Post by Itanecrio on Mar 16, 2010 4:55:43 GMT -5
secret word:PMed for Itan Ecrio
Name:Itan Ecrio
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Race: Na'vi
Tribe: Tuyeteira
Mount: (OOC. it is my intent to write finding a mount in-character. So at the point in time I introduce my character, he has none.)
Physical Description:
Itan is large and physically imposing, even amongst his own people, standing a rock-solid three and a half meters. Rather than bearing himself as if this prowess granted him an advantage, Itan seems ever so self-conscious in this regard. In public he unconsciously adopts a stoop, as if to level himself with others, his choice of words kept gentle, his tone of voice free of aggression. He often tries to soften his demeanour and appearance with gentle hand-guestures. His physical supremacy is indeed humbled by a societal disadvantage due to his personality.
Well suited to the extreme cold, Itan's chest is far deeper than might be found elsewhere amongst Na'vi, with a vast lung capacity. His face densely featured, with especially flat cheek bones, nose wide and flat, with particularly long eye lashes; all of these qualities makes Itan more resilient in the extreme cold of his homeland.
Where more diminutive Na'vi -even within his own Clan- rely on their litheness, Itan's physique is one of setting his feet squarely. While he is capable of feats of flexibility and acrobatics, perhaps his sheer power and bulk sacrifices much in terms of elegance. To address endurance: Itan's tenacity is incredible even within his own clan. His willingness to face down mighty foes, even when injured, has made many mighty beasts his conquered prey. Brute force out in the field of the hunt suits Itan well because of it's purity and lack of complexity. Though his personal philosophy is by no means a Clan personality trait, Itan sees matters in terms of definite polarity: black and white.
Itan has excelled in the craft of tannery, an odourous and distasteful trade that few arer drawn to. Dealing with the hides and offal of the hunters is not the most glamourous of pursuits -but Itan consoles himself due to the great need he sees in it. Having access to a vast extent of off-cuts and flawed pelts and hides, Itan garbs himself in a mixture of the seasonal pelts, hand corded together much like a suit of scale-armour, a rigorous pattern of painstakingly fur lined and tooled scales in every hue from brown through black and white -a camouflage which lends his considerable bulk a greater advantage
Personality:
Itan's self consciousness about his brute appearance has made him very eager to serve, especially where the cause is clear, and the need great. Though as a working member of the clan his sense of duty is coloured with a rich private life of daydreams. The trade of the tanner gives him more room to be left to his own devices -for few will brave the area set well aside from the communal halls where he carries out his work.
When his hands are busy, Itan's mind is freed. Though he has only heard stories related of the forests, plains and oceans, Itan's heart swims and leaps through those wildernesses he intuitively perceives.
His brute appearance, coupled with his inclination to daydream justifies the perception in others that he is less than bright. And few hold his trade with respect.
Itan's sense of penance for being a day-dreamer further isolates him from other's, as if being the tanner was not disadvantage enough. Perhaps because of his sense of guilt for daydreaming, and need to seek a bond with something -he is especially sensitive to the issue, and any presence he might divine of Eywa.
The one great sadness his beloved homeland has made for him is the relative isolation he feels from Eywa as a result of the relative lack of density of life. And dealing so constantly with charnal and offal, rather than seeing the creatures wild and free exaggerates this feeling.
Itan has all the makings of a worthy Tuyeterian-male, and none would now gainsay him if he elected to step aside from his lot acting in the tannery.
Over time Itan could ascend to the second highest in the Harem-order of one of the She-Peers, espceially since much of his mood and distance has been somewhat claused by his youth. There is certainly still the possibility that Itan's aloofness is something he will grow out of. That in time he will set his determination on higher goals, real goals.
As a harem-suitor he has the requisite sensitivity, which could be groomed into a charisma to smooth and sway the people and the prowess physically to garner their respect.
But the greatest detraction is his reputation as a daydreamer, this quality alone makes him unsuitable as the alpha-male of any harem. This, and the fact that none in the clan have any doubt that he would -no sooner than he felt he could- take the reckless pilgrimage to the Tree Of Souls if only to sense Eywa for a single moment. No Peer of the females would invest her energy or reputation into him until this issue had been addresses, or his attention and loyalty somehow made clear.
In the mean time Itan has kept busy, quietly in the background, and has tried to keep up appearances to save his dignity. Certainly the quality of such leathers and hides he has produced is uncommonly high -fetching a superior price in trade.
But where at first Itan lived his unassuming life willingly, out of his deep-rooted respect and love for his clan, the more time that passes, the more he realises he is living a lie -as if his physical life was somehow less important than his spiritual, daydreaming, life.
History:
A brief dissertation of Itan Ecrio's name -in formal Na'vi.
eyktan ['ɛjk.tan] n. Leader
ngay [ŋaj] adj. True
kllfriyo' [kl:.'fri.jo] v,c. Be responsible
I have lenited Eyktan'ngay'kllfriyo to "Itan Efrio"
Named "Truly Dutiful Guide of the People" at birth, a folk-prophecy that he would be an interpreter of Eywa's will, it is easy in retrospect to see why Itan's life would result in extensive pilgrimage. But from birth, Itan began to concern and confound his elders. It seemed as if Itan was never going to develop the skill of crawling, when suddenly he seemed to be walking; this was also true of his powers of speech. From scarcely making a sound, Itan then began to speak with some complexity; as if he had been practising where none could observe his early –flawed- attempts, or as if the knowledge suddenly passed to him. All of this seemed to credit the rumour that Itan was bonded more intimately with Eywa. And certainly in his capacity to radiate a stolid serenity in the face of all that was set before him.
But stroke by stroke, as Itan began to receded and withdraw from normal society, indeed even as he had done before he spoke or walked, this early hope in his fate began to fail. Seeming positively reclusive by this stage, stepping into the role as Renderer and Tanner was indeed the greatest blow to what remained of Itan’s reputation –given that this was a role performed either in penance, or by those with such disabilities that they were incapable of carrying out any less gruesome and odorous duty. But Itan’s father watched him, saw the brooding intensity in his son, as he had seen exhibited before Itan made some astounding leap of ability. Though what link Itan might be intuitively trying to forge with Eywa, even his father could not guess.
This next great leap would begin with the sudden announcement that he was going into exile, to see his dreams in the flesh, so that one day he might be free of the distraction of them, an act which would again confound, but not fail to impress his elders.
In the fleeting years before he hefted his pack, he would relate before the She-Peers and the Council, Itan felt he knew that his fate was narrowing to this single path.
Somehow he was blind to the manifestation of Eywa in the arctic -and for one so devoutly motivated by the experience of his unity with Eywa's balance, it could only be a matter of time before he sought where indeed he would fit.
RP Sample:
Itan leaned heavily against his father's hands, who expertly rubbed coarse salts into the tight muscles of his son's shoulders. The sauna hissed and sighed with the sound of dripping water hitting the stones of the brazier, and of the billowing steam seeking the gap beneath the pelt-door.
His father clicked his tongue in mild admonition. "You must learn to let your body work with the cold. You struggle against it, even still. There is a balance my son, between cold and heat; even as there is a balance between desolation, and the abundance of our lands."
While his father spoke, Itan knew that one aspect of his character was listening, and hearing. The other wandered through fantasies of lush woodlands, and light-mingled forests. He imagined the dry mineral tang of grasslands that spread from horizon to horizon, and the effortless communion between mount and rider.
"Itan? Are you listening to me?"
"Certainly father!" Itan rolled his shoulders as if to test the effect of the treatment his father bestowed. "You were saying that here, where life is spread so thin, one must attune oneself to the bright light of that life, to see the stars -and not to allow the darkness to hold sway."
Itan's father returned to his ministrations, working the deep-rooted knots of his son's musculature. "Truly. Imagine how much more of a challenge attuning oneself to Eywa is, in practise, in the deeps of her mightiest forest! Where every minuscule living thing screams with energy and purpose."
Itan made a noise, if only to keep his father talking. For when his father's tongue worked, at least his hands did so too, Itan looked up, feeling the sudden pressure of a chill air, to see his mother. She looked at him perceptively, and dropped the pelt back in place. Itan paid attention to his father in earnest afterwards, knowing his mother had intuited his somewhat disrespectful attention level.
Standing beside his mother, with no sound between them but that of his knife against the chopping-board, Itan felt himself shrinking away from the searing intensity of her silence.
His mother, a mighty huntress, needed to say nothing for an entire meeting-hall to writhe beneath the weight of her displeasure, let alone the private kitchen of the Long Hall. She needed no extensive dissertation, nor was she even angry. That was the worst of it. She was disappointed. For surely Itan's complacency had ruled him out of the contention for the harem of the Tsahik's heir apparent. He had missed the hour of presentation entirely, nine days out into the ice-floes hunting water-beasts.
It was no accident, resultantly, that Itan had snared a brace of the his mother's favourite prey, still too young to take to wing, and tender. Braised slowly with diligent basting, the saltiness of the flesh would dissipate, leaving an enduring savouriness, with a flaky texture of the flesh that was his mother's favourite -and which it was widely accepted- Itan prepared best of all the Tuyetieran males.
At length Itan could ignore the boring pressure of his mother's eyes no longer. He looked up, his eyes hardly daring to meet hers.
"You flaunt that I have borne no daughter." She called out his behaviour. "Of your own self-service, your unfathomable penance, your willingness to cower in the tannery than stand and be counted! You cast a long shadow of doubt against me. You are due for consideration to be arraigned into the Harem, and yet you conduct yourself as if you desire contempt. What say you?"
Itan felt the powerful desire to hang his head, to say as many apologies as was required to sway a pardon. This time was different. The affection was gone from his mother's tone. His final pardon was gone. He had been on borrowed time for a half dozen instances of his behaviour. "I have made something. Something I think I will need, and keep with me many long seasons." He said.
His mother nodded, slowly, with resignation.
Itan held up the pack he had wrought. They shared an expression that said all that needed relating. He was leaving, in gratitude, and he hoped to have his people's blessing.
Name:Itan Ecrio
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Race: Na'vi
Tribe: Tuyeteira
Mount: (OOC. it is my intent to write finding a mount in-character. So at the point in time I introduce my character, he has none.)
Physical Description:
Itan is large and physically imposing, even amongst his own people, standing a rock-solid three and a half meters. Rather than bearing himself as if this prowess granted him an advantage, Itan seems ever so self-conscious in this regard. In public he unconsciously adopts a stoop, as if to level himself with others, his choice of words kept gentle, his tone of voice free of aggression. He often tries to soften his demeanour and appearance with gentle hand-guestures. His physical supremacy is indeed humbled by a societal disadvantage due to his personality.
Well suited to the extreme cold, Itan's chest is far deeper than might be found elsewhere amongst Na'vi, with a vast lung capacity. His face densely featured, with especially flat cheek bones, nose wide and flat, with particularly long eye lashes; all of these qualities makes Itan more resilient in the extreme cold of his homeland.
Where more diminutive Na'vi -even within his own Clan- rely on their litheness, Itan's physique is one of setting his feet squarely. While he is capable of feats of flexibility and acrobatics, perhaps his sheer power and bulk sacrifices much in terms of elegance. To address endurance: Itan's tenacity is incredible even within his own clan. His willingness to face down mighty foes, even when injured, has made many mighty beasts his conquered prey. Brute force out in the field of the hunt suits Itan well because of it's purity and lack of complexity. Though his personal philosophy is by no means a Clan personality trait, Itan sees matters in terms of definite polarity: black and white.
Itan has excelled in the craft of tannery, an odourous and distasteful trade that few arer drawn to. Dealing with the hides and offal of the hunters is not the most glamourous of pursuits -but Itan consoles himself due to the great need he sees in it. Having access to a vast extent of off-cuts and flawed pelts and hides, Itan garbs himself in a mixture of the seasonal pelts, hand corded together much like a suit of scale-armour, a rigorous pattern of painstakingly fur lined and tooled scales in every hue from brown through black and white -a camouflage which lends his considerable bulk a greater advantage
Personality:
Itan's self consciousness about his brute appearance has made him very eager to serve, especially where the cause is clear, and the need great. Though as a working member of the clan his sense of duty is coloured with a rich private life of daydreams. The trade of the tanner gives him more room to be left to his own devices -for few will brave the area set well aside from the communal halls where he carries out his work.
When his hands are busy, Itan's mind is freed. Though he has only heard stories related of the forests, plains and oceans, Itan's heart swims and leaps through those wildernesses he intuitively perceives.
His brute appearance, coupled with his inclination to daydream justifies the perception in others that he is less than bright. And few hold his trade with respect.
Itan's sense of penance for being a day-dreamer further isolates him from other's, as if being the tanner was not disadvantage enough. Perhaps because of his sense of guilt for daydreaming, and need to seek a bond with something -he is especially sensitive to the issue, and any presence he might divine of Eywa.
The one great sadness his beloved homeland has made for him is the relative isolation he feels from Eywa as a result of the relative lack of density of life. And dealing so constantly with charnal and offal, rather than seeing the creatures wild and free exaggerates this feeling.
Itan has all the makings of a worthy Tuyeterian-male, and none would now gainsay him if he elected to step aside from his lot acting in the tannery.
Over time Itan could ascend to the second highest in the Harem-order of one of the She-Peers, espceially since much of his mood and distance has been somewhat claused by his youth. There is certainly still the possibility that Itan's aloofness is something he will grow out of. That in time he will set his determination on higher goals, real goals.
As a harem-suitor he has the requisite sensitivity, which could be groomed into a charisma to smooth and sway the people and the prowess physically to garner their respect.
But the greatest detraction is his reputation as a daydreamer, this quality alone makes him unsuitable as the alpha-male of any harem. This, and the fact that none in the clan have any doubt that he would -no sooner than he felt he could- take the reckless pilgrimage to the Tree Of Souls if only to sense Eywa for a single moment. No Peer of the females would invest her energy or reputation into him until this issue had been addresses, or his attention and loyalty somehow made clear.
In the mean time Itan has kept busy, quietly in the background, and has tried to keep up appearances to save his dignity. Certainly the quality of such leathers and hides he has produced is uncommonly high -fetching a superior price in trade.
But where at first Itan lived his unassuming life willingly, out of his deep-rooted respect and love for his clan, the more time that passes, the more he realises he is living a lie -as if his physical life was somehow less important than his spiritual, daydreaming, life.
History:
A brief dissertation of Itan Ecrio's name -in formal Na'vi.
eyktan ['ɛjk.tan] n. Leader
ngay [ŋaj] adj. True
kllfriyo' [kl:.'fri.jo] v,c. Be responsible
I have lenited Eyktan'ngay'kllfriyo to "Itan Efrio"
Named "Truly Dutiful Guide of the People" at birth, a folk-prophecy that he would be an interpreter of Eywa's will, it is easy in retrospect to see why Itan's life would result in extensive pilgrimage. But from birth, Itan began to concern and confound his elders. It seemed as if Itan was never going to develop the skill of crawling, when suddenly he seemed to be walking; this was also true of his powers of speech. From scarcely making a sound, Itan then began to speak with some complexity; as if he had been practising where none could observe his early –flawed- attempts, or as if the knowledge suddenly passed to him. All of this seemed to credit the rumour that Itan was bonded more intimately with Eywa. And certainly in his capacity to radiate a stolid serenity in the face of all that was set before him.
But stroke by stroke, as Itan began to receded and withdraw from normal society, indeed even as he had done before he spoke or walked, this early hope in his fate began to fail. Seeming positively reclusive by this stage, stepping into the role as Renderer and Tanner was indeed the greatest blow to what remained of Itan’s reputation –given that this was a role performed either in penance, or by those with such disabilities that they were incapable of carrying out any less gruesome and odorous duty. But Itan’s father watched him, saw the brooding intensity in his son, as he had seen exhibited before Itan made some astounding leap of ability. Though what link Itan might be intuitively trying to forge with Eywa, even his father could not guess.
This next great leap would begin with the sudden announcement that he was going into exile, to see his dreams in the flesh, so that one day he might be free of the distraction of them, an act which would again confound, but not fail to impress his elders.
In the fleeting years before he hefted his pack, he would relate before the She-Peers and the Council, Itan felt he knew that his fate was narrowing to this single path.
Somehow he was blind to the manifestation of Eywa in the arctic -and for one so devoutly motivated by the experience of his unity with Eywa's balance, it could only be a matter of time before he sought where indeed he would fit.
RP Sample:
Itan leaned heavily against his father's hands, who expertly rubbed coarse salts into the tight muscles of his son's shoulders. The sauna hissed and sighed with the sound of dripping water hitting the stones of the brazier, and of the billowing steam seeking the gap beneath the pelt-door.
His father clicked his tongue in mild admonition. "You must learn to let your body work with the cold. You struggle against it, even still. There is a balance my son, between cold and heat; even as there is a balance between desolation, and the abundance of our lands."
While his father spoke, Itan knew that one aspect of his character was listening, and hearing. The other wandered through fantasies of lush woodlands, and light-mingled forests. He imagined the dry mineral tang of grasslands that spread from horizon to horizon, and the effortless communion between mount and rider.
"Itan? Are you listening to me?"
"Certainly father!" Itan rolled his shoulders as if to test the effect of the treatment his father bestowed. "You were saying that here, where life is spread so thin, one must attune oneself to the bright light of that life, to see the stars -and not to allow the darkness to hold sway."
Itan's father returned to his ministrations, working the deep-rooted knots of his son's musculature. "Truly. Imagine how much more of a challenge attuning oneself to Eywa is, in practise, in the deeps of her mightiest forest! Where every minuscule living thing screams with energy and purpose."
Itan made a noise, if only to keep his father talking. For when his father's tongue worked, at least his hands did so too, Itan looked up, feeling the sudden pressure of a chill air, to see his mother. She looked at him perceptively, and dropped the pelt back in place. Itan paid attention to his father in earnest afterwards, knowing his mother had intuited his somewhat disrespectful attention level.
Standing beside his mother, with no sound between them but that of his knife against the chopping-board, Itan felt himself shrinking away from the searing intensity of her silence.
His mother, a mighty huntress, needed to say nothing for an entire meeting-hall to writhe beneath the weight of her displeasure, let alone the private kitchen of the Long Hall. She needed no extensive dissertation, nor was she even angry. That was the worst of it. She was disappointed. For surely Itan's complacency had ruled him out of the contention for the harem of the Tsahik's heir apparent. He had missed the hour of presentation entirely, nine days out into the ice-floes hunting water-beasts.
It was no accident, resultantly, that Itan had snared a brace of the his mother's favourite prey, still too young to take to wing, and tender. Braised slowly with diligent basting, the saltiness of the flesh would dissipate, leaving an enduring savouriness, with a flaky texture of the flesh that was his mother's favourite -and which it was widely accepted- Itan prepared best of all the Tuyetieran males.
At length Itan could ignore the boring pressure of his mother's eyes no longer. He looked up, his eyes hardly daring to meet hers.
"You flaunt that I have borne no daughter." She called out his behaviour. "Of your own self-service, your unfathomable penance, your willingness to cower in the tannery than stand and be counted! You cast a long shadow of doubt against me. You are due for consideration to be arraigned into the Harem, and yet you conduct yourself as if you desire contempt. What say you?"
Itan felt the powerful desire to hang his head, to say as many apologies as was required to sway a pardon. This time was different. The affection was gone from his mother's tone. His final pardon was gone. He had been on borrowed time for a half dozen instances of his behaviour. "I have made something. Something I think I will need, and keep with me many long seasons." He said.
His mother nodded, slowly, with resignation.
Itan held up the pack he had wrought. They shared an expression that said all that needed relating. He was leaving, in gratitude, and he hoped to have his people's blessing.
