the flames. It was searing hot but not painful. The tongues of fire wrapped around his hand, wrist and partially up his forearm then extinguished back into a normal torch. The burnt flesh was now replaced by a slightly glowing tattoo of intertwined black and gold flames that mirrored the paths taken by the fire. Ambereyes lifted to the vision of a man standing in the flames- the god of fire and Ebrashi bowed his head slightly with a spoken “Rapa.”
The flames went out suddenly and Ebrashi was alone in his cell once more…but no longer alone.
[/indent]
Attn: Thread Partners Ebrashi has level 1 Azenth. If your character is having strong emotions, he will be able to sense that. Feel free to use this as a plot engine!
Azenth :
An Azenth with one Mark has one very important ability; they gain the immunity to fire. At one mark, the heat of a fire can still be felt, but it does not burn them. If they work with fire routinely, say as a magical discipline of Reimancy or routinely build fires, then the heat of that fire is often absorbed by them and keeps their body temperature relatively higher compared to 'normal' individuals of their race. Singularly marked Azenth often make incredibly talented firewalkers and firedancers with very little effort. In addition, at this level, Ivak marked people often sense the underlying strongly building emotion of another person, but cannot tell specifically what has caused those emotions. For example, if someone is experiencing a powerful upheaval of emotion - say grief - the Azenth can detect that, but will not understand what caused it. Mundane emotions - everyday joy, sorrow, etc are not picked up by Azenth. Instead, Azenth hone in and narrow down on only strong intense boiling emotions. They can often tell when someone has newly fallen in love, or if another completely hates something or someone with a passion. The only rule is that the emotion has to be intensely strong for them to feel it. Even urges, like the desire to steal, can be detected if they are overwhelming.
![[Verified by Gossamer]](./images/checkmark.png "[Verified by Gossamer]")
