Name: Zinvariel Da'eryn

Nicknames: General Bloodbath, The Reaver, The Blood Eagle

Occupation: Knight, Hero of the Realm, Warlord, Champion, Mercenary, Bounty Hunter/Monster Hunter

Actual Age/Apparent Age: 350s/early to mid 20s

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual - Hetero Romantic - Female Bias

Race/Species: Ta'lonhyrii (Blood Elf)/Unknown

Appearance: There are a great many things one might notice, on their first introduction to Zin. They could notice the long, satin strands of russet hair, a red verging on brown, like blood that has almost dried. The way it is shot through with flashes of a deeper crimson, like more freshly spilled blood. They could notice the way it falls to his waist, or would, if he didn't have a penchant for pulling it back in a lofty ponytail, or braid. It isn't that red is an altogether unique color for a blood elf, of course, though it is somewhat less common than varying shades of blonde. But it is a more unique shade, and more than anything it accentuates and draws the eye to his vibrantly green eyes, yet another thing one could notice on first meeting. Those verdant orbs are a paler green, but a true green, unlike a more normal hazel green. Rather, they are the shade of a deep peridot, or perhaps a light emerald, and even more shockingly even seem to have a gemstone quality in the depth of the hue. They would be striking regardless of their surrounding aesthetic, but the reddish brown hair seems to make them stand out more distinctly.

Of course, one could notice the sharply pointed ears, perhaps just a little longer than a regular elf, or the well maintained goatee of matching red hair (though his beard is closer to the true red in his hair), odd for most elves in and of itself. They could notice the sharp lines of an indisputably lovely face, but of course it would be as beauty seems to be a trademark of the elven peoples, it is only a matter of degree. They could notice the high cheekbones, even for an elf, or the very slightly tilted eyes, which if one bothers to pay attention are even a little large, though they don't offset the rest of his features.

They could notice the strong line of his jaw, stronger than the delicate lines one might be used to seeing on an elf. Whether that is natural to him, or due to the dedication to his physical form which has clearly been honed to perfection is left to the imagination of those gazing upon him. They could also notice the rather full lips, plush, kissable lips. Lips that are unfortunately often held in a stoic set, but if you're lucky enough to get past his initial outward attitude and discover the man beyond, you'd see smile as often, at least, as they do not. If one can look past the obvious, on those details, it would be impossible to deny that Zin is a truly lovely specimen of blood elven beauty. But of course, that is not the first thing anyone notices about Zin.

No. The first thing everyone notices about Zin, whether it's walking into a crowded room, or down a busy street, or charging at them in the chaos of battle, surrounded by swords, and blood and death. The very first thing, is just how ungodly huge he is. Blood elves, like many elven peoples, are a tall lot to begin with and Zin would stand head and shoulders above all of them. That in and of itself would likely stand above the rest of his physical features, but the spread of his shoulders is almost as wide as many are tall, corded with muscle which no garment can hide. A sturdy breast plate and pauldrons can barely hide the sheer size of him. It does not end there, of course. That massive physique continues in kind, from his shoulders to a similarly wide chest. Unlike some muscled men, who taper down to an impractically narrow waist, Zin is built for strength and stability. While you would never find an ounce of fat on his body, his midsection is not thin, it is just muscled beyond what most people are used to. Some, in the past, have joked that his muscles have muscles, and it is not a far cry from the truth.

The legs that accompany that stunning physical form are similarly thick, deeply defined and stacked with muscle. Enough at least to support the rest of that impressive frame, and propel it forward with a deadly (and often surprising) speed. Many, on the battlefield and otherwise, have made the mistake of assuming that because he is so large, and so muscled, he must also be slow and cumbersome. And while it might be true that he is not quite as deft and agile as his more waifish kin, he is far swifter, dexterous, and graceful than most anticipate.

Even off the battlefield, Zin moves that massive form with a grace that defies the very size of him. It is, however, a predatory grace, and whether that natural stalking prowl comes naturally, or from his years and years of military and combat service is irrelevant. Even were he to try to soften the image he presents, there is little he could do to downplay the raw physical potential contained in his body, a deadly potential, written across every inch of him. He moves through a room like a tiger, prowling the edges, watching what can only be prey, and waiting for the moment when he needs to strike. Many find this innate energy combined with the imposing image of him intimidating, but not all. It is a truly amusing thing to see, the multitude of ways people react to him. Some see his size and take it as some personal challenge. Some see it as a challenge of another kind. Some are intimidated, others outright afraid. He has found that oddly, children seem enamored of him, and his size to them presents nothing so frightful as a threat, but rather just a massive jungle gym with which they can climb, and play. Parents are not always so eager, but anyone who actually watches him with children would see that he is incredibly careful and thoughtful of the small people. Their innocence and joy is, for him, the most relaxing and comfortable reaction to his size, and though he doesn't get to enjoy it often, he appreciates it when he does.

If one were to view him completely unburdened of clothing, were able to gaze upon the unreal physical presentation of him in its entirety, they would also see that that lovely form is unfortunately marred with a number of scars. Though many of the wounds he has taken over the years have healed, there are some that have left there mark. He does not begrudge these though, and treasures these imperfections as a show of all that he has endured. Most of them are clean lines, as from a blade. Though there are the occasional circular scars from an arrow, or spear. Most of them have faded over the long stretch of time, and eventually, if he were to avoid combat, would like fade altogether. Some are more recent, and thus more pronounced.

If one were to pay even closer attention, they might notice that Zin has a shimmering line of nearly translucent scales that run in a wide band from the base of his skull, down his spine to the upper curve of what is actually a rather curvaceous behind. Similar scales extend from the very corners of his eyes, and more prominently run from the backs of his hands and along his forearms. They are mostly invisible, but do have a very slightly reddish cast to them. Because of this, Zin tends to wear bracers or wraps of some kind around his arms, as those are the more obvious of the scales. Still, a person would have to be looking fairly hard, as the natural golden tan tone of his skin helps to hide this natural abnormality.

Due to his self imposed exile in the Northern Climes of Ta'lonhyr, Zin has taken more to wearing warmer clothing. Breeches, boots, long sleeved tunics and over coats. But his preference, if possible, is the fashions of his home in the Southern Kingdoms. Looser, more diaphanous pants, or the layered fabric skirts of his people. His upper body lightly draped in thinner robes left open to expose a tantalizing strip of his upper body. With his sojourn to Al-Jalasa, he is rather pleased at the thought that he will once again be in a climate that lends itself to such fashions.

In the event that one gets to see him in his armor, it is truly a sight to behold. He wears full plate mail, painstakingly crafted to fit the width and breadth of him. The armor glints with a silver sheen, with touches of crimson accents. The form of an eagle in dive is embossed on the chest plate, and a similar form is presented, larger and in greater detail on his shield. His helm is angled around his face, with a bladed crest in a single curved arc across the top of the helmet, sweeping back. The clearly elven design somehow managing to look as clean and elegant, even on his large frame, as anything else of elven make.

Unlike human made platemail, his armor consists of a breastplate = which is itself segmented and layered for flexibility, covering him from throat to waist, where it is met with a similar layered design from waist to midthigh. A girdle and length of chainmail hang at about the same length, with separate armor over his thighs. Large armored boots cover him to his knees, and similarly gauntlets protect his hands and arms to the elbow, where they are met by the pauldrons that cover his shoulders and down over his upper biceps.

The armored behemoth would be an imposing sight devoid of the protection, but with it, and a tower shield on one arm, and the wickedly barbed spear in his other, he strikes fear into some of the stoutest of warriors.

Personality: Zin is a proud man, but it is the type of pride that comes from always being treated as different and lesser than, countered by praise and fame in his formative and adult years from recognition of his skills and usefulness. He does his best not to be boastful, or arrogant, but it is very clear that he knows exactly what he is capable of, and makes no qualms about it. At first interaction, Zin is a terse individual. He is generally mistrustful, and also assumes that most people who approach him are doing so almost as a novelty. Not truly interested in who he is, so much as they just want to be able to say that they talked to the hulking warrior.

This lends to an overall taciturn attitude toward people he doesn't know or doesn't know well. Some assume that he doesn't like people, or that he is just rude, but neither of these things are true. He just doesn't leave himself open to disappointment. He is very uncomfortable with vulnerability, even with those he does get close to, so it can take a while before people get inside the walls he's constructed.

For those who have gotten to know him to some degree, he does lighten up the more comfortable he becomes with a person. The more sure he becomes that he can be himself without concern for anything being used against him in any way. He is still a fairly stoic person, and his humor is very dry, but if you get past those initial encounters you will find that he is a clever and witty man. Despite a natural preclusion toward assuming that big physically powerful men must also be stupid, or slow, Zin is a shrewd and clever man. His mentor had trained him to have more than just a sharp blade, and extolled the virtues of knowledge and education. When they were in cities that had an adequate library, or even tutors, his training had consisted of proper education as well as martial practice. Some people are very surprised to find that there is a sharp mind inside the imposing figure, which he finds both mildly insulting, but ultimately amusing.

Because he doesn't make friends easily, or quickly, Zin values integrity and loyalty very highly, and betraying his trust once he has accepted you into his inner circle is a grave offense, and not one he is likely to forgive, possibly ever. This also makes him incredibly protective of anyone he considers a friend, and reliable. This was seen best in his relationship with his men. He would, and had, laid his life on the line time and again for the safety of his men.

Though Blood Elves in general tend to believe they are superior to everyone, and view their spreading conquest as a divine purpose, they are still an honorable people. Partly because of who he is as a person, who he has made himself to be, and partly because of the education he received at the hands of his mentor, honor is a particularly important virtue for Zin. That racial pride and condescension does exist in Zin, though probably less than with most Blood Elves.

When it comes to romance, Zin is both jaded and naive. He has had his affairs, of course, and found women who would entertain him for a time and keep his bed warm. He has never actually had a real relationship, however. Most of the time, women come to his bed for the same reason that they talk to him to begin with. The novelty of it. They want to see what it's like, and once they've sated their curiosity they're done. Some might return for a repeat performance, and that is usually how his affairs are established  until one or the other grows sick of the other. It is a situation that is both deeply offensive, but he accepts it because it comes with an obvious benefit. The rare occasions when he has had women actually want to get to know him and take interest in who he is, he is either oblivious to it because it's so alien, or he assumes it is a lie or manipulation.

Thus he tends to be more suggestive than flirty, and more straight forward than playful. It does not overly concern him if a potential partner finds him abrasive and changes their mind, because there are always plenty of people who want to sate their curiosity, especially around the arena. Every sport has its groupies, after all.

In his interactions, with friends or strangers, he tends to be similarly blunt and straight forward, and he doesn't have much cause or reason to lie, even if it is only a little one to spare feelings. This isn't a lack of understanding social norms so much as a refusal to adhere to those that seem stupid to him. If you don't want an honest answer, don't ask the question, at least not of him.

That being said, he is still a generally nice, polite person until you give him a reason not to be. It takes a lot, but he does have a temper. Though even his temper is rather calm. He knows full well what he is capable of, and is aware at all times of the responsibility that comes with it. It is very difficult to get him angry enough that he becomes violent or aggressive, unless the person doing so is someone who has comparable skill at combat.

Abilities/Skills:

Martial Skill - As a Knight, Mercenary and overall Warrior, Zin is trained in the use of most weapons, while he favors a few specific ones. He is a prolific fighter with sword and shield, spear and shield, and the axe. He is also extremely proficient in hand to hand combat. While he is less inclined to ranged combat, he can throw a spear with deadly accuracy and incredible force.

Battle Tactician - As a Knight and Mercenary, Zin has become rather adept at anticipating the enemies' actions and plans, and in establishing tactics of war. This has carried over into an admirable skill at anticipating bounties as he tracks them down, and an impressive track record in the business of hunting down criminals.

Tracker - While tracking was a less necessary skill during his military tenure, it was still an important one. Elves in general are known for their abilities in the wilderness, including tracking prey. Whether that prey is an enemy, or food, is ultimately irrelevant. After his forced self exile, Zin has hones these skills and supplemented them with the necessary interrogative practices needed to track down and capture bounties, as well as honing his tracking skills in the wild to hunt down monsters. None of this experience, however, lends itself to a strictly desert landscape, so there will be somewhat of a learning curve.

Speed/Agility - Despite his large size, Zin is actually very fast and agile, more dexterous than one might think. His size and weight certainly are not advantageous, for being quick, but he is quicker than most expect, which often works to his benefit. His elven heritage has polished some of the rough edges he might otherwise have had.

Durability - As his size would lead one to believe, so it is true that Zin is a particularly hardy fellow. Things that would incapacitate a normal man would hardly seem to phase the massive warrior. It seems to take a particularly heavy blow to even break the skin, and if you do by some means manage to take him down, it often isn't for long. In addition to this, he seems to heal quickly, and have access to apparently endless supply of energy.

Strength - Zin is certainly stronger than the average man, and stronger even than a regular man of similar size. Though few have the attention to detail to notice anything other than the big muscle-y man is really strong, and actually see that even given his size, he is stronger than he has any right to be. Nobody has really seen Zin test the limits of his strength, and whether he has done so in his own time is uncertain.

Blood Magick - Perhaps as a holdover from their past, most blood elves are at least passingly proficient with blood magick. For Zin, this mostly presents itself as a bleeding effect upon his enemies. Enemies tend to bleed out faster from his attacks, and they bleed consistently.

Limited Shapeshifting - While it is not something that Zin is particularly comfortable doing, as he does not want others to see that he has this ability, it is one that he has utilized before, accidentally and intentionally. Zin has a secondary form, and in this form he has great curling horns that twist out of the top of his head and curl up into sharp poins. Great leathery wings rip from his back, looking very much like some terrible demon's bat-like wings, though heavier, with sharp spear like talons at the edge of the 'fingers' of the wings. A matching scaled tail lashes through the air, with a sharp edged tip equally functionl as a piercing or slashing weapon. It is and has been the kind of form that can turn the tide of a battle, but can also cost a man everything he has accomplished in life.

History: Born the lesser son, of a lesser noble, Zin started his life struggling from the very beginning. It was suspected, from very early on, that Zin was the product of an affair between his mother and some unknown suitor. This in and of itself was not an important enough infraction as to cause the dissolution of the marriage, but it did mean that Zin's "father" treated him more unkindly than any of the other children. That behavior operated as an example for most of Zin's siblings, who similarly mistreated him to varying degrees. It was only the second youngest boy, and the youngest girl, those closest to his age, that ever treated him kindly. Though the girls in general were less harsh than his brothers and father. That could perhaps be attributed to his mother, who never showed him anything but love and kindness. She was the one port in the storm for him during a tumultuous childhood.

Lyrith, his supposed father, was a man of delicate features, lovely rather than handsome, fair of hair, with light blue eyes and a slender frame. His brothers followed along similar lines. His mother, Din'elleth was also fair haired, with vibrant cerulean blue eyes. She was tall, with a slightly more curvaceous than average form. Zin's sisters were a fair representation of both parents features. Zin, on the other hand, had a head full of russet locks and bright green eyes. His features, even as an infant, were stronger boned than his father, and he grew to be a very large baby very quickly.

His large size, however, seemed at first to be a fleeting thing. As time passed, Zin would eventually even out with other children his age, and even ended up being the smallest among boys his age for a time. This in and of itself was room for torment, which was a pastime that his brothers especially liked to join in on, and sometimes instigate. Zin, for his part, did not let anyone keep him down. Whether the bullying was physical or mental, he would never stay down, or back off. He rarely won a fight in those days, but even had he still been the biggest, sometimes numbers are simply too overwhelming.

It wouldn't be until his adolescence that Zin would see his large stature blossom back into existence. Growing taller and taller still in a sequence of growth spurts that left him taller than any other elf his age, boy or girl. His shoulders broadened, his chest widened. Suddenly, the boy was too intimidating for any but the bravest of bullies to consider giving a hard time. It was one such group, who had chosen to attack Zin in the streets, that was inadvertently set his life on a path he never would have foreseen. There were six young men, and though Zin was taller than any of them, it was still a gawky height, and clearly he had not learned coordination with his new body. He did his best, and got some decent shots in, but it was clear that there was no possible way he would win. Still, he wouldn't concede, he wouldn't stay down. He might not have been invincible, but his will certainly was.

Zin was in the process of being beaten down by all six boys, barely keeping himself on hands and knees as they rained punishment upon him, when a Blood Knight was passing down the city street and came upon the boys. He watched for a moment, unmoving, as they continued to try to beat Zin into the cobblestone, before sliding from his horse and putting a stop to the scene. To this day Zin still can't recall what the Knight had done, only that one moment he was enduring a cascade of punches and kicks, and the next the pressure had been removed entirely. When he'd raised his face, the boys were laying about utterly stunned, and the Knight was standing before him, extending a hand to help him rise.

So it would be, that the Blood Knight Erenyl Lysh'aren would take on a young lesser son of a lesser family as his squire. Zin's father did not resist the idea at all, happy to give his youngest son into the knighthood, happier to be rid of him entirely. His mother was less thrilled at the news, and surely there was some resentment toward his father for not batting an eye. In the end, however, his mother understood the benefit for him to get out of the hostile home he lived in, and build a life that worked for him.

He would not see her again for a century.

In the time he was away from home, and squiring to his Knight, much changed for the young elven warrior. The arrangement was not one sided by any means, and Erenyl took his mentorship of the young man very seriously. They drilled endlessly, to hone the young Zin into a true fighter. When they were not practicing martial skills, they were discussing philosophy, and the reasons why a Knight fights. If they were not debating philosophy and ethics, they were working on tactics, honing Zin's mind into a weapon in itself. Day in. Day out.

Luckily, for his training, the Empire was in a state of relative peace for the duration of his tutelage. The most excitement he got, save for the excitement of his training itself, was when a tournament would be held, and Erenyl would decide to participate. Still, he didn't actually get to joust himself, or engage in any of the duels. But still, the atmosphere itself was fun, and when the challenges for the day were done, the evenings were his own. For a handsome young blood elf growing into his physical prime, it was a fantastic place to be. Especially with the stigma of his youth and home city left far behind him.

This peaceful period could not last, however, not for an Empire so bent on conquest, and not with smaller kingdoms chafing at the control the Blood Elves forced upon them. So it was that a rebellion began, broiling into a full fledged war with the next largest kingdom on the continent. The majority of the kingdoms and peoples in Greater Ta'lonhyr were Elven, though only the people of Ta'lon considered themselves Blood Elves, and the people of Quel'Essa had been their largest and most difficult rivals for as long as anyone could remember. It had taken the Blood Elves thousands of years to full subjugate the Elves of Quel'Essa, and they had been the last remaining holdout in their utter domination of the continent, and now they were in full and open rebellion. Smaller cities and Kingdoms had allied themselves with the rebels as well, and what the Blood Elven crown had hoped would be a quick resolution became a large scale battle for dominance of all Ta'lonhyr.

Zin and Erenyl set out with a legion of Blood Knights to join the King's forces, bolstering their numbers and providing extra defense and security of the Crown Regent. What they discovered was that the King and his men had been cut off from the majority of the main forces, and were beset on all sides. The main force was in heated battle with the bulk of the rebellion forces that had driven a wedge between them and the smaller forces left to the King. Smaller skirmishes were taking place on almost all edges of the enemy forces as they tried desperately to get to the King and provide him a route to escape, or ideally rejoin the forces together and wipe the enemy from the field.

This, however, did not seem likely. The Quel'essa forces were determined, and well trained themselves. They saw a glorious opportunity to deliver a devastating blow to the Blood Elven empire, and perhaps set them on a path to winning this war, and breaking centuries of oppression. Spirits among the Blood Elven forces were flagging, as that fear and resignation began to creep inside the hearts of all those fighting. The King and his men could only hold out so long, and it did not seem that anyone was making a strong enough push to reinforce his position.

But in a moment right out of the story books, Erenyl Lysh'aren, Blood Knight of the Ta'lonhyr Empire, lead his forces of fellow Knights (and squires) on horse back in a wedge format right into the lines of enemy soldiers trying to fight the King's men, and finding themselves beset on both sides by Blood Elven warriors. A bloody battle ensued. The Knights on horse initially slaughtered their way through the enemy elves on foot, dealing a powerful blow to the Quel'Essan elves. It seemed they might drive their way straight through to the King's side, but it was not to be. The enemy forces were still too numerous, and the mounted knights met with a coordinated attack by archers.

In a span of only a few moments, the mounted battalion of Blood Knights was unhorsed, but this was not an end to their brutal swath through their enemies. A setback, and unfortunate outcome, surely. But they were Blood Knights yet, and they cut into the enemy with skilled precision. Their deadly blows falling with the edge of Blood Elven magic tied in to every strike. Zin, for his part, stood towering over the battle field. His body had grown stronger and he looked a behemoth, or giant among this field of smaller men. It made him a target, but it also acted as a deterrent. Most of the enemy seemed reluctant to fall into his reach, while others charged in hoping to fell this titan of a man. Zin made quick work of anyone who came before his charge, stabbing and sweeping with spear and shield. All of the Blood Knights carried large shields, and they could stack them when in a trademark phalanx position to provide nearly impenetrable defense against the enemy. But Zin's shield was half again as large if not more, when he swept it across it cleared lesser man from his path like he was sweeping leaves aside. His spear quick to follow, stabbing out at those fallen from the shield, or left suddenly exposed.

When his spear has finally failed him, a great Elven sword came free of its sheath the cleave through his enemies. His shield still held tight in his other hand, he blocked and hacked and stabbed with near wild abandon, though it was clear to any experienced eye the discipline and brutally efficient precision with which he worked, even then. His Knight had trained him well, and though it was his first true battle, he upheld that training, and his focus.

What seemed like hours was probably minutes, but it is hard to follow the flow of time in battle. In the end, they broke the enemy line pressing the King and his men. Together, they pressed through the enemy forces blocking their passage forward to rejoin their main forces and once whole again, they pushed the Quel'Essa into a retreat, and harried their straggling forces all the way across the field of battle. They had won the day, but paid for it in blood.

So it was that Zin found himself sitting in the King's own camp, knelt upon the ground beside Erenyl. The Knight's mithril armor was more crimson than silver, though he knew he would be proud to know it was mostly enemy blood. Still, a goodly amoung was his own, and more seemed to be adding to the gruesome image. Not many healers had survived the battle, combat medics at best, and though they had done what they could to ease his pain, the damage was too great. In the deep hours of the knight, by the warmth of a fire, surrounded by his men who had survived, his King, and his Squire, Erenyl Lysh'aren went to join his ancestors in the Lush Jungle of the Summerlands.

Zin, covered in even more blood and gore than his Knight, closed the man's eyes. He had been more of a father to Zin than his actual father had ever been. He had been a friend, a father, a brother, for the majority of his life, and now he was gone. Things moved quickly after that.

He was Knighted on the battlefield by the King for his valor and service in the battle, and his years of loyal service to his fallen Knight. He was officially a Blood Knight. Erenyl's second in command took over leadership of the Legion, and Zin became the youngest member. They escorted the King and his personal guard back to Ta'lon, and spent some time in the city as a celebration was held. For their victory, for the saving of the King, for their valor and the valor of all the men. Erenyl's legion, what remained of it, were awarded medals for their actions, and they got to rest for a short time. Zin got to visit his mother, for the first time in more years than he cared to count. She was much the same, the Blood Elves not easily or quickly given to age, and they rejoiced at their reunion. So too were his visits with his youngest sister and brother (besides himself) equally joyous.

All interaction with the rest of his family was tense at best. His father welcomed him home and congratulated him on his service and distinguished reputation, but it rang hollow. His brothers looked more concerned than anything. After all, Zin now stood towering above them, his shoulders wider than they were standing side by side. He was a trained and blooded warrior, a blood knight. They, like their father, had gone a more academic or politic route. But though the idea of putting the men in their place, beneath his heel, Zin left it alone. It wasn't worth the grief it would bring, and his time with his family would be short lived.

Still, there was much talk among the noble circles. Zin had developed quite a reputation as a Knight, and his fame only stirred up rumors and stories from his youth. He was quickly developing a renewed rumor about his prowess and avarice in other physical pursuits, and he found himself the target of aggressive interest from the ladies of the court, many of whom hadn't even given him a second glance when they were children. Rumors about who his father really was resurfaced as well. Much of the court, back when he had been born, had given his mother the benefit of the doubt, and thought perhaps she had been ravaged on some journey by a beast of one kind or another. Something large, like an ogre perhaps, to give this child his size. Now, seeing him there in pure elven beauty, just on a scale larger than any other, the rumors twisted to more sordid fantasies of illicit affairs on his mother's part. Zin regretted bringing such attention back onto his mother, though he did enjoy, privately, the irritation of his father at the matter. It was not long before their crusade continued, though, and Zin was happy to escape the social battlefield for one he found far more familiar. So the Legion marched, pushing the forces of Quel'Essa back wherever they were established.

The war carried on for years to come, and there were victories and set backs many times along the way. Zin carried on his service admirably, and he was recognized time and again for his bravery and brutal efficiency in battle. Though he had not even yet attained a rank to allow him to lead men into battle, those who fought with him be they fellow knights or soldiers so honored as to be beside him in battle had begun to give him a nickname. General Bloodbath. The enemy were actually the ones to name him the Reaver, but when his comrades heard the title, they took up the cheer. Any time they went into battle, his fellow Knights and soldiers would chant "Reaver. Reaver! REAVER!" as they advanced. A less enthusiastic call of "Reaver" could sometimes be heard from the enemy forces, as they shifted nervously.

Still it would not be for another hundred years that the next life altering event would find its way into Zin's path. The war was nearing an end. The rebel forces were near exhausted, and they simply could not continue under the weight of the Blood Elven press for dominance. Zin by that point had established himself not only as a Champion on the battlefield, but as a commander. He now rode with his own legion of contemporary knights, and together The Blood Eagle Legion had ridden across the war torn country mowing down their enemies. Zin's reputation and legacy had only grown since he'd become a leader, and it was often talked about how the Blood Eagle, the Reaver, and his band would decimate their enemies. Zin, with flaming hair, his sword and shield to overwhelming to contend with, riding atop a steed as massive as the rider himself. The baying of his war hounds trumpeting them into combat, and calling in their victory. When the men rode home, it was always in celebration and exultation.

It was after successfully destroying another rebel force, preparing to make their own attack against a Blood Elven outpost. The fighting had been short, the victory expected and executed flawlessly. They were riding back for the city, when they were met by another Blood Elven battalion, looking far more haggard then Zin and his men. They explained that they'd all been riding back for the city after successful battles, when they were ambushed by Quel'essa warriors, rested, watered and fed as opposed to their battle weary warriors. They'd fought their way through, with only some few losses, but an entire section of their band had been caught behind. The men had pressed onward, figuring the men lost. The orders were to return to the city, and that is what they planned to do.

While Zin would not force any of his men to accompany him, he had no intentions of sitting idly by and leaving the trapped men to die. After so many losses, those Quel'essan forces were likely to be doubly cruel in their treatment. He sent most of his men onward to the city, with no judgement for the being unwilling to accompany him. So it was that Zin rode off to assist the Blood Elven force with only four Knights beside him, and his hounds, of course.

Unlike that fateful ride for the King a century before, Zin decided to approach this battle differently. He doubted that the enemy would expect a charge, but he didn't want to risk his few men in such a gamble, nor did he want to waste the lives of the horses so nonchalantly. Especially his own, as it wasn't always easy finding a steed sturdy enough to serve his purpose. Instead, they abandoned their horses and left them some distance away while they advanced on foot, as stealthy as they were able, until they were as close as they would get. His men advanced in a four man wall, shields held forward and locked together to provide a solid defense. All the Quel'essan soldiers saw was four Blood Elven knights moving in. Some stayed behind to continue the press against the entrenched men, who had circled together with shield to armor themselves from all directions. But many turned and charged the four foolish knights, who could not possibly protect themselves from all directions. As the enemy neared, the wall split down the middle and the men parted to either side as Zin pushed himself to his full height and charged down the enemy, their eyes wide in shock at the sudden appearance of this might warrior, that was known on sight if only because of his size and ferocity.

That shock played to their favor, as they were still massively outnumbered, but Zin utilized that moment well. His spear flashed out before him again and again, punching bloody holes in one enemy after another. As they began to rally, and started to close around him, he changed his grip on the haft and took careful aim, letting the missile fly with deadly accuracy. He unseated the commander of the enemy forces from the back of his horse with that blow. Taking the man in the chest with the force of a battering ram. In the same motion he had pulled his sword from his back and carried the momentum into a devastating spin the sent the blade in a horizontal arc that left a number of enemy soldiers beside themselves. Literally.

His men rushed in at his back as he came out of his spin and as a unit they pushed their way through the enemy and to the weary warriors who had all but given up hope. His men made quick work of ushering the survivors back the way they had just cleared, while Zin held the rear and gave the lot of them the time they needed to start a tactical retreat back the way they had come. If the plan went accordingly, they would get the soldiers back to their horses, load up the most injured on the horses, as many as could be carried, and race as quickly as they could back toward the encampment of their main forces, and continue on to the nearest city. His men were reluctant to leave him facing down the enemy alone, but they knew their jobs, and they knew that Zin knew full well what might possibly be awaiting him. This might very well be the final ride of the Blood Eagle. It was a sacrifice he'd have made for any of his men, and he had no regrets about taking that risk here and now.

With a final glance over their shoulders, his men kept the wounded warriors moving, fighting off the enemy as they tried to close in from all sides and head off their escape. In the end, the soldiers made it to their horses, though one of Zin's knights fell getting them there. The entire group was bloody and battered, but they made it back to the main forces, rejoined, and continued on to the city.

Zin wouldn't rejoin them for days. As his men followed their orders, and got the soldiers back home, Zin was in a desperate dance for his life. Somewhere in the fray he had lost his shield, and after burying his great sword in the center mass of an enemy and leaving it there, he now fought with a pair of swords he wore as backup. He'd rarely ever needed to rely on the blades in a battle, though sometimes he would choose them first depending on the battle ahead of him. He preferred his shield, but he was no less proficient with the matching swords, and it meant that his defense was just as deadly as his offense. His blades spun and twirled, rolling one over the other as he danced through throngs of angry enemy combatants hell bent on bringing this titan down. His shield may have been gone, but his armor was just as strong, and turned most blades that found their way past his defense.

But again, numbers can turn the tide, no matter how skilled the warrior. Even Champions tire. Zin found himself on the ground, and he could not remember how he'd gotten there, or the last time that he'd been beaten to the ground. One arm was held to protect those areas his armor left vulnerable, the other swinging wildly to inflict as much damage as possible, but he could feel the blows raining down on him and knew the armor wouldn't hold forever. His luck wouldn't either.

He realized in that moment that the last time he had been in any situation remotely similar, had been the day Erenyl had found him. The day the Knight had seen his strength and determination and realized it for potential. It was somehow poetic that his end would come the same way that he had truly begun. As resignation started to sink in, as his sword arm started to fall. A spark of rage kindled inside him. A voice he remembered well from his youth, cried out in defiance in his head. It spilled out his mouth in an almost incomprehensible roar. Strength and renewed vigor filled his tired muscles, soothed his aching bones, and the giant of a man came to his feet in a burst of momentum. The enemy went flying in all directions, and it was only after, as the field around him lay clear for the moment, that he realized why. His armor was splintered and lying about him. A tail he'd never seen before lashed the air behind him, and large, pale demonic wings were extended out fully. That's what had launched most of the men away. Horns twisted up and outward from his head, and when he roared his rage again, it seemed to rattle the very swords and shields of his enemies. Their confidence visibly disappearing in the face of this monster. Those closest to him found their hesitation to be their demise. Their screams drowned out all other noise, and Zin, the demon elf, strode forward to wreak havoc on the remaining forces.

They did not stick around long to see just how deadly he was in his new form.

After the enemy had fled, Zin collapsed once more. Over time, he returned to his original form, though he now lay in the tatters of his clothing and little else. Even his boots were ruined. It took him a few days to recuperate, but eventually he was well enough to walk. He gathered his weapons and his shield, and he started back. His horse was gone, of course, they'd have used it to carry the majority of the injured soldiers who couldn't ride themselves. Walking the entire way meant it took even longer, but eventually he made it back to the city. His men were shocked and amazed, as were most everyone else, but they took up the cheer and celebrated the Blood Elven Champion that night. Zin was concerned that someone might have seen his shocking change, but nobody seemed to know anything about it. Nobody cast him odd or suspicious looks, so he settled his nerves, and just enjoyed being back among allies.

Things seemed to return to a sense of normalcy for a while after that. Zin and his Knights were called back to the Capitol City for a celebration in their honor. Zin was once again awarded with a medal, though in private he had been mildly chastised for risking himself so foolishly, he was nonetheless titled Hero of the Realm. Everything seemed to be moving along nicely. He got to visit once again with his mother and the siblings that mattered, he eschewed any facade of a happy reunion with the others, he no longer had the patience for such nonsense. The rumors among the nobles had faded, it was old news, and his celebrity wasn't shiny and new anymore either.

Everything was good. Until it wasn't.

Zin was still enjoying his rest and recuperation, though the physical wounds had long since healed, it was nice to get a reprieve from the horror and demands of the battle field. From all the news that was coming through the city, it sounded very much like the war would soon be over anyway. No large scale battles were even happening any more, they were just routing out the last stubborn remnants of the the rebellion. He wasn't actually certain if they would even need to return to the war front. But it didn't matter anyway.

It had been weeks since his daring rescue, and the unexpected shift that had saved his life, but left him with nothing but questions. Questions about who he was. Questions about what he was. It wasn't something he could easily get to the bottom of, though he tried to talk to his mother about it, discreetly. She bristled somewhat at the insinuation that Zin had a different father, but it was obvious that it was just a rote reaction to a line of questioning and assumption she'd probably heard frequently. Ultimately, she still couldn't tell him who his father was, because she didn't know his name, or anything about him. It had been the epitome of a tryst, and not one that had been planned.

During this time however, another rumor started to circulate through the kingdom. The rebels were being rounded up. Some were sent back to their homes, others were imprisoned, as the case may be. But they spoke in hushed tones about the Demon Elf. A Blood Elf warrior, gargantuan, who had wings and horns and had burned his enemies to a crisp. The rumors had started vague enough, but they'd taken on more and more clarity the more they spread. There was really only one elf who could fit that description. Even then, a lot was written off as exaggeration by weary men in a bloody battle. But not everyone wrote it off completely. Suddenly old rumors about Zin's parentage started to crop back up, but with a knew juicy twist.

His mother had had an affair with some demonic entity, perhaps even called it up. Maybe she was even a sorceress of some kind, not dealing in the magics most often seen among their people, but a practitioner of darker, infernal magics. She'd likely called up a devil to beg some boon, and traded for it with her own body, getting a demonspawn baby out of the arrangement. More and more, Zin found himself getting odd looks. Suspicions turned to fear and loathing. Turned to anger and hatred. There were more than a few who'd always disliked him for being different, it wasn't a giant leap to come to hatred for them. His father and eldest brothers were easily among them, and even started looking at his mother differently. It was one thing to have an affair, the Ta'lonhyrii were a lusty people, many men and women had multiple spouses, and if they didn't they often had lovers on the side. It was another to have conjured up some devil and lay with him.

For a Hero of the Realm and decorated Knight to have so tarnished an origin, it wasn't something the crown could abide for long. Zin had been expecting the confrontation for some time, and so he was prepared when a group of the King's own guards showed up at the home he was staying in. He should have just left, he realized too late, but some part of him had to see, had to know that they would take it this far. When the men came into his home, fully armed and armored, the large elf could only sigh with regret, with disappointment in these people. He had bled for them, almost died for them. He had done great and terrible things in the name of this Empire. But at the end of the day, he'd always be an oddity, and only accepted so long as he was useful and above reproach.

"I will not go with you. You must know that. Turn around, and go, and I will leave this place. I will give this Kingdom no further grief. Stay, and I will still leave this place on my terms, but you may not be alive to see it."

Even as he stood there in just his bed clothes, with his sword naked in his hand, he held himself with absolute confidence. The guards shifted uneasily as they stared at this man, this decorated warrior. It was not a fight they were sure they'd win, even now, and it wasn't one they relished. Unfortunately, they had not made it to their positions by being timid, or shirking duty. As quickly as that indecision had surfaced, resolve had replaced it and they moved in perfect timing and unison to come at him.

The fight was fast. They usually are. The King's Guard was the epitome of martial prowess, it was a position that Zin fully expected to be offered, once the war had finished. He would not have been surprised at all if the King had wanted this behemoth of a man to stand at his back, in the elegantly appointed Royal Guard armor. It would have been a dramatic and flashy statement for him to make, and it would have been an honor that Zin would have gladly accepted. But that dream was falling to tatters about him.

It would have been nice to say that he didn't actively try to slay the men, after all they were just doing their jobs. But Zin was not quite that kind a person. They'd made their choices, and he'd made his, and he couldn't afford to take it easy on them just because he sympathized with the position they'd found themselves in. Blades swung, blood flew, steel clashed against steel, shields rung with the heavy fall of his mighty blade, and when the smoke cleared all of the Guard who had come for him lay on the floor of his home. Only one was still alive, crawling desperately to get away from the 'Demon Elf' though he hadn't changed his shape in this battle, thankfully.

"If I were going to kill you, you'd be standing, facing me, and with a weapon in your hand. Lay still, and you might survive. Tell them not to come for me."

Zin gathered up those items that were most important to him, his weapons primarily, and he left that very evening. Sneaking was a difficult prospect for a man of his size, but he managed to make it out of the city without any further issue. Suspecting, likely rightly so, that it was more a matter of nobody wanting to stand in his way than it was any skill on his part in quietly absconding from the Capitol. He left his newly crafted armor behind. It bore the crest of the Kingdom, and would be far too recognizable, but he took his weapons and his horse, and hounds and enough supplies and stores to see him through his travels. And once he'd left, he traveled as far from the Capitol city as he could go.

For the next few decades, Zin has lived on the outskirts of the continent, far from the Capitol. The Blood Elven empire had accomplished their goals of conquering the entire continent, and every city and Kingdom in the land paid fealty to the Empire, but their reach remained closer to home, and many of the cities on the outskirts and in the Northern reaches of Ta'lonhyr were left mostly to themselves. He was able to find frequent enough work, hunting and slaying monsters, or working as a mercenary for whatever petty issues the smaller Kingdoms had with one another.

It was in one of the larger Northern Kingdoms that he first encountered a gladiatorial ring. He'd taken part in a number of tourneys and jousts and such things before, but this was something altogether different. But it was something he took to like a fish released back into the water. It was carefree battle for the joy of it, and came with a nice purse at the end of the day. As one might expect, he quickly dominated the field. Once he'd conquered the ring, he moved on, and found other similar setups in other Kingdoms. He was starting to build a new reputation and name for himself, and when he realized it, he reluctantly had to back away again for concern that it might be too glaring a reputation for the Empire to ignore. He didn't want to have to run again, and he didn't want to bring trouble down on any of these unsuspecting people.

It is only in the last few years that rumor and legend has made its way across the seas, to tell of a gladiator renowned for his battle prowess as well. With it becoming more and more difficult to lead the kind of life he was built for without spreading too much notoriety and recognition, Zin decided to seek out this allegedly monstrous gladiator, and see if he might have finally found a man worthy to give him a challenge. If that meant putting a lot more distance between himself and the Empire, that only served to ease his burdens as well.

Rather than try to find passage from the Northern cities across the seas, Zin took a risk in traveling back to the South, though obviously he steered wide of the Capitol city itself, he worked his way to one of the coastal cities, big enough to have enough frequent trade and business with far flung nations, but not so large as to have too dominant a presence from the Empire. He found a ship willing to let him buy passage across the waters, and that would allow him to bring his animals for the journey, and promptly hid himself away until the ship launched for Al-Jalasa.