My father was of the Clan of Scarers and it is in this skill I have been trained and to this Clan that I belong.
I have no living kin. My father and mother were killed in a raid many years ago as we travelled to the Winter Camp. We had lagged behind the rest of the Wagons as my father had been working on a warriors scar.
Not a job to be hurried, we had remained behind to see it finished successfully.

The raiders had set upon our camp with stealth and merciless cunning, faceless they were in the night.
We had battled hard at each others side until the blackness took me into it's unyielding depths...
Young I was. Unscarred. Left for dead. I awoke much later to find all three slain.
The vision of the men, their open battle wounds having spilled their precious life into the dust, was etched into my mind as clearly as the broken body of my mother, trampled by the spooked Wagon Bosk.

Though much wounded I sought out my kaiila, the scattered contents of my fathers Wagon and the absence of the Wagon Bosk only served to fuel my rage further. A brash young man I armed myself and set out at speed, fury sparring with fear, every moment spent tracking the perpetrators until on their camp I exploded, and explode I did, in a blood-thirsty rage of vengeance. My memories of the event are stained red, much like the ground on which their blood was spilled.They remained where they fell, their bodies torn from lance and kaiila, committed to the dust of the plains as I returned to my slain family, the Wagon Bosk herded before me, reclaimed.

I set my parents free in the flames of their Wagon, the crackling wood smoking, like a beacon across the plains.
The warrior I set across the back of a Bosk, to his family would he be returned, my meagre possessions strapped firmly to another as I made the slow trek back to rejoin my People.

It was after this raid, with the return of the fallen warrior to his family and the recovery of the Wagon Bosk that I earned my first scar, the courage scar.
I had questioned my worth, the unwilling admission of my fear at the time seemingly a contradiction of courage.
A time wrinkled warrior extinguished these doubts with a few simple words: Courage is not the absence of fear.
It has stayed with me ever since.

It has been many years since and I have seen and done many things. I have become a man restless in mind and spirit. I have found solace in my work and my travel, my pleasure in the land, the Bosk and the flesh of women.
I won my slave many years ago in a game of odd's and even's. I take pleasure in her spirit and her flesh.
She is known as taraki{Brood}.

At present I am travelling back home from a trading journey to the Sardar in a small Wagon pulled by two Bosk.
My primary Wagon remains at my campsite on the Plains with my Clan... and my kaiila, Tantrum!

*** OOC *** The slave known here as "taraki" has been mine for over 4 years. My relationship with her and the demands and requirements I place on her take precedence over any given command or desire requested of her online.