Post by Saber on Apr 23, 2012 22:18:07 GMT -5
NameFurrow
GenderMale
RaceElven
Age15
OccupationWanderer
Home RegionSven; beside the Lake of Mirrors
AllegianceN/A
Weapon of ChoiceAn osage-orange bow, crafted almost perfectly to the shape of a cresent moon. When holding it before himself, the bow reaches from Furrow’s hip to several inches above his head. Carved out of the core of an Osage-orange Tree, the bow was cut with no knots in its shape. Like the moon, the bow sharpens off at the ends and is thick in the center.
All along the bow, Furrow has dug his own story into the bow. Using small symbols and markings, he notes his travels, his battles, and essentially his life story. The bow hasn’t been filled in much, as he only notes specific details. Yet each entry onto the bow is carved with great care. The ritual-style carvings loop and trace into each other. The stories twist about, all linked together by a long swirl. Attached to the whirling spiral, his stories continue out like branches on a tree. The markings themselves spin and spiral down nearly an eighth of the way down the bow, with scattered markings as far down as where his hand settles.
Gifted ElementEarth; Living a migrant lifestyle, Furrow has learned to use the lands around him to keep himself alive. The Earth element inside of him has allowed him to adapt quickly to the changing climates and terrains, as well as helped him with survival. From childhood, Furrow has moved all across the continent with the intent of learning everything there was to know. With knowledge of the vegetation and the ground itself, he has been able to keep himself alive even while on the most harsh adventures.
PersonalityA quiet soul, Furrow is almost a complete pacifist compared to his fellow Elves. He cares not for the rivalries between the large nations or the races. He has learned to keep himself out of the fighting, seeing no point in it, and has also learned to keep hidden from travelers. Though, even with his self-solitariness, Furrow still wishes the best for everyone around him. Lost travelers, Endangered Merchants in the wild, and even those unable to defend themselves in the cities have been able to count on the Wondering Furrow when he is around.
Being neutral to all nations, races, and walks of life, Furrow aids anyone in need without a second thought. He tries to keep to himself about his past, and generally will stay silent unless asked a question, or if he actually needs something (which is rare).
Yet, when angered or if the wrong string is pulled; Furrow is not afraid to defend himself, and those in danger. His bow is always ready, and his mind sharpens like a hawk during battle.
Though, he always returns to his elven roots at times. In the forest, the light-footed Ranger is at home. Nature has always intrigued Furrow, and seems to react to his presence whenever he is around plant-life. He has taken a likeness to it, and uses his Gifts to help animals in trouble as well as young plants. He may be a hunter, but he only kills what is already on its way out. Unless it is diseased. Then he attempts to help the creature.
AppearanceBeing a drifting Elf, Furrow tends to wear not what is comfortable, but what protects him from the environment. Nearly all of he has woven himself, or has provided the specific materials that he’s wanted in the clothing;
Head: To protect his face from rain, dust, snow, and from sharp objects, Furrow has woven a thick hooded cape. The hood is connected directly to his torso-piece by two sown spots on the shoulders, as well as a small rope around his neck. The hood spikes at the top, and completely covers his head, ending at the tip of his nose when he stands straight upright.
The cape that drapes behind him is free flowing and ends just barely above his knees. On the insides of the cape towards the front, two small straps are kept tightly against it, so if Furrow needs to close it, he can just feed his arms through them.
Torso/Leggings: Made with mixed fabrics composed of Spider Silk and Hemp, the green and white mix of coloration of his clothing gives a sort of camouflage to Furrow in the forest. Smoothened to the touch on the outside and the inside from several layers of the silk on top, the hemp on the inside holds the core of Furrow’s leggings and his together, with the silk helping with the scent and to keep the hemp from the weather.
Boots: Unlike the rest of his clothing, Furrow’s boots were made by a friendly Dwarf. After assisting the little merchant to his destination, the young soul handmade the pair of boots for Furrow. The soles were made thick, and with a touch of the element of Liquid, as well as the use of an experimental material, the Dwarf made water-resistant boots for Furrow that reached up to the middle of his calf.
As to keep his feet protected, the Dwarf made the leather fairly thick, but not too much as to keep the boot light. He also insulated the foot-area of the shoe with sheep wool and cotton, so Furrow could keep his feet dry and warm. Knowing the terrain Furrow went through, the Dwarf went as far as to supply two pairs of snake-skin boot laces to Furrow. Yet, being resourceful; Furrow still has not used the second pair.
Gloves: Made out of the same material of his shoe-laces, Furrow wears black-dyed snake skin gloves. Without any special details, the gloves are simple and generic ones. Though, he has cut off the pointer, and middle finger slots in both so he can get a feel for the string of his bow when using it. To allow his hand to breathe and stay cool, Furrow has also cut a medium-sized rectangle out of the backs of the gloves.
Aside from his standard clothing, Furrow always has his bow on hand. Whether it’s strapped by its string across his back, or in his hand; it is always seen on his person. His arrow quiver is also within reach, and always has at the least; 5 arrows inside.
Tucked away on each hip, Furrow keeps a pair of Daggers hidden away. Placed in a fashion that keeps anyone thinking of assaulting him up close from knowing. Even when he sleeps, Furrow keeps at least one Dagger on his person. No matter where he goes, or how friendly someone is; he would rather be killed with a weapon on him, then be killed completely defenseless.
Beneath all of his clothing and his few weapons, Furrow looks almost like any other Elf one would come across. With an elegant form, and soft set body, his posture gives him away as an Elf before he even lowers his hood. Which causes an awkward alertness to those who see him. Though, when seeing the memorable figure in the distance, most guards are quickly able to distinguish Furrow from any other Elf.
His ears, unlike most, don’t stick straight up; but backwards. And adaptation brought on by his Ancestors, Furrow’s ears sit slightly lower on his head, and point backwards nearly half an inch, then set right up against his head.
Though, his ears tend to be hidden away by his scorched black hair. Burned and frayed at the ends, his hair is tied at its back, and he always tries to keep it swept backwards. Furrow does this to keep it out of his eyes, and to keep his hair from getting in his ears. What he cannot tie back, he usually just cuts off, or cuts really short.
His skin, usually pale from his travels in the forests, has become much rougher than other elves, but not as bad as the Dwarf’s skin. His muscles, firm and defined, are always hidden unless he bathes; which is rarely for long. He tries to keep his body out of sight of others, but if once could remove his clothes, a well chiseled and scarred body would be beneath. Signs of struggles against the wild cover Furrow, forcing him to wear full-body covering clothing.
To an Archer, it means not what he wears or how he looks; but how he can perform in combat. His accuracy with his bow, the power of his arrow-strikes, and his ability to survive. But, an Archer would be nothing without his sight. His eyes, their iris’ colored a bright fiery Blue, are as reflective as the Lake he was born beside. Bright mirrors, capable of seeing far and wide, and even deep into the soul of the one he looks upon. A soft, gentle look of a man seeking knowledge flows through his eyes. Yet, the hidden power beneath them burns much brighter. As if a beast is locked away within his soul, just waiting for a reason to be unlocked...
His face is muscular and toned. His cheeks puffed outwards, and his slender neck slightly wider than most Elves. But one distinguishing feature that cannot be mistaken for anything else, is a small marking below his left ear.
A single black swirl with a triangle of dots surrounding it, encased in a thin circle, is tattooed into his skin. Furrow has no idea why it is there, or what it is, but he has had it since he was a child.
HistoryDeep in the roots of the Elven species, were a group of wandering Intellects. Elves not bound to the flag of Liath or any other flag of that sort. They travelled the land in search of pure knowledge, and a wish to learn everything there was to learn. The Elves were named the Sulandras. The Family was not large, but composed more of those that did not agree with what the leaders of their Race were doing. So, they simply gathered their belongings and took to the Forests.
The group eventually began to disperse across the land, many of them settling with the dwarfs, while others found their own places to live. But eventually, racism and discrimination got the best of those that settled to close to the other races. One group of Elves, who settled in the Sven country, were far to out of the way to be bothered. And it was here, where Furrow was born.
His Father, like their ancestors, was a constant nomad within the forests of the areas around Sven. This left Furrow’s mother at home nearly all of their marriage. Though, he would return every cycle for several days, or even an entire cycle, before leaving again. During one cycle while he was home, the two decided to make a prodigy, and to continue the bloodline of the Sulandras.
The Family was beginning to thin out, and Furrow’s father no longer had any contact with the rest of the family. The only remnants was the massive amount of knowledge he had gathered, or had been given by the Family’s Servants as last wishes. Furrow’s Father had been told to not continue the line any further once all of the knowledge was gathered, but even so; Furrow’s mother persisted.
Contemplating the choice, Furrow’s Father decided that they would have a child; but on one condition. Furrow was to start anew. No knowledge of the Sulandras would be with him during his life, until it was time for him to learn. Furrow’s mother agreed, and assisted in locking away the knowledge of the land that had been gathered by the family. Sealing it somewhere in Sven, away from Furrow and any of those that dared seek it.
Several cycles later; the last son of the Sulandra family was born beside the Lake of Mirrors. They did not use the Sulandra name, but instead named him Furrow, keeping their true name to themselves. Even so, his Father proceed to mark his son with the Family Crest just below his ear.
For majority of his childhood, Furrow was raised by his mother. She was always gentle and kind to him, and always kept him on the path of knowledge. She tempted his mind and continuously asked him questions. During the days, she would take walks with Furrow in the surrounding forest and teach Furrow the different kinds of plants, grasses, and trees. Along with much of their uses. She taught him the names of animals and creatures they saw, what kinds of foods could be made from their meats, what their skins could be used for, but also how each creature had meaning in the world.
Furrow’s mother taught him how to make clothing, how to cook over a fire, and how to make a basic shelter. Furrow had no idea why he was being taught so much, so fast. As a young growing boy, Furrow wanted to just run around and have fun. Though, the gentle care and nurturing of his mother helped keep him satisfied. He loved his mother, and if she was going to take her time to teach, he would listen.
His Father was almost always out traveling, but whenever Furrow saw him return, the man always returned with gifts. Little toys from the Dwarfs, books from the Dragons, and clothes from the Elves were the usual gifts. But at one point, the man returned on the back of a friendly Dragon named As’kust. The two had fought together on the other side of the continent, and As’kust agreed to fly Furrow’s Father home. Seeing the reason why his father asked, As’kust remained in Sven for several days.
Furrow learned much from the old Dragon about the wars between the races, as well as the Sulandras. By request of Furrow’s father, As’kust never directly used the name, but instead called them “Intellect Seekers”. Secretly, As’kust promised Furrow that if he ever was in the Kabal region, to seek him out. Young and immature, Furrow gladly promised to find the Dragon when he was older.
The next day, As’kust and Furrow’s father departed once more. Leaving Furrow and his mother alone again. Furrow’s Mother asked for what the old Dragon had told Furrow, and he gladly shared what he had learned. She then proceed to teach him how to write. She told Furrow that record keeping was something that he should do. No matter what it was, he was told to write down any knowledge he learned.
She taught him how to draw, and how to write in a way where anyone could read his notes. Furrow was told to write everything down. What something looked like, what happened at a certain date, what he saw that was interesting, any new species he came across, and even his thoughts if he had time. His penmanship was not perfect, but Furrow was still learning.
Yet, the next time his Father returned, learning was over. Returning this time on foot, Furrow’s father greeted Furrow with not a toy, but his one and only companion; The Bow. At the age of 8, the Bow was much too big to be used at the time, but his father told him that one day; it would be his.
For the next three cycles, Furrow’s father remained home. He took over the training of Furrow, and taught him not how to survive, but how to fight. An expert archer, Furrow’s Father helped Furrow become physically strong enough to hold a bow and fire it continuously. Using heavier, fake arrows that were just big sticks, Furrow’s father made his son stand in one spot and fire the blank arrows over and over. He taught him the stance, the fastest way to pull an arrow from the quiver, the ‘sweet-spot’ to place an arrow on a bow’s string, and how to figure out the sweet spot.
Furrow was taught how to aim, how to breath, and how to move while keeping his arms stable. At one point, Furrow’s Father made the growing Archer stand in the drawn-arrow position for several hours. The shear tension of the pulled string, and the required strength to just hold it was enough to weaken Furrow. but after days of doing this, and exhausting his arms over and over, he was soon able to hold back the string for longer and longer.
Then Furrow was forced to hold an arrow steady and pulled back for an hour. then he was told to fire as many arrows as he could as far and as accurately as he could. Over and over. The young man whined and complained, and soon; Furrow shattered.
One day when he was training with his Father, Furrow began to refuse the training. He would not raise his bow, and would not fire a shot. He would not put on the quiver, and simply stood there. Instead of disciplining him, Furrows Father pulled out his own bow.
Furrow’s Father told Furrow that if he did not wish to get better, he would not force him, then Furrow’s Father proceeded to practice himself. His elegant, white bow beside the Lake Of Mirrors shined brightly, reflecting the sunlight directly back. The deep markings on the bow extended far, far down the length of the weapon, and covered almost the entire bow. Furrow watched as his Father fired arrow after arrow, hitting the soft-muddy target directly in the core. Arrow after arrow severed the magically-made target, until finally the bonds in it shattered. From the inside out, the target crumbled as thorns extended out the tips of the arrows, skewering and causing major damage on the inside.
Furrow watched as his Father did this several times. Each time, the targets corroded and fell to pieces. Furrow got to his feet, leveled his bow, and tried to do the same. Shooting directly beside his Father, Furrow wondered why the targets he hit weren’t falling apart. Then he asked for his Father to teach him.
Picking off from where they left off, Furrow was again, put through the paces of how to be an archer. This time, his Father taught him how to use what was inside. Furrow at first didn’t understand, but after further explanation; Furrow learned that his Father was using magic. For the next few cycles, Furrow and his Father worked on honing Furrow’s energy manipulation. He practiced daily on reaching into his ‘Gift’, as his Father put it. Just like his father, Furrow’s gift was his power over the Earth.
It finally began to come together. Why Furrow enjoyed nature. Why the life around him reacted to his presence. Why he needed to learn how to survive, and why he needed to learn how to write and draw. He would be living in the forest for the rest of his life. There were no cities for him, nothing. He had to survive on his own, and he would have no one to rely on but himself.
Then, it hit him like a rock. On the 13th cycle of his life, his Mother and Father handed Furrow a small pack with some basic necessities. Then, the hardest decision they could ever make came to pass. Furrow had learned everything that his parents could teach him and it was time for him to use that knowledge, and to learn more.
With the little necessities that he was given, Furrow was forced away from his parents by a pack of Wolves that lived around the Lake. Ever since, Furrow has been traveling the land, searching for answers of all the questions that come to his head. Like his mother told him; he writes everything down in his journal, and since he’s left, has filled two.
While on his travels, Furrow has also put down the important things onto his bow. With two lonely cycles under him, his bow isn’t to filled with stories. Yet he takes great pride in carving the stories of his past into the weapon. Even if he tells none of them. Furrow hopes that at some point, he can settle down in a small town, and hopefully find an Elven woman who was as sweet and gentle as his mother. And when he settles, he will probably tell the tales of his adventures to all of the little children. Whether they be Dwarf, Elf, Dragon, or anything in between... He hopes to share his story with every child... When peace finally settles on the land.
Other Characters:-None-
