E'vahn Nunh

"Not for ourselves alone." - Latin motto E'vahn Nunh - Wiki WIP Scarred Swordsman Nunh of the Burning Wall Most Honest of Masked Men™ BACKSTORYRECENTAPPEARANCEPERSONALITYRELATIONSHIPSRUMORS / RP HOOKSOOC The first and only child born to E'zehla Yarel, one of the few menders of the Eft of the Burning Wall, E'vahn's youth was shaped beneath the Thanalan sun, hunting among the cliffs and rocks of his tribe's ancestral territories. Fiery and outspoken, he was among the most vocal of the Tia in the tribe: when stepping away from his practice with the blade and from the cliffs of his favored hunting grounds, the young Tia was one of the faces of the Eft's next generation beside a young E'kalani Malha. 'Was' being the key word, as an era of the Eft fell with Dalamud itself: a swath of their hunting grounds and the life of one of their nunhs wiped out in an instant, and with them any sense of certainty of what would come next. Amidst the dwindling numbers of their tribe and the tightening grip of E'malha, the tribe's remaining nunh, and the fear of a tomorrow unknown, Vahn challenged the reigning leader of the Eft. Vahn lost, badly, his own stubbornness resulting in injuries that should well have killed him, and instead marred his face and voice for life. Having lost his challenge - and nearly his voice along with his looks - the Tia left the tribe in disgrace to brave the wider world. Donning a mask to hide his shame as he drifted through Thanalan, the quiet Seeker found his way, as many do, to the grand city of Ul'dah, where for some three years he lost himself to the constant training and fighting of a gladiator's life, learning the use of longer blades for the arena's more open battlefield, and honing his talents to a more dangerous skill. It was there that he fell in with an aspiring and ambitious gladiator, one Destry Barlow, Vahn's growing stoicism and trouble speaking seeming to do little in swaying the other man's fascination with the tribal Miqo'te. In return, Barlow served as one of E'vahn's few connections to the wider world beyond the tribe and beyond the arena's walls: helping him take his first fumbling steps to learning his letters, and teaching him the lay of the land in 'civilized' society. Vahn spoke of Eft and their stories, when he could, in exchange, and when he could not he made up for it in providing his services as training partner (and oft-silent recipient of Barlow's love to talk). With the passing of moons and years, though, E'vahn's path beyond the boundaries of Eft would take him beyond the bloodsands: eventually leaving behind his work as a gladiator, the Tia drifted almost aimlessly at first, struggling for some purpose beyond constant practice. With the work of mercenaries and adventurers never in short supply in Ul'dah, the masked Miqo'te became a sellsword adventurer, establishing a reputation for his own personal brand of quiet professionalism. Losing himself to the oblivion of little things, his life was one of countless rituals to keep himself consistently busy: to rise to practice, to leave for work, to return and tend to every piece of his equipment. To rest, and rise again to repeat the same thing each day. When there was not work, he would travel until there was, and when he found himself traveling far, he would find new things to practice: picking up new techniques and styles of swordsmanship, and learning the usefulness of armor against the foes that an adventurer may well come to cross. Finding his distraction in the form of the work he had come to pursue, the sellsword may well have never seen (or heard from) his tribe again, were it not for a chance encounter on La Noscean soil as the sellsword traveled by foot toward Limsa Lominsa... Within the passage of the last few moons, E'vahn has returned to the tribe of the Eft, determined to work toward providing some sense of stability in the wake of the prior nunh's abrupt disappearance. With the strength to defeat several challengers, he has taken on the mantle of nunh himself, working to avert his tribe from a downward spiral. His leadership is a tenuous thing, filled with further uncertainty and in the wake of years' worth of scorn upon his shoulders. Vahn, perhaps, is among the very first of those to view his position as a temporary affair: he is nothing if not a dutiful soul, and as eager as he would be to leave the tribe behind once again, well. Fate is not always so kind, and so he remains. With the infrequent visits of Kalani one of his sole lifelines to the outside world, Vahn has found himself mired in the struggles of a tribe too used to their fall and too stubborn to admit to it. Of late, with the trials and struggles of those he calls friends weighing unspoken in his mind, he sets his eye to the Burning Wall, hoping that the source of the Eft's failing might well become their saving grace. Standing some five feet, eight inches tall, E'vahn has the wiry frame typical to most Miqo'te men, compact and densely muscled with little fat to spare. With a ruin of scars often hidden by a selection of plain scarves, bandanas, and masks, the most readily apparent of his facial features are his eyes: a cold hue of pale blue that often matches the man's quiet intensity. His hair is greying prematurely, a trend that starts at his head and works its way down the length of a short-haired tail, averted by the tuft of stark black that hints at his hair's once-raven color. When outside of armor, E'vahn favors understated colors: dark browns and faded blues are in abundance with his wardrobe, as are shades of black and grey. Often dressing lightly, for easy motion and travel-ready clothing, the Seeker is still never without some form of protection, favoring at the very least armored gauntlets and greaves in his day to day travels. Rarely, if ever, unarmed, he often carries a plain longsword at his side, guard scarred with use and the handle worn down and replaced more than once with his constant practice. While much of his attire is as worn as the man himself, it is all painstakingly maintained and well-mended. He does not favor much in the way of accessories, but he often wears a pair of plain horn earrings, gleaming with age and their constant handling. Vahn, though arguably an extroverted sort, suffers from old injuries that make it difficult for him to speak loudly or at length. Words become easily jumbled and rough when formed by the painful rasp of his tongue, and in the wake of this he has become a quieter creature of almost forced introspection. Stoic and stolid, he has a stubborn steak a malm deep, not budging an ilm once he sets his foot down or gets an idea in his head. Resolutely honest, falsehoods are a facet of life he struggles with, and practices rarely. While some mistake his silence for a dour disposition, in truth those that he struggles enough to speak with at length will often discover a wit dry as desert sands, and rare smiles hidden behind his mask. Observant and contemplative, the Seeker misses little within the range of his (at times narrow) focus, and when in pursuit of a goal there is an intensity and drive to the man that can't be ignored. Uncompromisingly loyal more often than not, Vahn is nothing if not dutiful, tackling the tasks assigned him (or those he assigns to himself) with vim, vigor, and a tireless work ethic, and those that he trusts he will defend to his last. With a moral compass almost tragically well-developed when put beside his lack of tact, the Seeker has had more than one clash with those acting out of accordance with his beliefs, or those he perceives as harmful to the people he seeks to protect. Vahn himself is scarcely always right, however, often viewing things through a black and white scope, or through the filter of his tribe and his own beliefs. Mix that with his stubbornness and you have, at times, a volatile mixture. Hardly a fool for all his lack of academic schooling, Vahn's realms of interest are sadly scattered and often physical: not a scholar in the slightest, he's far more interested in the arts martial, in the make of a good tool, the balance and composition of weapons, and the more physical sorts of art that come with hands-on work. All the same, in his quiet he has found almost too much room for thinking: the benefit perhaps of having to choose his words. 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