Nue Fa'rys

23 · Keeper of the Moon
171.5cm · 5'4"
istj - a

· THE SELF

Kind at heart but gruff in behaviour, his sour face and rough mannerisms often give the distinct impression of displeasure. However, he extends a helping hand to anyone that needs it, so long as he believes that they're worth helping. He's particularly gentle when handling his patients - the ill, wounded and bedridden - giving them special care and attention. A little bit like a motherhen in that regard.

He's coolheaded and prefers to think and act rationally than let emotions get the better of him. With a strong moral compass, he lets nobody dictate his actions. He's almost brutally honest with strangers, but uses plentiful white lies and has a much more positive attitude when with people he cares about.

He has natural disregard for authority, giving paltry recognition for their status but seldom heeding rules or the law. There never was such a concept where he grew up, and it doesn't matter to him even now.

· THE ROLE

With a heavy interest in medicine, he works as an apothecary and sometimes as a field medic. Foraging or bartering for materials is what he's commonly spotted doing, if not treating the wounded or sick.

Years of living on his own sharpened his survival instincts and honed his blade, giving him the ability to rush into dangerous situations and emerge - not unscathed, no - but fortunately whole and alive.

Steady and purposeful, his hands rarely shake and provide clinical precision in stitching wounds or measuring medicine. They're often covered up with fingerless gloves, hiding away most of his scars.

Born and raised in the once-lush lands of Coerthas, Nue was surrounded by many of his kin. As Keeper tribes do, he was raised almost exclusively by the females of the tribe while the men visited every so often.

Learn the lay of the land, and the land will treat you well. His tribe was thorough in drilling knowledge of herbs and forageable materials into his head. And so learn the land he did. After all, he was expected to live on his own two feet once he could take care of himself.

When the calamity hit, the eternal winter that swiftly engulfed their lands snuffed out all sources of livelihood. The turn of the seasons was faster than anyone could adapt to. Wild game either migrated or starved to death, and his tribe had to decide.

What were they to do? Leave and seek greener pastures, or lay in the freezing graves that the calamity dug for them? The matriarch made her choice, and off they went, trekking north. They acted fast in choosing to flee, yet Mother Nature was faster. It was almost unnoticeable when they fell, one by one, silent and unassuming under the heavy blanket of snow. Scouts, hunters, foragers - whoever they were, they just never returned.

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When they finally stepped foot into Dravania, what used to be a flourishing family was left with a mere handful of the lot.

The matriarch, having fallen to illness, was no longer fit to lead. Her limbs were weak and brittle, skin mottled with frostbite. She had covered the rest on them with what pelts she had, bearing her body to the unrelenting cold. To take care of the children, the younger generation - to ensure their survival.

The rest of them, not knowing better, scattered to seek new livelihoods, leaving the matriarch to fend for herself. But Nue stayed behind. Still too young, still too sentimental. What good would trying to keep her alive do, when there was almost no tribe left to lead?

The hunters of Tailfeather, taking pity on the sight of one scraggly teen struggling to support one ailing adult, took them in and taught him their trade. Being so easily granted a roof over their heads was a godsend, but it was seldom that they needed help from other people. He didn't know what to expect, keeping a wary eye on them.

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Having not yet perfected the art of taking care of himself, learning from the poachers developed his independence and swordsmanship. Foraging for herbs to make medicine for the matriarch, his knowledge of herbology improved, absorbing what the poachers knew of their different land.

Different reagents could have similar effects, yet different complications - for lack of a testing subject, he was berated often whenever he landed himself a poison. It did, however, raise his resistance to ailments. He chose to keep knowledge of toxins close; taking note of myriad different concoctions ranging from what could be used to incapacitate a man or merely paralyze wild game.

With the sharp senses race has, he grew capable of identifying if a potion was beneficial or harmful from brief examination of the product. The matriarch, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Suffering for months bedridden, the illness finally claimed her. She was buried with little fanfare and nobody to remember her.

With her death, there was nothing left to stay in Tailfeather for, having perfected what skills they shared with him. The poachers were free-spirited at heart, and they didn't stop him from leaving - rather, they encouraged the move to experience more of the world.

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Seeking further knowledge in the art of medicine, he made his way back into Coerthas.

Eking an existence in the forbidding landscape forced his survivability skills to the limit. It wasn't a fruitless venture, however, when he stumbled upon evidence of a path that led out into the Black Shroud...