Tanavast has a relatively small frame, though he’s not very short owing to his elven heritage. His nearly white hair stood out and up, not quite disheveled but definitely the least orderly factor of his appearance, a stray tuft dangling down in front of his face. Though his ears lacked the usual elven point, his eyes were a dead giveaway, bright and sharp, frosty blue and nearly crystalline in the pattern of his irises.

---

Tanavast was born to a Human father and Elf mother. His father was a merchant, helping the Trunau farmers secure the sale and transport of their goods out of Orclands. His mother, Yashara, was wed to his father to secure a vital trade deal with some Elves from the wilds of nearby Varisia.

From childhood, Tanavast was told of how his father loved an Orc refugee once, before meeting his mother, and that she and their infant son—Tanavast’s half-brother—were killed in an Orc raid. This fueled Tanavast’s desire to see justice served. He grew up hoping to join the militia, but his mind was stronger than his body, and he was always told to stay behind when the alarm was raised. Growing up worshiping Sarenrae like his father, Tanavast tried to develop patience, peace, and compassion despite his hatred of the Orcs. To combat his mixed emotions, and in the hopes that he would perfect his body for battle, he decided to pursue the rigid discipline of a Monk.

In one of his meditation sessions, he received a strange feeling of unease, the opposite of what the discipline was supposed to produce. There was an alarm raised signaling an incoming Orc raid, so he rushed to see the fight. As usual, the other soldiers urged Tanavast to remain back, “to protect the women and children,” the man said, though he new they all lumped him into that category. One Orc made it past the line of defenders, though they put a dozen arrows in his back before he made it to the town. The Orc collapsed at Tanavast’s feet, looked up at him with shocked recognition, and with his dying breath said, “The whelp’s brother.”

Tanavast instantly understood the implication. His long lost brother was not dead. He was alive, captive among the Orcs, probably a slave since infancy. He told his father, who shook his head in denial, having already buried them long ago. No one believed him. “Perhaps you misunderstood the Orcish,” they said. “You must have misunderstood. We found their bodies after the raid. We buried them. Their graves are just outside Trunau.”

Not willing to leave his brother captive another day, and since none would help, Tanavast set out on his own to find his brother. He followed the retreating Orcs back to a group of tents. There, a scrawny Half-Orc knelt before a bonfire, stripped to loincloth in front of a Shaman and surrounded by warriors. The pyre looked prepared for a sacrifice, and fearing the worst, Tanavast burst from the tree line and charged the Orcs, hoping to get their attention long enough for his brother to escape. Instead, the Shaman looked right at him, and the warriors stepped aside, allowing him to charge right into the middle of the ceremony.

“Ah, good. It did get your attention,” said the Shaman. The warriors surrounded him with spears. Tanavast was trapped. They bound his hands with rope, and moved him closer to the fire. “With this sacrifice of your own blood brother, you will be initiated into the Shamanic order, and Rovagug will grant you powers unimaginable!” The Shaman grabbed a branding iron from the coals of the fire, and brought it near, ready to brand his brother with the symbol of Rovagug.

His brother roared as he snatched the iron from the Shaman and stabbed it into Tanavast’s bonds, searing the ropes off. The entire group of Orcs were so shocked that they didn’t react immediately. The Half-Orc then threw the brand over the Shaman’s head and charged her. The brand caught the tent on fire. Apparently the tent contained something very valuable, because most of the warriors rushed to grab water to dowse the flames rather than help the Shaman. Tanavast tried to help his brother, but they both went into the bonfire. A moment later, a smoldering Half-Orc clambered out, breathing heavily. They both ran as fast as they could, leaving the Orcs behind.

Tanavast’s brother outpaced him easily, and Tanavast was struggling to keep up. He collapsed more than once on the run. After one fall, they could hear the raiders coming up from the rear. Tanavast’s eyes began to glow, and he spoke in Celestial to something his brother couldn’t see. Rather than stand back up, he remained on all fours, a translucent form of a thick-maned, golden lion enveloped him, granting him a burst of speed as they crested the last hill toward Trunau.

His disappearance didn’t go unnoticed, and the militia had formed a party to go after him. The defenders held off the Orcs to cover their retreat back to the city. Tanavast’s father looked once again on his long lost son with disbelief on his face and tears in his eyes.