Post by Doestovsky on Sept 16, 2015 7:31:23 GMT
The Profile of a Man
Name:
Akan Raka
Age:
[question_mark]
[question_mark]
[question_mark]
Gender:
Male
Race:
Human
Height:
7'6"
Weight:
145.5lbs
Basic Appearance:
Akan is a monument of a creature. His muscles are toned and well-worn; his hair is bleached like the sun, waving uncontrollably in the wind; his smile is a diplomat's barter, winning a princess' heart. Whether he's travelling by horse or by foot, Akan's flowing white robes stay impeccable. No one knows how he does it. Maybe he himself has no idea. One thing's for certain, though: he only has one set of white robes.
His eyes have an incandescent golden hue, taking suit after the color of the setting sun.
Combat Credentials
"Fighting is for the ones with nothing better to do or with a gross fetish for waking up sore the next day". Because of his distaste for all manner of violence, Akan doesn't subscribe to the idea of 'rough and tussel play'. That doesn't mean he won't use violence as a means, however. He's not wholly foreign to the idea of using other folk to fight for him, and in more than one instance, he's used a wall of farmers to get away from bandits or what-others-ail-you. Him fighting? No.
Weapon(s):
-Left fist
-Right fist
-Left elbow
-Right elbow
-Teeth
Gear:
-Impeccable white robes
-Sandals
-Red gemstone
Background
In the beginning, when Den created man, Akan was one of the first to be made. Standing on the plateu of his god's canvas, he and the others that were formed watched in awe as the Light spoke into them life, form, and being. When at last they were whole, they began dropping to their knees, one by one, extolling their god for the life that they had. For a hundred years, the ones on the plateu worshiped Den in that way, neither eating, drinking, nor sleeping. As the Light rose, they magnified him even further and as he set into the distance, so too did they increase their praise.
On the first day of the hundred and first year, Den grew bored of the things that he created and decided to give them newness. He allowed their forms to degrade, made them thirst for something to wet their tongues, and made them hunger for dirt. Man was now constrained by time, and Akan became afraid.
Their praise continued for several days until they began dropping, one by one, writhing in the dirt, howling in the pain of hunger and thirst. In the madness of their moments, through gritted teeth and cracking lungs, they still found gasps to praise their god.
But not Akan. He cried for absolution. He asked and pleaded and bartered with the Light for an end to his torment. When no response came, he continued to yell, stomping up the ground in an effort to stop the others from their shouting. Days passed and the first of the First died. His body became limp and they came upon his flesh like a swarm of locusts. Life coursed through their veins as praise for the Light welled up from revitalized bones.
"Praise be to Den who provides us this meal."
"Praise be to Den who sustains us each day."
"Praise be to Den, the author of Life."
"Praise be to Den who is and will ever be."
Akan, not having partaken in their feast, rose up to his feet in one last attempt to bargain. He raised both arms up to the sky, hand in hand, and quietly muttered, "please". In an instant, the sky opened up to reveal the vastness of the universe. Mouth agape and knees trembling, Akan watched as a being wrapped in the splendor of the sky opened up its arms and rained down upon them a gift of understanding. Franticness came over man at that moment. They shuffled and ran about, slipping and colliding with each other in the foreign sensation. They tried to find pockets, crevaces, places where they could hide from this perversion of the Light, but could find nowhere. Distressed and with no idea of what to do, they cried to Den for absolution.
But not Akan. He fell down on the swirling mud, letting the torrent wash over him, erasing his fiber of the dryness of the Light. With his mouth agape, he let the newness wash inside him, bringing life to his dry lungs. For several days he listened with joy as his brothers and sisters cried in this foreign soil. Then, one by one, they began to look up to the sky and embrace the change. Not long after, they screamed with joy, praying and asking that it never end.
For some time, the rain did not cease. The land became drenched and the waters inched closer and closer to their place. After a while, it finally came to a close. The land was forever different now. All around their plateu was an ocean of water, and sprouting up from the ground was a well of new colors and life. One by one, they inched towards the edge of the plateu and looked down. In the stillness of the water, they saw themselves for the first time. They were moved by themselves, infatuated, even. They were beautiful and they were each magnificent in their own way. For days they spent time with their reflection, gazing down at it and taking note of every feature, as if it would change in an instant. Still, to man, this felt like a grave trespass, and just as it started, they stopped visiting the waterside and focused their praise back to Den. Not long afterwards, however, a being descended yet again and came upon them to bring words of solace:
"You are worth more than you allow yourselves to be."
For a while the being talked, but man was already set free from its chains with the first words. So they began to look away from the Light and saw their world with unshackled eyes for the first time. This land was much greater than they had ever dreamt. Green sprouted from every place it could; things teemed the oceans, bounding in their freedom. Even the skies shared their domain with things that flew by. This land was beautiful, much greater than the dryness of the Light, but even more so was man. They were beautiful, each and every one of them. For the first time, they saw each other and a warmth brewed within them. One by one, they succumbed to it, and for several days, they celebrated beauty with one another.
But not Akan. He stared straight at the Light and began devising ways to get back at the author of life. As his brothers' and sisters' ecstasy welled in bursts all around him, a being seething with intent approached him. It stretched out its hand and offered Akan the last thing he would need in order to fulfill his dream: freedom. The being broke the shackles that tied his hands and allowed him to roam away from the plateu.
And so he wandered. For a time, he travelled the land with no real purpose. He scaled the tallest mountains he could find, swam the longeset rivers he came across, and communed with the creatures that made their homes in the places where man was not. Then, Akan came across his kind again, but this time, they were different. They looked much frailer than he and his siblings; they were less grand and less awesome. As he watched these things shuffle around with their own reasons, he suddenly had an idea. He came upon the village and bid for their worship. He would compete with Den for mankind's praise, and in doing so, he would suffocate the Light with each newborn child in his own name, and each dying man that prayed to him rather than Den.
Years came and went, and the village proclaimed Akan as a god. He found his youth unceasing, regardless of how many generations of this village's children grew and died. They built for him temples, set apart days so they could extol him; they even incorporated his name into several of their words.
One night, while he was fast asleep, the Light came to him in a dream.
"You are the last of the First and the first of my children to rebel. You are clever, I will not deny that. Let us have a contest, then. We will put everything on the line. You will bid your life, I will bid my throne. The game is simple: whosoever has more followers than the other after the six thousandth sunrise is the winner. These are the boundaries: neither of the participants may directly harm the other and neither of the participants may directly cause harm to their opponent's followers. What do you say?"
"I could do that in a thousand years."
"Very well, a thousand years it will be. You are the last of the First and the first of my children to rebel. In a thousand years, your life is mine."
"In a thousand years, I will cut you down from your perch and recreate you a million times over into shapes and forms you cannot even begin to detest."
Awake and seething with purpose, Akan instructed his village to spread his name throughout the lands. He himself began travelling in an attempt to win villages and cities one by one. In every hole he came by, Den's cults cut down his own. In every city that he walked through, the Light's enforcers held him in order to stall his efforts. Still, his numbers grew. Blood was paid by blood and his name became sung in temples across the land.
The easy part is behind him. This is where things become difficult. Now he brings his crusade to the kingdoms, beginning with the land of Etirath.