Dastan Tyrael

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Dastan Tyrael

Postby Dastan Tyrael on June 8th, 2010, 7:12 pm

Name: Daston Tyrael

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Basic Information

Race: Human (Benshira)
Birthday & Age : Summer 53rd, 486 AV (24 Years old)
Gender: Male

Physical Description: With tanned skin and the look of the wilds on him, it is clear to any who look at Dastan that he simply doesn't belong. His icy blue eyes seem to glance away from reality, and his messy brown locks flair in every direction. Daston's muscles betray his obvious health, though he does attempt to keep a low profile by clothing himself and even covering his face a good percentage of the time.

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He stands nearly five feet nine inches tall, not small though unimpressive in most respects. He weighs about one hundred and forty pounds.

Character Concept: Ousted from his society, Daston had little care for it to begin with. The rules and requirements for living in an establishment only ever served to annoy him, and he fashions himself a veritable anarchist.

Despite his overcompensating with independence, Daston is immensely lonely. He doesn't trust people and responds violently to people even suggesting what he should do. He wants to be able to trust someone, but for some reason, he just doesn't trust himself.


Character History: As a youth, Daston was the youngest son of an infamous criminal, a fact that was kept from him until he left the tents of his adoptive family. He searched out his elder brothers for four years, finding each to be less tolerable than the last.

His brother Elohim, second eldest knew him immediately. Daston wore the black slave's robes of their mother, a woman renown for her beauty throughout the desert. He stayed with Daston for a period of three months, teaching him something of "bringand's survival," the ability to live off of whatever he could for as long as possible. He also taught him to defend himself, showing Daston the martial use of the Gladius, a weapon their father
had used to cut his way to noteriety.

When Elohim left Daston in the night one dark summer's eve, the cold wind blew the slave's robes into the darkness and part of him seemed to fade from memory. Daston described it thus, "It was as if one moment I could visualize my mother's face, and the next it was as if I had never had a mother at all."

Determined to find where he had come from, Daston searched through the wilds day and night until he came upon a seemingly transient man who called himself Ephraim. He took Daston to his side out of pity, for the poor man looked half dead. Nursing the weak Daston to health, Ephraim slowly showed signs of recognition. Having been gifted Elohim's Gladius, Ephraim realized that this was, in fact, his youngest brother, the carrier of the family's broken honor.

In a heated rush, Ephraim lashed out at Daston, revealing the secret: their father had stolen away with what had never been his at all. The twin blades "Shihab" and "Anwar" had been sacred to a sect of Eypharians before they were stolen by their father, but they had not been used in combat since the days of the Valterrian. Considered to have been holy relics, they were all but the things of myth now, thought to have been lost to time.

Daston went toe to toe with his brother, falling behind with every step before the superior swordsman's technique. It was only a stroke of luck that saved him, or at least, that was how Daston explained it. "It was as if the Gods intervened," he said, "and it was my destiny to trip."

Inglorious though it was, the misstep threw Ephraim off of his game. Slamming onto his back with an 'oof,' Daston watched as his eldest brother tumbled overhim and landed on his neck. The horrific crack told Daston all he needed to know.

Dead on arrival. There was no light in Epharim's eyes, but they seemed to speak to Daston. He took the blade from his brother's dead hand and sheathed it, placing it on his side. He now had those two blades that were things of legend.

But what did one do with legendary blades? Daston had no real destiny, or at least, not one he was aware of. With no real destination in mind, Daston set off in search of the one person who could answer his questions.

Coming upon the city of Sunberth, a few years after Ephraim's death, he found the estate of an "Amir Tyrael." Estate was no kind of apt word for it, for it was more of a hovel. The grand thief his father had been had made no name for himself outside the desert.

Forcing his entry (which proved to be no feat), Daston scoured the small home until he found what he sought. Looking down at the pitiful, diseased form of Amir, his gaze hardened. There was no fight left in this man, and he had come here to die. The affliction, however, was not natural. Inquiring about the disease brought a harsh truth to light. Daston's father had been cursed for stealing the blades. The priesthood of the Epharian nobility had been hounding his waking steps and his dreams both since that day.

Daston's father looked up at him desperately, pleading with him to end his sorrowful existence. Not at all what Daston had expected, he found himself sick at the thought. This man had given him nothing short of a difficult life, and he felt he owed him no favors.

The greatest conflict for Daston was letting go. Making the distinction. His father meant to give him a good life, to seperate his family in order to preserve it. So Daston had to know.

"What is it that I must do, father?" Amir's eyes lit up as he smiled his last smile, tears streaming down his face.

"My son, you are the last of our dying breed. Only you can restore our honor, and only you can find out how that must be done. I sealed our fate, but in so doing, I gave you the tools to forge a new one. Fight for what you believe in, and you will surely bring victory to that cause."

With those words, Amir closed his eyes and bit into his tongue. He screamed in agony, but did not stop. In that instant, Daston ended his life. It had become the only thing that Daston could conceive as right given the circumstance.

Leaving Sunberth as quickly as he had come, He found himself on the road. For a few years he wandered, honing his blades as a swordsman, taking what jobs he was offered and avoiding the desert altogether. In the Summer of 510 AV, he has found himself wandering near Syliras...

Training (Skills, Arcana, Gnosis, Lore)

Gladius- 30 (15 Starting Package, 15 Racial Bonus)
Dual Wield- 10 (10 Starting Package)
Acrobatics- 10 (10 Starting package)
Disguise- 5 (5 Starting Package)
Running- 10 (10 Starting Package)


Equipment and Possessions
1 Set of Clothing (cloak/coat & footwear included)
1 Waterskin
1 Backpack which contains:
1 Set of Toiletries (comb, brush, razor, soap)
Food for a week
1 eating knife
Flint & Steel

Heirloom: "Shihab" and "Anwar," the "Desert Twins"
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Ledger
595 Gold Mizas 8 Silver Mizas
(Staring Package, Cashed in housing)

(-1 SM) Cotton Pants
(-5 GM) Silk Sash
(-1 SM) Linen Shirt
(-8 GM) 2 Scabbards

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Dastan Tyrael
I'm not a player, I just crush alot.
 
Posts: 15
Words: 9295
Joined roleplay: June 8th, 2010, 2:37 am
Race: Human, Benshira
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