Difference between revisions of "Rahje'ir Jinjahl"
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− | ! <div align="left"><div style="font-family:Georgia;"><font style="color:#000000; font-family:Georgia;font-size:10px"> '''[[Rhysa Verkoh]]'''</font> <font style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10px">'''(''' <font style="color:#c6c6c6;" size="3"> ●</font> ''')''' '''(''' PC ''')''' - '''Witty'''</font> | + | ! <div align="left"><div style="font-family:Georgia;"><font style="color:#000000; font-family:Georgia;font-size:10px"> '''[[Rhysa Verkoh]]'''</font> <font style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10px">'''(''' <font style="color:#c6c6c6;" size="3"> ●</font> ''')''' '''(''' PC ''')''' - '''Witty Cat'''</font> |
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| <div style="font-size:11px; font-family:Georgia">Another new acquaintance that Rahje'ir met at the Crown through Vasir'li by association with Teirra. While also very reserved, there was a quick wit about her and Rahje'ir found himself rather enjoying the conversations shared with the pair.</div> | | <div style="font-size:11px; font-family:Georgia">Another new acquaintance that Rahje'ir met at the Crown through Vasir'li by association with Teirra. While also very reserved, there was a quick wit about her and Rahje'ir found himself rather enjoying the conversations shared with the pair.</div> |
Revision as of 21:56, 6 August 2017
Rahje'ir Jinjahl "The Marksman" About
Height: 5 fulms 9 ilms Weight: 190 ponz Complexion: Ashen Hair: Raven black Eyes: Mauve This young man certainly was not subtle; he stood tall, slightly above average for his race and bore a frame that spoke volumes in regards to his training. Long and lean, he maintained a figure that could easily bear the weight of armor and while his posture indicated at least some knowledge in propriety, it often gave way to ease and informality in the blink of an eye. His was a youth hardened by experience, dark, ashen black flesh bore a series of scars and his vibrant mauve gaze maintained a certain level of scrutiny and suspicion. Deep, raven black locks framed his sharp, youthful features, haphazardly cut to en-shadow his eyes. There was a calm strength about him, a confidence that knew no bounds. He seemed to smile little, slow to camaraderie and laughter, though just as easily could be seen sharing a drink with his fellows, harboring the subtle hints of amusement that seemed so uncommonly rare. Dark leathers cling to his lean frame, fastened into place with multiple straps and belts criss-crossing here and there. The leather itself appears soft and supple, worn well over time and despite the close fit it seems to be comfortable, allowing for ease of movement. Beneath the leathers and over other portions of his body the faint sheen of scarring can be seen, ragged and telling. He was not one foreign to the sight of battle nor its pains and consequences. Found frequently in accompaniment to the man was a pair of blades, a longbow shaped of ebony and various other hidden effects. His most prized pair of blades were well detailed, and bore a sheen that spoke volumes of his dedication to care. Clearly of expert make the blades possessed an intricate series of carvings, and well placed gems. The longbow was equally just as exquisite, boasting detailed filigree and carvings upon the risers, bound with dark leathers about the grip. Few know the Miqo'te Ranger and fewer still know the truth of his origins. Rumor has it that he was discovered as an infant in the depths of the Black Shroud, the remnants of his clan left butchered around him. Whispers and suspicion were his company as he grew among the residents of Gridania and while he showed promise in the art of archery, he was never permitted instruction by the various Guilds that shaped the foundations of youth. Some rare few took sympathy upon the boy, while others expressly hindered him at every turn, daring him to challenge them and seal his fate. It was a long and arduous road that hardened him, enabled him as a young adult, to take on his own responsibilities and provide for the community that first sought to take upon them his burden. Time and again he was recruited as a tracker and scout, employed as a fail safe to move ahead of hunting parties, an expendable but reliable resource, and time and again he succeeded... until he did not. They say that bandits had fooled him, that a trap had been laid out before him and to which he fell prey. They say he did nothing at all, that it was his plan all along. A taste of bitter vengeance for his miserable existence. That he laid in wait, and watched as his fellows were cut down, slain in the dark of night. None dared to suggest that it was simply a mistake, that they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, not when so many lives had been lost. The boy from the shadows was stripped of his title, of his home and cast out by his peers, left to tread the depths the Shroud alone. Opportunity and circumstance lead him from the cover of the great canopy into the distant and relative unknown, traversing deserts and taking on simple tasks before he came to Ul'dah. In the city of fortune and blood, no one knew his name, they knew not of the rumors and whispers. There, he found a new sense of purpose and direction, met those who he might consider friends, but always in the back of his mind the thoughts lingered; of his past, of his failures and of those who had died because of him. He knew that he would never escape it, he would never truly move on, not until he learned the truth...
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