Takkamer
Hunter of the White Feather Takkamer (a.k.a. Tak)
There is a certain quiet gravitas to this man. Self-composed, straight backed and entirely unkempt. Despite his dishevelled appearance, the hunter (the bow at his back, the knife at his side and the large raptor bird of prey that frequently alights on his arm sort of give him away) wears clothing that is well cared for and a dark-hued cloak that frequently covers his face from the outside world.
He exudes a very definite sense of presence. And it's not always a pleasant experience, particularly if you're one of his marks.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Tak is a tall man, with the sort of musculature you'd expect from someone who lives off the land on a high protein diet. He is lean rather than broad.
Body Features
Tak's arms and back are covered in whorls, swirls and emblems of his tribe's superstitions and traditions. Most are abstract, but there is one on his upper right arm that he always touches before battle - 'for luck'.
Facial Features
It's hard to properly put an age on the man, but a casual guess would put him in his late thirties. He has tanned, sun-lined skin and long, unruly dark hair that is peppered with strands of white. His eyes are a dark brown, almost black in a face that is blessed with strong, pleasant features. Or at least, they might be pleasant if he smiled once in a while. It seems that he is always serious. Even when he's not.
Identifying Characteristics
A long scar tracks down the left side of Tak's face from his forehead, down over his left eye and cheek and round his neck. The scar stands out strongly on his tanned skin.
Apparel & Accessories
Tak's clothing is, as you might expect for a man of the tribes, a mix of leather and fur. Around his neck he wears a silver chain which holds a beautifully wrought charm in the shape of a feather. He occasionally smokes from a hand-carved pipe that he keeps in one of the many pouches at his waist.
He is in possession of a remarkably beautiful half-mask, which when worn covers the right-hand side of his face. The mask is exquisitely made - as is to be expected for someone from the tribe who makes most of them - and is made from a single piece of wood from an ancient tree.
His bow is a thing of sheer beauty and he treats it with great respect. He fletches his own arrows for the most part, although at times, he will pay others to do the task for him.
Specialized Equipment
Tak's shadow is mottled green and brown, like the bark of a tree.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Born the youngest of two children, Takkamer was a quiet child who obeyed his parents without hesitation. Like many in the Godinja tribe, his mother and father were both artisans who made the masks so favoured by the tribal folk. Takkamer's sister, Cajenna, soon joined with them in this venture but Takkamer was never an indoors kind of boy.
"Let him run," said the village witch when Tak's mother complained once the he would never settle. "The boy yearns to fly free."
And so Tak would follow the tribal hunters like a little shadow when he was small and, being family-minded and communal as they were, the Godinja hunters taught the boy basic skills. As he grew, he showed a natural flair for use of the bow and this was encouraged. Soon, he was easily as good as some of the adults and while his parents lamented his not following in their footsteps, they were glad that their introverted, brooding son had found his calling.
Tak was twelve and his sister fifteen when their parents were both killed in a tribal skirmish, not uncommon in the times of dispute and war. Both were fairly self-sufficient, but Tak took the role of 'man of the family' very seriously, making sure his sister was well-provided for. He did this by running errands and taking trips with some of the elders to other villages where he would learn how to barter for goods and services.
Cajenna was handfasted to another tribesman on her seventeenth birthday and for a while, Tak lived with them. But when the first baby was on the way, he took to spending more and more time among the hunters, who by now had acknowledged him as one of their own.
There was a young woman to whom Tak had sworn his heart, but the betrothal never occurred, and it is not something he talks of.
From time to time, bounty hunters would pass through the village and the boy - now a young man - learned that his natural talents for hunting and tracking could potentially pay handsomely. His feet finally led him away from home and out into the worlds beyond.
Education
Tak has learned basic literacy and numeracy, but is hardly 'educated' in the sense of someone who has studied books and learning.
An introspective, thoughtful hunter who is self-sufficient. Over the years, he has become objectively odd due to his own isolation. [blocklink:366397]
View Character Profile
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Dark brown
Hair
Black with scattering of silver
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Tanned
Height
6'3"
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Soul-stained
I am ashamed.
Mother, hear my words. Your son brings shame to your bloodline. Forgive my transgression. Witness my words of shame.
Father, hear my words. I bring shame to the family, to the people of the Godinja and to myself. Witness my words of shame, see my act of repentance.
Forgive me.
My memories of my parents are few and as I get older, they are dwindling still more. He and my mother were like so many others in the tribe: a young, bonded couple who had grown up together and practiced their skill of mask-making. They were well-thought of within the tribe because both demonstrated such finesse in their mask skills that both, particularly my mother, were considered blessed.
In time, as is the way, they had their first child – my sister – and some years behind her, they had a second. That child they named ‘Takkamer’, which in the language of the Godinja loosely translates to ‘born of the spring rains’. My sister used to tease me that it meant I was destined to be soggy. I have always loved my sister, even when she was sitting on my chest and punching me. I may have been seven summers her junior, but my father instilled in me from an early age that as a young Godinja, all women – no matter how old – were to be treated with the greatest of respect.
I was never going to take my place in the mask-making collective. To sit for hours and create something of such beauty and with such meaning was never within my ability. My feet ached to run, my heart beat with the wind and I ran free in the forests near the tribe, always at the heels of the hunters, always asking questions, always practicing with my bow. I was never turned away. My joy of hunting blossomed and bloomed and although my parents were saddened that I did not sit with them for hours, whittling and shaping, they were nonetheless proud to see their boy of only eight summers, triumphantly return from the woodlands with game for the evening meal.
Once, I remember sitting with my father when he was working particularly hard on something that was not a mask. It was a feathered fetish, not dissimilar to the one I hold in my hands now. I can still remember asking him what it was, still remember his deep voice when he told me of the honour connected to wearing the mark of the White Feather. Still remember how the words made me feel.
Still remember him looking up at me, at nine summers already starting to fill out with the strength of a young teenager and earnestly saying that the mark of the White Feather was one of the highest honours any of the hunters could receive. Such pride he had, for it was one of his own brothers who was receiving the mark. Those who bear the mark are considered pure of heart and soul and openly display the fetish as a sign of their vigilance against the all-shrouding darkness.
Less than a day later, he was dead. My mother, too, and many others in our small camp. The raiders struck swiftly and they struck without mercy. Thanks only to my mother’s swift efforts at sending my sister and I to hide in the woods, she and I survived.
The years passed and we got by on her skills of making masks and my ability to hunt. I ran with the pack and in time, I grew to young manhood. There was a woman who had my heart, but what could have been did not come to pass. But I did receive a white feathered fetish of my own, made by my sister’s own hand.
I have grown to an adult devoid of your guidance, my mother, my father, and I have always tried to walk the path you wished for me. I have borne the mark of the White Feather proudly and for many years I have taken comfort in the knowledge that had you but lived, you would have shared that pride.
I hold that pride now in my hand, as if I hold the very core of my soul. I am baring it for you to see, as I have done every year on the mark of the day you passed from this world. I am baring my heart, my soul, my pride and my honour.
And with the blade of this weapon, this axe of a great chieftain, passed into my hands by fate, I make a cut in my other hand. My life’s blood wells instantly and taking the feathers into my cupped hands, I allow the stain upon my soul to steep the feathers, to sully their purity, to reflect upon the honour gifted me by my people. With my own blood, I mark myself as shamed.
I will wear this mark of shame openly, as is the way of my people, marked as one who is less than worthy but not unworthy enough to be cast out.
In time, I will work myself a new mask. I am not the man I was before and I cannot move forward until I adapt to the man I am now. I am impure. I will work to resolve this, but I do not know how. As the Envoy’s witch says, I must tread carefully going forward, and I will.
My beloved mother and father, forgive my failure.
I am ashamed.
Shame
I have let my tribe down. I have let my employer down. I have let myself down.
In my thirty-seven summers of life, I have always prided myself on my levels of self-control. I have always respected the way of my people: to think first, act second. I maintain that perspective on life and I do not stray from the path my people set me upon. But while at Salindra's Hope, all those lessons, all those years of self-control were torn away and I knew what it was to be the hunter and the hunted.
I cannot sleep. Whenever I close my eyes, the visions come again. It is a hunt like no other I have ever known. Such glory. Such reward. Such heart-racing excitement. I loose my arrows, one, two, three, all in rapid succession and each strikes true. But I cannot tell what they strike. Is it man or beast? Monster or mother? It doesn't matter. All that matters is the thrill of the chase and the ecstasy of the kill.
My blood thumps to the rhythm of the pulsing heartbeat. The hunt. The hunt is calling me...
And so I wake, sweat-drenched and with the steel taste of blood in my mouth.
I am weak. I am ashamed.
I must strive to be better than this. But I do not know where to start. It is one of those times when I yearn for the guidance of my tribe's elders and those who read the skeins of fate. But I am far from home. This is a battle of my own.
I will overcome.
I must overcome.
But the hunt will always call.
Easy Money
Some people are so easy to play with that it is not fun. Such a one is my new employer, a young man by the name of Abeido. Mind, I suspect that Mayve still thinks I do not understand the value of money, eh? It is more that it is fun to test the unpracticed. Either way, two thayla for an escort mission is two thayla I have not earned by sitting on my arse in town.
The trip here was uneventful. Abeido did not particularly reveal much of himself - I can respect that. I am not one for talking of my home or my family. I am unlikely to see him again once I deliver him back to town, so it is not of any particular concern that I do not know what his business is. I am not judge or jury. I am... guide. Yes? That is right word.
I have not seen Swift for some days. I hope she is well. I miss her company when she is not with me.
Salindra's Hope appears to be still thriving: prospectors doing their thing, whatever that thing is. But there is deep feeling of uncertainty. Abeido seems convinced that people are watching him. I do not know why he has this paranoia.
It is not my business. Bringing him home alive and well is my business. The mask is set, the deal is made.
I will do what I must.
