Kizaark
Cold Blooded Inferno
General InformationName: Kizaark
Aliases: The Fallen Son
Age: 25
Species: Barabel
Force Sensitive: Yes
Force Alignment: Dark
Location of Birth: Barab I
Vocal Sample: Gears of War Kantus
Faction: N/A
Occupation: Hermit
Rank: N/A
Appearance
Height: Six foot five
Weight: Two hundred pounds
Physical Build: Muscular
Eye Color: Red
Scale Color: Black
Wounds: None
Physical Abnormalities: None
Unique Features: Faded Bite Marks [Torso]
Psychological Information
Sexuality: Asexual
Relationship Status: N/A
Morale: Zealous
Mental Health: Stubborn
Strengths & WeaknessesStrengths:
+Skilled Survivalist & Hunter
+Force Sensitive
+Adept Melee Warrior
+Racial Physical and Mental Attributes
+Keen Blacksmith
Weaknesses:
-Racial Physical and Mental Attributes
-Hot Headed
-Useless Marksman
-Non-Academic
-Stubborn
-Self-Outcast
Equipment Listing
x1 Handforged Basic Armor
x1 Handforged Hunting Blade
x1 Set of Hunting Spears
x1 Tamed Shenbit Bonecrusher
Force Abilities
Pending
Extra Information
Backstory: Upon the planet of Barab I, deep among the murky depths of the surface, a small group of Barabel, no more than a couple hundred, split off to form their own tribe, their own legacy. The nights were spent with the efforts to grow the tribe with offspring, following the traditions of their race, the egg nest was established, the two mothers and two fathers sitting as stalwart protectors of their new nest. With time, those offspring would become the next generation, being taught by their parents the culture of the Barabel and what would be expected of them. The future seemed bright for the new tribe, despite the harsh expectancy of their homeworld.
This assumption, however, would not come to fruition. Unknown to the tribe, they had settled their grounds too close to a Shenbit bonecrusher nest, the tribe came under attack by a pack of these fearsome predators and, whilst the tribe fought bravely, the lack of tools and an established defense left things in a state of chaos. Primal hunter against another and in confusion and several of the eggs being torn apart by the wild animals, a struggle between one breeding nest and a predator allowed a single egg to fall out of its resting place in the confusion, thanks to the geographical layout, it rolled away unnoticed, finding itself hidden away and, more importantly, alone.
This was not the end of this egg, however, for the in the days that followed, the egg shrouded in darkness hatched. A Barabel was brought into the world amidst a cold wind and shadow. With no mother to sustain itself off and no father to act as its guardian, the Barabel by all rights, should have been lost to the darkness and its name evaporated to the wind with not a soul to bare witness to its life. Something within this Barabel, however, was different. A will to survive; raw, primal instinct from the day it drew its first breath.
Days turned to weeks, to months, to years. The environment the Barabel grew up within was alone and in a hostile environment. The little one had to be quick to learn how to keep its claws deep into life, lest the jaws of nature were to tear it away. It almost did, at one time, a young predator coming upon the child and again, by all rights, the Barabel should have been killed and served as food for the young beast. Instead, the event despite leaving scars that would never truly fade would present the Barabel with a gift.
The young isolationist did not know what this power was, only that he was powerful, stronger than most; magic was his first assumption, even though he had no concept of such things. From that day onward, this connection to a higher power would simply be accepted by the Barabel as part of everyday life; assisting in hunting, general labor; a companion in times where there was nobody there but himself. He truly believed that he was alone on the surface of Barab I, the barren, murky land that he called his home, his hunting ground.
Things came full circle when the Barabel came across the tribal huts and grounds years later, the intended place of his birth. They looked just like him, his gut feeling telling him that they and him were one and the same yet a dark cloud hung over his mind. He was different to them, he grew up in the dark and by himself whereas his kin moved about and interacted with each others as friends, lovers, a community. The Barabel never had any such things. He didn't even have a name. After what seemed hours of watching from concealment, the Barabel slipped off back to the cave that he called his domain, nothing but questions to which he had nobody to ask them to. The implications of purpose left no effect on the Barabel, after all, he had nothing to aspire to, nothing to dream toward.
Some say that deep within the shadows of Barab I, living alone, the Fallen Son resides; living off the land and being the chief of his own 'tribe', the tribe of one.
Ship: No Ship
Kills: None
Notable Relations
Pending
Accolades
