Isiloka dé Za

[The Oblivious Monk]

Isiloka dé Za

Myrullat/Masrah Marksman

Player Information

Name: Jay

Contact Information: [email protected], AIM: CorinFirestorm

Character Information

Name: Isiloka dé Za, Isil for short

Race: Myrullat/Masrah half-breed.

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Place of Origin: Pémi’Lla Fuq, Stenmalkk

Class: Journeyman Marksman

Relationship Status: Unattached

Channeling Capacity:

-Type: Internal

-Focus Used: Isiloka primarily uses channeling for three things: the first is silencing his footfalls; the second is improving his accuracy; and the third is for increasing his ability to run across the mudflats of the Stenmalkk Swamp. He also has some ability to use it to increase his dexterity or speed, though these benefits are mild at best. His physical Focus is a leather band kept around his right wrist, the hand with which he draws his bow, that is inset with markings identifying him as a Hunter to his people.

-Degree of Skill: Moderate. His lack of stamina reserves his Channeling to one-shot-kill or do-or-die scenarios and limits his ability to employ them for long periods of time or rapid succession.

Appearance: Slight of frame and stature, Isiloka dé Za is still easily located in a crowd of his people. While still graceful and quick like the majority of his people, his darkened tan skin is in stark contrast to the normal coloration of his people and makes his green0colored markings more noticeable. His gray hair hangs to his chin and is usually pulled back into a top knot to facilitate archery. His eyes are a lightly brown with a slightly more almond shape than the rest of his people.

His features are youthful and graceful, belying a bit of his naïveté, innocence, and youth. His clothing, or lack thereof, is designed to give him the greatest range of movement, preferring a leather bolero vest paired with tailored pants of linen or leather. A cross stitched leather built holds a stiletto, fletching and carving knives, and has a place to mount a short quiver. Like most Myrullat, he doesn’t wear shoes.

His expanded equipment for when he is away from home includes a medium weight, full length cloak in dark green, linen shirts and extra clothing, a short quiver, a large quiver, a rucksack, assorted bows, arrows, feathers, strips of leather, and a pair of leather sandals known in the Stenmalkk as arro’zuko: leather feet.

Special Skills: Trained from his coming of age in Pémi’lla Fuq to be a hunter, Isiloka has the necessary abilities to remain on an hunt for extended periods of time and make critical, sniper worthy shots. He is skilled in the arts of tracking and archery as well as climbing and scaling, natural practice for living among the suspended housing of his home city. He has received extensive tutoring in carpentry, allowing him to craft his own bows as well as fletching to create his own arrows. He also learned the skills of knot-tying from time spent at the docks of his home.

Strengths: Expert Archer, naturally agile and quick, adept at climbing, swimming, and tracking. Expert bowyer and Fletcher. Conversationally adept in several languages, passable in many more. Hunter training has also made him an adept survivalist.

Weaknesses: Pride, low stamina threshold prevents extended bouts of physical activity or Channeling, lack of strength limits attack options, easily identifiable in a crowd, aversion to arid or cold environments, socially despondent and reclusive, lack of trust.

Personality: Isiloka is an incredibly introverted person, preferring to move alone than with a group and, while not completely contrary to his society’s communal nature, has made him a bit of an outcast. But it serves him well in his pursuits on the hunt. It does make him less trusting in social situations and more likely to run than to stay and discuss or fight. He also believes that support is usually not available and is therefore extremely cautious when entering into combat or an aggressive situation, preferring to avoid drawn out conflict as much as possible.

It is possible to bring him out of his shell through intrigue. Confusing Isiloka is one of the easiest ways to gain his attention. The other is appealing to his skill or sense of accomplishment. In the past he has followed a group if he is interested in what they might have said in a tavern or passing on the street, watching from afar to see if they would be amiable to his inclusion in a group. This had lead to more than one accusation of thievery and spying, which he takes as a great insult.

He takes great pride in his craft, both hunting and the creating of hunting implements, and tends to be slightly haughty, nearly insulting, when dealing with what he deems as common bows and arrows. He is more accepting of people with less-than-perfect archery skills, though still displays points of hubris.

Isiloka’s nature is to establish himself in a camp, be it a city or an actual camp, and then move forward and explore from that central point. This style of exploration forces him to become a regional expert of sorts, knowing the terrain, paths in and out, and the commonly viewed people exceptionally well. However, he misses the metaphysical and philosophical details of a situation, rarely understanding the motivations of higher-level life forms. This becomes problematic when he is tracking one of these sentient beings.

Isiloka also has a tendency to simplify all situations down to base, almost animal like motivations and simplistic desires. This tends to make him seem socially obtuse and rude. He tends to vocalize his unhappiness rather sharply, at first through petulant pouting and the silent treatment, and later by criticizing and complaining once he is more familiar with the person or persons he is around.

Once he is comfortable with a group however, he does open up, becoming much lighter hearted and energetic, becoming even jovial at times. He tends to abstain from physical contact, even in friendly situations. His apprehension at being excluded or removed from the group however does keep him a bit at arm’s length and always double guessing his actions and responses. Once earned, Isiloka is exceptionally loyal to a group however, and will stand and fight if the group is in danger or needs his assistance, even against his better instincts.

History: “It’s an interesting tale, to be sure…I’m not sure you’d want to hear it all,” the young Myrullat murmured, reaching over for his tankard. His companion at the tavern table seemed intrigued. Most of them were, Xaneth that is. Intrigued in this sun-kissed swamp runner and how he came to whatever backwater alehouse he found himself in. Isiloka dé Za smiled and took a long draught of ale. “Alright…it starts in port…”

The Sword of Hearts was a merchant schooner of great repute and was a local favorite in the port of Pémi’Lla Fuq whenever she made berth. The moment those large red sails were seen on the horizon, the best berth was prepared and postings for discounts for her crew at every respectable bar and house of ill repute. The town knew what to expect: the finest weapons, the most exquisite silks, the rarest spices, and the nicest men from Masrah.

That was how Edercarri Zallés knew the night was going to be different. The last time the Sword had docked, she had been but a slight on the docks, scurrying around and doing her best to fletch sailors out of their hard earned coin for trinkets and bits of fruit. She hadn’t understood the flash messages or women waving with their brightest scarves. Her mother had sniffed at the notion, preferring to stand guard at the door to her favorite lover’s tavern. Momma Serra, a Xaneth woman with an eye for talent and a taste for ale had just shaken her head and smiled.

She’d know one day. And Edercarri knew that day had come.

When her Mother had passed, Serra had taken to wandering, leaving the bar in her hands and name. Her name and offers were among those left upon the market board where the boat would dock. She had tidied the establishment and was polishing glasses as the first men came in. She smiled up at the towering figures, pouring ale and fetching wine as her cook fed whatever bits he had shoot that day in the swamps.

Crocodile stew and ale was a perfectly acceptable combination as she was concerned.

It was as the crew were rowdy and well into their later rouds, Edercarri looked up and locked eyes with a dashing man with handsome almond eyes and a striking smile. And a very large hat. And a fancy sword. And it was all she could do to keep from swooning. She was no virginal maiden. No, she understood mating and had indulged herself before. But she had no lover, no partner. Yet this man, this excellent example of Masran physiology, exuded calm and control and excitement.

And Edercarri responded.

He ordered rounds of drinks for anyone in the tavern, even those not of his crew. And he ordered the finest spirits for him and his companion, both of whom perched at the bar. He sparkled and simpered and stayed long after the crew had left and well into the night.

The next day, the Sword of Hearts sailed from Pémi’Lla Fuq with all hands and Edercarri’s bar opened late as the lady of the establishment was quite late in moving from her bed.

Nine months later, Isiloka dé Za came into the world.

“So yeh, I don’t know m’dad,” the young Myrullat said, slicing a hunk from something steaming and tasty smelling the other member at the bar had ordered. “Just that he was dashing and handsome and all that rot.” Isiloka grinned and took a bite, letting his companion ask something else. “Eh, that’s a loaded question. There isn’t much that was different ya know…my people like to…breed outside the box,” he murmured with a smirk.

The young Isiloka had experienced little hardship for having a father of a different race. The fact that he did not know his father was of little consequence as well, despite it being out of the ordinary. What set him apart though was his skin. He was instantly noticeable with his dark skin and quick eyes. And like all good children, he dealt with the teasing by getting into fights and scrapping about. And eventually, he learned to ignore the others and sit by himself.

That was when he learned to tie knots. He spent hours at the docks, perfecting his skills with rope and string, learning from the different kingdoms and races that sailed into the docks. He learned languages and shipman’s signals as well just as he returned the favor. It was a learned experience, greater than the sparring or channeling classes in his mind. He still did conditioning though, often not by choice.

When older Myrullat saw him, they would chase, sending him scampering with others his age through the city and swamps just as the pursuers had once been chased. It was a tradition designed to teach evasion, strength, or agility. The smart hid in crevices and recesses, old and forgotten or new and undiscovered. The strong stood and fought or climbed to the higher rungs, learning to use the elevation changes to their advantage. But the agile. The agile ran as long as they could, dodging through crowds and across roofs.

And Isiloka was agile.

He earned a reputation among the children for being around a corner, across a gap, and down a ladder faster than some much older than he. The older children disliked this quality. The elders praised it. And at age 15, as he came of age, the boy was handed over to Ehizta rí Hos-to, the master hunter and marksman.

From there, his days at the docks were limited. He trained in archery and tracking, learning the best way to not only find his prey, but strike it from afar. He learned beast lore, beginning to understand the different creatures that roamed around and through the city. Ehizta was not simply content with shooting a bow either. Isiloka learned to craft his own weapons and bolts, perfecting the arts that would allow him to be self sufficient in the wild should the need arise.

Ehizta taught him how to stab with a knife, aiming for vital organs and blood ways. He also taught him to Channel like a hunter: to walk across the bog with greater acuity, to channel the Leyht to practically see where to shoot to strike his target, to boost speed and agility. He learned how to hide, to strike, to move, and to flee.

And at the age of 22, Isiloka was sent on his first solo excursion.

He was sent after a thief who had taken an ancient book from the Myrullat shrine. It was a text of great importance, but not irreplaceable: the perfect way to show his worth to the community. He set out over bog, tracking the Xaneth by her stumbling steps and broken plants. Her control in the suffocating swamp was that of a novice. And the apprentice hunter tracked her to a camp at the edge of the causeway. If she made the road, he’d never catch her.

As night fell and shadows lengthened, he steeled himself and drew his bow of handcrafted Rosethorn wood and, with arrow notched, Channeled, and let loose his bolt, signature blue of blue plumes visible from his targets neck just a moment later. He stole into her camp, took the book and the stiletto dagger that he still carried today before returning to Pémi’Lla Fuq.

“So I was a Journeyman then…still am,” Isiloka told his companion, playing with his dagger and grinning amusedly. “I just wander now. Taking a job or whatnot when necessary.” He speared an apple, dessert from his companion as payment for his tale and insight into his culture. He blinked, chewing softly as his companion asked another question. He grinned wolfishly, the apple disappearing behind slightly elongated fangs.

“What am I doing here? In Tolvera?” the Myurllat asked incredulously, leaning forward. “Are ya daft man? The Incident of course. Everyone’s heard about the Tolvera Incident.” He laughed and leaned back, picking up another slice of fruit. “Anyone worth their salt is here now.”

Edited May 31, 2011 by The Oblivious Monk

[Kuri Shardweaver]

I really wish I could say this bio seemed a bit fishy, just for the glorious pun, but sadly (gladly?) that is not the case!

For you see, this character is Approved! All you need do now is repost the OP into The Character Compendium, and I'll fix it up with a nice little post-link in the index!

Edited June 1, 2011 by Kuri Shardweaver