Dumah'razael (WIP)
Posted: Tue Jul 08, 2014 11:39 pm
**This character is still a work-in-progress, but I thought I'd post what I've got and get some feedback on what you guys think.**
Name: Dumah’razael
Alias(es): Dumah Magebane
Age: 43
Race: Ra’zoul
Height: 6 ft. 4 in.
Weight: 220 lbs.
==Physical Description==
As one born of a race of barbarian reavers, Dumah’razael looks every bit the savage that he is. A tall man of a muscular and athletic build, Dumah’s most distinctive feature is the coppery-red skin common to all his people, along with the large goat-like horns which sprout from his forehead, and the strange tentacle-like growths which dangle from his chin, granting him a sinister alien look to those unfamiliar with his people. His face and body is marred by the scars of many battles, and his copper eyes shine with a certain animal cunning most civilized people lack. He keeps his shaggy brown hair cut even with his neck and wears a patchwork suit piece-mail fashioned from armors collected throughout his many travels.
==Possessions==
==Powers or Strengths==
Live off the Land – In the wilds of Sahuli he learned how to make do what little he has and not to worry about what he does not. He is a skilled hunter and tracker, and is well versed in arts of survival.
==Weaknesses==
Moth’akiri – Loosely translated it means “Devil Child”, and usually refers to one not born of a legitimate union. It is unknown how the Ra’zoul recognize Moth’akiri, weather it is by some subtle physical characteristic unnoticed by all save their own kind, by smell, or by some other form of extrasensory perception. Whatever the case, others of his race tend to respond to Dumah’razael negatively, although how negatively tends to vary. Some are merely distrustful, while some others regard him with bitter distain, and others still respond with outright hostility, often resulting in violence.
==History==
The red-skinned Ra’zoul are a race of semi-nomadic warriors and one of many little known non-human species populating the island continent of Sahuli. These sophisticated barbarian beast peoples are noted for their unshakeable courage in war, unyielding endurance in hardship, and fierce loyalty to those they call their friends. Although they are mostly human in appearance, the males of the species tend to sport large, curving, ram-like horns, which sprout from their foreheads in early adolescence, causing many throughout Pal Tahrenor to mistake them for demons.
Consisting of a clannish tribal-based society, war among the Ra’zoul is quite common, usually resulting when one clan encroaches upon the territory of another or when one clan boasts a lager female population than the rest. A patriarchal society, the chieftain is the only one permitted to mate. All the females of the clan are either his daughters or his wives, the males his sons. The chief’s mother always becomes the Ra’zhan (fire-talker) a priestess serving as a sort of spiritual advisor to the clan, speaking the will their gods. When a chieftain grows too old, his sons will challenge both him and each other for the right to rule, the contest only ending once strongest has slain all the rest.
Dumah’razael is the exception to the all the rules, born not from the loins of the chieftain, but of incest between a brother and a sister, the chief’s son and daughter. When their crime was discovered, the chief slew his traitor son and drove his daughter from the village. Alone, the girl fled into the wilds, her infant son at her breasts. For ten long years she would raise him alone in the wildness, away from the prying eyes of man and man-beast, every day a constant struggle for survival, then one day they were discovered by hunters from a nearby human village.
Now Dumah’s mother was young on the day of his birth, only fourteen years of age and very comely in appearance. Ten years later she was twenty-four years and her beauty had only grown, accentuated by her rugged wild nature. One of the hunters, a stout young man by the name of Kalti, saw her beauty and loved her. He brought the woman and her son back with him when they returned to the village, where he took her as his as his wife and raised Dumah as though he were his own son.
Among Kalti’s people, life was good for young Dumah’razael and his mother; she spent her time with the women, gathering wild herbs and berries; while he was taught by the men the ways of the hunter and the ways of the warrior. From them he to fight with knives and clubs made of animal bone, stone-tipped spears, as well as the proper use of the boomerang.
In time, Kalti and his wife brought forth a child of their own into the world, a baby girl whom they named Koorine, meaning Daughter. Everything changed for Dumah after that, his mother was now too busy caring for her infant to be bothered with him and Kalti seemed to care more for the girl than for him because she was the child of his own loins.
Adolescence is by no means easy for any species, regardless of one’s gender, but for young Ra’zoul males, it is especially painful. Disregarding the fact that there is now a pair of painfully sharp horns starting to grow from one’s thirteen-year-old forehead, one is forced to confront the violent rages and near-constant urge to kill that comes with being born of a race of warriors. Heightened aggression, violent mood swings, an almost uncontrollable urge to mate, all are hallmarks of the Ra’zoul in puberty, known to them as Sko’r.
It was doubly bad for young Dumah, who not only had to endure the rigors of Sko’r, but also the physical and mental impairments that are almost assured when one’s mother and father happen to have been brother and sister. It is perhaps then no small wonder when, at the age of sixteen, Dumah’razael, in a fit of unprovoked rage, nearly beat a fellow hunter to death, and soon after that, attacked an elder over a perceived slur against his heritage. These, along with many instances like them, eventually lead his being exiled from the village, forced to flee back into wilds from a mob of angry villagers.
Angry and alone for the first time in his decidedly short life span, Dumah’razael did the only thing he could think do to do. He went home.
Striding through the makeshift gates of Gor-Gorah, the desert stronghold of his mother’s tribe, the people were amazed to see a tall, handsome youth, devoid of the ritual tattoos common to a warrior of the Ra’zoul. Strong in his pride and proud in his strength, Dumah’razael took a spear from a nearby weapons rack and marched boldly towards the chieftain’s throne there in the courtyard, thrusting the shaft into the earth and bowing low on one knee for all to see.
“Who is this?” The old chief growled in the guttural language of the Ra’zoul. “To come so boldly into *MY* proud fortress?”
“I am Dumah’razael!” the stranger replied, looking the chief square in his blazing red eyes.
“Son of a Son wrongly slain, and of a Daughter wrongly exiled!”
“So...” Said the chieftain laughing. “The Moth’akiri returns. What is it you seek, Moth’akiri? Come to die like your father? Or do you seek the right to join this clan?”
Rising to his feet, Dumah took his spear in his hand and raised it high above his head.
“I am Dumah’razael, Son of Bael’razael!” He cried loudly, that all might hear him. “I challenge here and now, in the sight of gods and men, my grandfather and all my uncles for the right lead this clan!”
All was silent for a time, then the chieftain took his own weapon, a massive warclub resting against the arm of his throne, and rose slowly to his feet.
“It is rare...” The old warrior said solemnly. “...that a chieftain should meet his grandson, and rarer still that he should face him for the right to rule.”
He gave a weary sigh.
“I loved your father, boy.” He said. “Much as any man should love his son, and for all that love, he betrayed me when he took your mother, his sister, *MY* daughter, to wife.”
He stepped forward.
“I will fight you, Moth’akiri. I will fight you, but only on one condition, that it is *ONLY* you and I that fight. Man against man, strength against strength. Whoever wins that contest will be chieftain, though your uncles may challenge the victor if they so choose. What say you?”
Dumah’razael gave a nod in agreement and dropped into a fighting stance, his spear at the ready.
Needless to say, the chieftain did not win that fight, nor did any of his uncles. Dumah’razael slaughtered them all, tearing out their throats with his bare hands, carving their hearts from their chests, and leaving their bodies in a broken, bloody heap.
He would then go on to rule Gor-Gorah for many years, though in time he would grow bored, and late one night, he would simply vanish, with no one the wiser as to where he had gone. Little is known of exploits during his sojourn across the wastes of Sahuli; however it is known that his travels would in eventually take him far from those shores, to the Thar of Shaddin and the city of Marn.
Name: Dumah’razael
Alias(es): Dumah Magebane
Age: 43
Race: Ra’zoul
Height: 6 ft. 4 in.
Weight: 220 lbs.
==Physical Description==
As one born of a race of barbarian reavers, Dumah’razael looks every bit the savage that he is. A tall man of a muscular and athletic build, Dumah’s most distinctive feature is the coppery-red skin common to all his people, along with the large goat-like horns which sprout from his forehead, and the strange tentacle-like growths which dangle from his chin, granting him a sinister alien look to those unfamiliar with his people. His face and body is marred by the scars of many battles, and his copper eyes shine with a certain animal cunning most civilized people lack. He keeps his shaggy brown hair cut even with his neck and wears a patchwork suit piece-mail fashioned from armors collected throughout his many travels.
==Possessions==
==Powers or Strengths==
Live off the Land – In the wilds of Sahuli he learned how to make do what little he has and not to worry about what he does not. He is a skilled hunter and tracker, and is well versed in arts of survival.
==Weaknesses==
Moth’akiri – Loosely translated it means “Devil Child”, and usually refers to one not born of a legitimate union. It is unknown how the Ra’zoul recognize Moth’akiri, weather it is by some subtle physical characteristic unnoticed by all save their own kind, by smell, or by some other form of extrasensory perception. Whatever the case, others of his race tend to respond to Dumah’razael negatively, although how negatively tends to vary. Some are merely distrustful, while some others regard him with bitter distain, and others still respond with outright hostility, often resulting in violence.
==History==
The red-skinned Ra’zoul are a race of semi-nomadic warriors and one of many little known non-human species populating the island continent of Sahuli. These sophisticated barbarian beast peoples are noted for their unshakeable courage in war, unyielding endurance in hardship, and fierce loyalty to those they call their friends. Although they are mostly human in appearance, the males of the species tend to sport large, curving, ram-like horns, which sprout from their foreheads in early adolescence, causing many throughout Pal Tahrenor to mistake them for demons.
Consisting of a clannish tribal-based society, war among the Ra’zoul is quite common, usually resulting when one clan encroaches upon the territory of another or when one clan boasts a lager female population than the rest. A patriarchal society, the chieftain is the only one permitted to mate. All the females of the clan are either his daughters or his wives, the males his sons. The chief’s mother always becomes the Ra’zhan (fire-talker) a priestess serving as a sort of spiritual advisor to the clan, speaking the will their gods. When a chieftain grows too old, his sons will challenge both him and each other for the right to rule, the contest only ending once strongest has slain all the rest.
Dumah’razael is the exception to the all the rules, born not from the loins of the chieftain, but of incest between a brother and a sister, the chief’s son and daughter. When their crime was discovered, the chief slew his traitor son and drove his daughter from the village. Alone, the girl fled into the wilds, her infant son at her breasts. For ten long years she would raise him alone in the wildness, away from the prying eyes of man and man-beast, every day a constant struggle for survival, then one day they were discovered by hunters from a nearby human village.
Now Dumah’s mother was young on the day of his birth, only fourteen years of age and very comely in appearance. Ten years later she was twenty-four years and her beauty had only grown, accentuated by her rugged wild nature. One of the hunters, a stout young man by the name of Kalti, saw her beauty and loved her. He brought the woman and her son back with him when they returned to the village, where he took her as his as his wife and raised Dumah as though he were his own son.
Among Kalti’s people, life was good for young Dumah’razael and his mother; she spent her time with the women, gathering wild herbs and berries; while he was taught by the men the ways of the hunter and the ways of the warrior. From them he to fight with knives and clubs made of animal bone, stone-tipped spears, as well as the proper use of the boomerang.
In time, Kalti and his wife brought forth a child of their own into the world, a baby girl whom they named Koorine, meaning Daughter. Everything changed for Dumah after that, his mother was now too busy caring for her infant to be bothered with him and Kalti seemed to care more for the girl than for him because she was the child of his own loins.
Adolescence is by no means easy for any species, regardless of one’s gender, but for young Ra’zoul males, it is especially painful. Disregarding the fact that there is now a pair of painfully sharp horns starting to grow from one’s thirteen-year-old forehead, one is forced to confront the violent rages and near-constant urge to kill that comes with being born of a race of warriors. Heightened aggression, violent mood swings, an almost uncontrollable urge to mate, all are hallmarks of the Ra’zoul in puberty, known to them as Sko’r.
It was doubly bad for young Dumah, who not only had to endure the rigors of Sko’r, but also the physical and mental impairments that are almost assured when one’s mother and father happen to have been brother and sister. It is perhaps then no small wonder when, at the age of sixteen, Dumah’razael, in a fit of unprovoked rage, nearly beat a fellow hunter to death, and soon after that, attacked an elder over a perceived slur against his heritage. These, along with many instances like them, eventually lead his being exiled from the village, forced to flee back into wilds from a mob of angry villagers.
Angry and alone for the first time in his decidedly short life span, Dumah’razael did the only thing he could think do to do. He went home.
Striding through the makeshift gates of Gor-Gorah, the desert stronghold of his mother’s tribe, the people were amazed to see a tall, handsome youth, devoid of the ritual tattoos common to a warrior of the Ra’zoul. Strong in his pride and proud in his strength, Dumah’razael took a spear from a nearby weapons rack and marched boldly towards the chieftain’s throne there in the courtyard, thrusting the shaft into the earth and bowing low on one knee for all to see.
“Who is this?” The old chief growled in the guttural language of the Ra’zoul. “To come so boldly into *MY* proud fortress?”
“I am Dumah’razael!” the stranger replied, looking the chief square in his blazing red eyes.
“Son of a Son wrongly slain, and of a Daughter wrongly exiled!”
“So...” Said the chieftain laughing. “The Moth’akiri returns. What is it you seek, Moth’akiri? Come to die like your father? Or do you seek the right to join this clan?”
Rising to his feet, Dumah took his spear in his hand and raised it high above his head.
“I am Dumah’razael, Son of Bael’razael!” He cried loudly, that all might hear him. “I challenge here and now, in the sight of gods and men, my grandfather and all my uncles for the right lead this clan!”
All was silent for a time, then the chieftain took his own weapon, a massive warclub resting against the arm of his throne, and rose slowly to his feet.
“It is rare...” The old warrior said solemnly. “...that a chieftain should meet his grandson, and rarer still that he should face him for the right to rule.”
He gave a weary sigh.
“I loved your father, boy.” He said. “Much as any man should love his son, and for all that love, he betrayed me when he took your mother, his sister, *MY* daughter, to wife.”
He stepped forward.
“I will fight you, Moth’akiri. I will fight you, but only on one condition, that it is *ONLY* you and I that fight. Man against man, strength against strength. Whoever wins that contest will be chieftain, though your uncles may challenge the victor if they so choose. What say you?”
Dumah’razael gave a nod in agreement and dropped into a fighting stance, his spear at the ready.
Needless to say, the chieftain did not win that fight, nor did any of his uncles. Dumah’razael slaughtered them all, tearing out their throats with his bare hands, carving their hearts from their chests, and leaving their bodies in a broken, bloody heap.
He would then go on to rule Gor-Gorah for many years, though in time he would grow bored, and late one night, he would simply vanish, with no one the wiser as to where he had gone. Little is known of exploits during his sojourn across the wastes of Sahuli; however it is known that his travels would in eventually take him far from those shores, to the Thar of Shaddin and the city of Marn.