Legends of Belariath

Zhayr

Zhayr, a young man on an offbeat path. His story starts out in the brutal deserts of the dies clan. His lack of wishing to play and explore even as a child left him almost friendless till he was quite a bit older, a loner, a little bully who took what he wanted and often got into trouble for it. Unafraid of giving a peer a kick before taking his water, and even the parent of said child when he was being shouted at. This often led to many beatings for the young male. His father however saw the potential in the small boy and started conditioning from a young age, path of a warrior and hunter for the tribe and without his mother to try and nurture other aspects this became his life.

And so when morning lessons for the clan stopped his father ushered him off out into the sands of the desert and pushed him, made him run, lift and fight. These lessons beat it into him and moulding that attitude and physique of a finely tuned fighter before he had finished his early teens. This left the tall and broad figure of a young male almost alone in this word despite the close knitted nature of the clan, his aspect of survival to look after himself first, to push himself harder than those surrounding, and to push aside anything that would hold him back.

It was not till his 16th summer, and his father’s death and his first taking charge of a role of an adult before his coming of age. Hunting for himself, taking charge of his own needs. By the end of the summer earning his first kill, having the shaman of the tribe weave together his life band once more, that white with a single black strand now becoming twisted with a blue for his path of a warrior and a second strand for his fathers death before the final twists brought that tusk from his first kill.

Between this time and his coming of age he took up heavy physical training with the adults, and started mentoring some of the youth who wanted to become warriors and hunters, almost coaching them through growing fitness levels, moulding them as his father had him. Though his attitude often lead to more fights, disregarding those he saw as useless quickly, openly mocking them to their face and degrading them before their peers. It earned him a harsh reputation, but one for being honest and firm.

Upon his eighteenth summer he had his maturity band woven within the band, adding that layer of crimson to the mismatch of symbols that already adorned his flesh. And he also took upon a new role as well as that physical training, his mentality, that stern unyielding attitude had the head shaman wish to put him in charge of looking after the slaves, conditioning, and even on some runs helping break them in with the more educated people who carried out this task.

This life carried on for a little longer, before he would start to see the task as being to dull, there were always limits, rules from the clan, and when he was feeling particularly difficult moods he found more joy in breaking those rules than continuing his job there. Always he seemed to be making trouble, but never did he truly seem to care.

Not too long after this he decided to leave the tribe, to move on and find out what the rest of the world was like, if all of his kind were settled on the peace and balance of the shaman, or other people often enjoyed some of the let loose fun as himself. He travelled from the deserts, to the mountains, visiting all sorts of towns, camps and settlements. He never seemed satisfied, though he did enjoy the hustle and movement of larger towns, but often found most of the residents to be less fun than his original tribe.

Untill he found his way to Nanthalion, where the people seemed more adventurous, able to hold his attention somewhat longer, and soon he was finding work and getting to terms with the way here.

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