Tural is most easily mistaken for a human from a distant land. It is not a sentiment that is entirely inaccurate, though it would be quite incomplete to just take it for that. He, like all of his people, were humans once, long ago, and this is reflected in their physique. The desert dwelling tribes rarely expose themselves; both men and women wear light but covering clothes, usually covering their faces with a veil and head covering that leaves only their eyes visible. It is there, in their eyes, that the first difference can be noted.
Tural, like all Ilkin (meaning First), as they refer to themselves, has eyes of pure white, making them appear almost blind at first but in reality simply being the first visible marker of their changed nature. Their eyes are actually very keen, capable of seeing in low-light to great distances. Beneath their robes, Shifter's possess a basic human shape. Their skin, however, differs. In Tural's case it is patterned with stripes up and down his arms and shoulders. His face is somewhat fiercer than a human's should be, with a mouth full of sharp, more feral fangs.
Tural stands 5'9” tall, which is around the average for his people. Although covered, he possesses light, sandy hair. His skin, other than the markings, is fairly white. He is twenty-five years old. Tural wears the traditional robes of his people, adorned with a pair of traditional Ilkin masks on his shoulder, marking him as a Hunter-Sage of his people, a sort of wandering warrior and tracker that have becoming increasingly common in the various regions of the world.
In combat, Tural is capable of drawing upon the innate power of his people to transform his body into a bestial form, growing razor-sharp claws and a feral continence. As he grows in power, it is likely so will the scope of his transformation.
Tural is a reserved, but curious man. He wanders not only to ply his trade, but also to learn; the hunter-sages are the eyes and ears of the Ilkin tribes, fitting into their nomadic culture by moving through the world and bringing back new developments and news from beyond. Tural takes his job very seriously, but also revels in the freedom it allows him; so far from the strict cultural cues from is people he has begun to drift.
Tural observes traditional rules of the Ilkin currently, though when away the hunter-sages are allowed to forgo some of these traditions to better move through the world. As of yet, though, he retains his current code on covering himself and a strict adherence to the traditional honor code of his people. His straightforward and honest nature has earned him the respect of several employers, though he has refused long term service in any place.
Tural has an innate curiosity about many things, but of all things he finds Incarnum the most fascinating; the methods used by much of the world are unheard of in his people, though they have internalized Incarnum in their own way. Tural has begun to experiment with Incarnum, and is considering incorporating it into his own form of combat.
11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 15. Not horrible. Not astounding, either. Eh, I'll make it work.
Title; means Laborer
UthmanRotenh Thull Race: Skarn Class: Soulborn Description: Before you stands a tall human, with spines growing out of his forearms, calves and back. He is over six feet tall, and is very solidly built. His spines are colored a bright blue, almost like sapphires. He is armed with a large polearm, with a sturdy axeblade at the end. The pole of his glaive is made of a dark-hued wood, but is otherwise normal looking. His armor is a sturdy suit of chainmail. Personality: Rotenh, as he is usually called, is odd for a skarn. He actually doesn't consider the other races as inferior to skarn. He believes that all races, whether humanoid, giant, or otherwise, has a right to excel. He does have a particular dislike toward the undead, as he considers them an unnatural blight on the world. Backstory: WIP
Appearance: Life in the Holt, and in the Demon Wastes in general, saw to it that Thoril developed far above average skills in virtually every area. When you had to constantly watch your back, as well as know how to react when you failed to do so, you learned to improve. Fast. He had to be strong, he had to be fast, and when he wasn't fast enough, he had to be tough. When he wasn't fast enough, or tough enough, bad things happened. It was one of these bad things that resulted in him having to wear a mask for the rest of his life. Beneath the crudely fashioned bone mask lies a visage marred by the claws of a dolghast, scratched bone exposed where the creature's claws raked across his face, the flesh immediately surrounding the wound partially melted away and scarred permanently in place. Not a pretty sight. Despite this unfortunate facial wound, he has retained the ability to speak without impediment, though his vision has suffered a bit. Battle scars aside, Thoril is a muscularly-built man, much stronger than the average human. His skin is darkly tanned and he wears little beyond a breastplate made from darkwood and alchemically-treated darkleaves, donning only a backpack and a slightly poofy pair of trousers in addition to some bandage wraps on his forearms and shoulders. Lastly, permanently perched upon the back of his left hand is a small, beautiful scarab that looks like an exotic piece of jewelery. Closer inspection would reveal that the scarab is actually fused to his hand and very much alive, not that he ever lets people get close enough to tell.
Personality: Growing up in and around the Holt within the Demon Wastes, where the strong take every advantage over the weak and at the most opportune moments, certainly didn't help Thoril's negative personality any. Whether it was something inherent amongst those of his kind or the general feeling of despair that hung about the city, he didn't know, but he's quite the pessimist as a result of this. This is the only facet of his personality he hasn't managed to better through experience with others. His dour, melancholy attitude has been brightened through the discovery of those who didn't care what he was, but who he was, but the overwhelming number of those he has encountered that were the opposite has cemented in his mind the belief that everyone he meets will shun him because he shares the blood of the daelkyr, even if they don't know that he does. At least, until proven otherwise. In truth, Thoril feels more at home with the beasts of nature than he does among other humanoids, finding their lack of judgment beyond instincts more endearing and enjoyable to be around...when they're not trying to kill him. He's got a bit of a temper problem, too, that he hasn't managed to completely tone down, not for lack of trying. Not exactly a conversationalist—and for good reason—he keeps to himself, trying not to attract any unwanted attention to himself. When it comes to laws and ethics, he follows the established norms whenever it suits him to do so. Other than this, he himself doesn't have any sort of personal code of conduct or system of moral values.
Important Item: Thoril's most important possession is his "brother", the symbiont bonded to him on the back of his left hand, whom he was born with. His name is Ket, he's a throwing scarab, and he's been with Thoril for quite literally his whole life. They share a mind, figuratively speaking, and are pretty much inseparable. Fortuitously so, for all Daelkyr Half-Bloods carry an unfortunate dependency upon the symbiotic creations of their depraved forbears, so if he were to ever find himself devoid of a symbiont for more than a day, he would begin to slowly wither away and die. Despite his deep connection with Ket, he sought other symbionts to try and dampen this limitation, first luring a stormstalk by the name of Zrt (pronounced "zirt") to bond with him, and after a time lured a breed leech by the name of Brud (pronounced "brood") to play host to. Doing so was rather simple, as symbionts are creatures created by the Daelkyr, and the aberrant blood that runs through the veins of a Daelkyr Half-Blood practically calls to them.
Overcoming Obstacles: Door, monster, prison, it doesn't matter. Obstacles such as these are meant to be overcome by whatever means are available, especially if your survival is at stake. If you have a key to that door, use the key. If you don't have the key, pry it open. If you can't pry it open, then break it down. If you can't break it down, someone spent way too much time making that door. If there's a monster in your way, you kill it. If you can't kill it, it'll probably kill you. If you're thrown in prison, why let iron bars hold you? Bend them, melt them, whatever gets you out.
It Reminds Me of The Hunt: Thoril's no stranger to fighting bizarre creatures like necrocarnum zombies. Necrocarnum zombies are something of a special case, though. He has yet to figure out how, but he knows necrocarnum zombies are fueled by a twisted form of incarnum, the same magical force behind his own meldshaping powers. One of these days, he'll figure out how to take that from those shambling mounds of death and use it for his own. One of these days. On a more basic level, whatever threatens his survival gets dealt with, and it's just a bonus that he gets to relish the adrenaline-fueled rush of combat while doing so. If he gets paid to do it, that's just more motivation to take care of them and right quick, too.
Favorite Supplement: I like a lot of supplements, and Magic of Incarnum puts a really interesting spin on magic, introducing an entirely new form of it. Arcane and divine magic are staples of the D&D magic system, and psionics kind of just mirrored that and re-fluffed it as mental/emotional power. Incarnum gives a more tangible feel to the idea of magic. A wizard can throw a fireball or put a field of force around him (and sure, he can eventually rewrite reality, but who really ever gets that far), and a cleric can heal his party members, cleanse poison, and other such miraculous stuff, but Incarnum is more about (at least to me) taking magic in a raw form and shaping it in a way that's suitable for you, and will be of use to you all day long. How cool is that?
Appearance: 5'5, pale skin, black hair, glowing azure eyes. Shiba normally wears a stern and determined look on her face. She is nearly never seen without her trademark armor, a work of art in and of itself. It consists of a specially forged chain mail with green undertones overlaid with treated bloodwood dastanas and chahar-aina, complete with a demon-faced mask of. At her side, floats an azure katana, and on her back, she carries a giant shield, also emblazoned elaborately. Further, Shiba dons other soulmelds of her trade. Most commonly, she is found with a shimmering crystal helm, the silhouette of a marut, and gauntlets that crackle with electricity. Further, She rides into battle atop a great yellow axebeak, Qiu, also donning elaborate chain armor.
Personality: Shiba is quiet, reserved, fiercely loyal, and honorable to a fault. In battle, she prefers to fight in the thick of melee, either atop her trusty steed, or alongside it. She never backs down from a battle, verging on suicidal devotion to protection of her allies and victory. It takes great lengths to convince her that there is no hope once engaged. Outside of combat, Shiba tends to her mount, cleans her armor, polishes her sword, hunts, and does little else. She was raised and trained to maintain order and for battle, she knows little else.
Her Armor: A story of its own. Forged near a crack in the world, a forge by a supernatural caldera. Created from the fiery pits of hell to bring glory, honor, and victory in battle. It was created for her by an aged armorsmith, a family friend, and at great expense. Shiba had to travel far and wide to obtain the materials and bring them to the craftsman so that he could forge her the complete set she now wears.
Bypassing a Locked Door: A locked door requires a key. Whether the key is a small piece of metal, or the properly applied leverage to a weak point matters not. Like any barrier in her way, there is always a way around or through it. most likely through it in her case.
Scary Monster: Fear is not unknown to Shiba Inu, though she does her best to hide it. A threat to herself or her allies will be dealt with directly, through disarming words, or honorable combat. Generally the latter, in her case.
Prison: Shiba would never knowingly disobey lawful order. It is simply not in her nature. Still, accidents, mishaps, and ignorance are possible scenarios that could place her in this predicament. If lawfully imprisoned, she would serve out her sentence, given its appropriateness. As with any situation, there are times to break the rules, but these are few and far between, and only in dire circumstances.
The Mission: A hired sword, yes, but a call to protect the people is a noble and honorable endeavor. Upon hearing the need of swordhands, Shiba would find it dishonorable to deny them her aid.
Favorite Supplement: Very hard decision. MoI is definitely up there. I absolutely love it (for real) and know the system really well.