Regnòm Raw
Tchamut Regnòm Raw
Hailing from Sgàineadh in The Glass Sea, Regnòm was the son of a gem cutter from The City of the Lights and a woman of extraordinary beauty and poise named Grace, a Singer with the Sea Mist tribe. He grew and was raised a singer, being possessed of a voice most poignant and evocative.
The poor lad was the only survivor of the slaughter of the Sea Mist Singer tribe, having survived by hiding under the corpse of his eldest brother. He never sang again, after that day. Indeed, his voice grew gruff, and began to tumble from his lips like heavy stones grinding together as they fall from a great height. Where once had his words flown from his mouth, now they were in need of being drawn out of him all unwilling. Darkness was growing in his soul and in his mind grew the seeds of vengeance thrice deeply, and the soon to be teenaged boy contemplated murder, feeling himself to be of an evil caste to think such thoughts. His downward spiral had him at its mercy. And that is how Myra found him.
The next few years were hard on the boy, Regnòm. His emotions could swirl out of control and get the best of him, and he learned to control them only through hard lessons and even harder work. His mentor, his master, his Sifu Myra was a woman who stood no more than five feet in height. Probably closer to four feet, eleven inches, but Regnòm was, as of yet, incapable of admitting anyone that small could so easily best him. After all of his scheming, within all of his machinations, violence had been the easy part of the equation. His Sifu taught him the truth of the matter.
Violence was only easier to plan. Not to execute. Real violence involves looking in a real person's face as you hurt, or potentially kill, them. It meant watching the light leave their eyes as they passed from this mortal coil, or feeling his own go dark as his soul flitted away to the afterlife. Choosing violence meant training for violence. It meant preparing for violence. It demanded thoughtfulness, and brutal honesty, about violence. It required study, and commitment, to choose violence as a way of life. It took critical thinking and forethought to stay alive, when the game of life, is death. Otherwise, one would be no more than a monster.
Myra taught the boy calligraphy, and physics. She illustrated the finer points of color theory and line art, and tempered his knowledge with steel smithing. The tiny woman was not only fierce, while training or aroused to anger, but she was strong, able to move metal like a farrier in a hurry. This was no mean feat, and it earned the respect of Regnòm and the other dozen or so of Myra's rescues. Lost souls, she said, like herself. People who had forsaken the ways of the Singers, and chosen violence over the traditional radical Singer pacifism. People who had been, somehow, broken.
The boy grew to a man, and became a fearsome swordsman and a masterful horseman. His dedication to his training had been fierce, and he had discovered a talent for dual wielding his traditional blades. Known by his sword instructor, master Po Arendarensai, as katana, they were sharp and fast. Shorter than many war blades, they are more easily used in close fighting than their longer cousins. Master Po was the only sifu able to best Myra with purely weapons. Myra, however, always won the day. Always, Myra had some esoteric trick or technique that gave her control of the battlefield. Or, more precisely, she was able to control her own movements on the battlefield to such an extent, that she always wound up causing Po to seem confused about her own movements...a feat of magical positioning. These things, all, were drilled into young Regnòm.
When he began to train with his spirit mount, he instinctively started to use those field positioning techniques from horseback. He was soon to be sent on his first official mission as Tchamut, far and off to The City of the Lights and when he did, Regnòm met and bonded with a massive warhorse who named herself as Ophelia. The two shared a telepathic bond so profound it never seemed strange to either of them, and they began to practice the kata together as a cohesive unit. This, of course, led to their inventing kata of their own, practice forms that were good for practice only...unless the mount was, itself, an independent and critically thinking entity. One such, The Dance of the White Lotus, is still a requirement to pass the final round of tests to become a full fledged Tchamut.
Alignment
Nuetral/Good
Current Status
Deceased
Current Location
Species
Ethnicity
Professions
Circumstances of Death
Old age
Children
Current Residence
The mausoleum in the Blade Priest capital.
Sex
Male
Gender
Man
Presentation
Masculine
Eyes
Brown
Hair
Black
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Brown skinned human
Height
6'
Weight
170 lbs.
Belief/Deity
Vekhettmyradonalax
Aligned Organization
Other Affiliations
Comments