Ahbo Suliemanyah is a 25 year old man from the distant ancient land of Ma'Rushi. He now works as a sellsword/adventurer in Aldoraan, flowing with the winds of fate wherever it takes him.
- Age
- 25
- Date of Birth
- 19th Of Summer Junah
- Gender
- Male
- Eyes
- Dark Brown (Near black, deep brown hazel)
- Hair
- Fade on sides with wavy/curly on top, color black, facial hair is full beard
- Skin Tone/Pigmentation
- Light Olive/Tan/Tumbleweed (Hex: #dab082)
- Height
- 5’10” / 177 cm
- Weight
- 183 lbs / 83 kg
“Ahbo!” A distinct voice manages to squeeze its way through the ocean of sound of the bazaar. Gold pinging, livestock marching, the market life - buzzling. The coat of sand paves the rich life and history of Ma’Rushi; such is how the eyes of Ahbo sees it.
Gleeful and determined, Ahbo dashes through the desert urban jungle - the booming civilization around him his home and playground. Grinning as he trades goods with his friend Ziad on the fly, ecstatic as he catches a flying apple courtesy of Fruit Farmer Uncle Mo, and grinning as he swipes a glass bottle of sweet mango juice - Aunt Kreia returning a death glare for the mischievous transaction. What a sight, childhood innocence with the purest form of freedom and safety.
Take and give - a society built not in individual interest, but by the enrichment of union. A bond as lasting as the very sands the country is built on. A history that knows a far beginning, and no ending in sight. Ma’Rushi thrives as its people only feed the golden country to the blossoming fauna it is. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and those who beholden its cultivation.
Aymeen’s fatherly touch firmly plants on his head. The hand which he, in his own frivolous way, will follow - joining his dad in their lineage of military service and commerce trade.
Except - Ahbo would not find the battlefield at adulthood. It would come to him at adolescence; with insolence. Stealing breath in a gasp - taking lives like pestilence.
“In a faraway desert place, a brilliant sandscaped land flourished... ...before it was destroyed by the selfsame lives it had thrived with. Its people sought ever greater freedoms against all external opposition, but not from the opposition within. Corruption bred like weeds. Terrorism festered like disease. They tried to keep peace with fire and steel... And when one asked, "What is the point?"; there was none left to answer.”
---------- Traveling Foreigner after witnessing and escaping the Ma’Rushi Civil War - “The Days of Rage”; which lasted for several years
A tragedy, only to be suffered in lost memory. Locked away behind trauma. Its clarity; limited to the nightmares that stalk him like momentary shadows caught at a glance. Would those days, with their details lost in the sand, ever return to realization? Or shall they continue to slip through his finger grasp like grains of cold sand?
“AHBO!” Bellowed the startling voice across the wooden counter. The bartender beckoned the tiresome nomad to rouse from his untimely slumber. “Never, have I ever known a patron to pass out from a beverage that isn’t alcohol - FRUIT JUICES of all things!... Booze or not, there is still a price to pay - sword broad.”
A ballooning fog filling his mind, he murmurs his dues forward with a hefty laugh, as he staggers his way to his room. It wasn’t the drink or the work that exhausts him; but the crippling trauma that surrounds his soul when in solitude.
A large laugh pushes its way through his lungs.
His soul remembers, but not his mind; save the memory blots of the past. That’s why he’s a funny guy - his personality is a result of the muddled traumatic past. A twisted coping mechanism. Out comes another laugh, after that.
Hah. His comical nature lets him shrug and laugh the pain away; but it is the laughs that follow the pain.
That’s why Ahbo has the biggest laugh.
Gleeful and determined, Ahbo dashes through the desert urban jungle - the booming civilization around him his home and playground. Grinning as he trades goods with his friend Ziad on the fly, ecstatic as he catches a flying apple courtesy of Fruit Farmer Uncle Mo, and grinning as he swipes a glass bottle of sweet mango juice - Aunt Kreia returning a death glare for the mischievous transaction. What a sight, childhood innocence with the purest form of freedom and safety.
Take and give - a society built not in individual interest, but by the enrichment of union. A bond as lasting as the very sands the country is built on. A history that knows a far beginning, and no ending in sight. Ma’Rushi thrives as its people only feed the golden country to the blossoming fauna it is. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and those who beholden its cultivation.
Aymeen’s fatherly touch firmly plants on his head. The hand which he, in his own frivolous way, will follow - joining his dad in their lineage of military service and commerce trade.
Except - Ahbo would not find the battlefield at adulthood. It would come to him at adolescence; with insolence. Stealing breath in a gasp - taking lives like pestilence.
“In a faraway desert place, a brilliant sandscaped land flourished... ...before it was destroyed by the selfsame lives it had thrived with. Its people sought ever greater freedoms against all external opposition, but not from the opposition within. Corruption bred like weeds. Terrorism festered like disease. They tried to keep peace with fire and steel... And when one asked, "What is the point?"; there was none left to answer.”
---------- Traveling Foreigner after witnessing and escaping the Ma’Rushi Civil War - “The Days of Rage”; which lasted for several years
A tragedy, only to be suffered in lost memory. Locked away behind trauma. Its clarity; limited to the nightmares that stalk him like momentary shadows caught at a glance. Would those days, with their details lost in the sand, ever return to realization? Or shall they continue to slip through his finger grasp like grains of cold sand?
“AHBO!” Bellowed the startling voice across the wooden counter. The bartender beckoned the tiresome nomad to rouse from his untimely slumber. “Never, have I ever known a patron to pass out from a beverage that isn’t alcohol - FRUIT JUICES of all things!... Booze or not, there is still a price to pay - sword broad.”
A ballooning fog filling his mind, he murmurs his dues forward with a hefty laugh, as he staggers his way to his room. It wasn’t the drink or the work that exhausts him; but the crippling trauma that surrounds his soul when in solitude.
A large laugh pushes its way through his lungs.
His soul remembers, but not his mind; save the memory blots of the past. That’s why he’s a funny guy - his personality is a result of the muddled traumatic past. A twisted coping mechanism. Out comes another laugh, after that.
Hah. His comical nature lets him shrug and laugh the pain away; but it is the laughs that follow the pain.
That’s why Ahbo has the biggest laugh.
Appearance
Physical Description
Tall, Wide frame, toned/lean body, decent mass.
Body Features
Lightly toned ab region. Very toned/muscular legs - key strength point. Well-rounded/balanced. Rough callous skin that is smooth to touch.
Facial Features
Fade with wavy on top, Color black, facial hair is full beard.
Identifying Characteristics
Nothing of note.
Physical quirks
N/A
Apparel & Accessories
N/A
Specialized Equipment
N/A
Special abilities
N/A
Mentality
Personality
The major events and journals in Ahbo's history, from the beginning to today.
The list of amazing people following the adventures of Ahbo.
Social