Two dull, perpetually tired eyes; the left is a weathered yellow, the right nearly lost to the sclera in hues of moonstone. The rest is swathed in blues. A darkened roman face emits a nearly noble profile and sharp edges. Notable shades of lightened cheeks, and defined brow bones would have emitted more expressive features. Though appear more stone-like then they do alive.

Dark points define his legs, and root themselves to the earth with black, sure-footed hooves. Along the dorsal side of Noam’s body, lighter shades smooth out the curves of his neck and back. Including the outer feathers of his wings, resembling the shape of a hawk. Save for the white, bony thorn at the wing’s wrist. A sharp spike protruding from his skin – a particular trait passed down from his people. Mane and tail a striking white.

Noam prefers to keep his line of sight free of obstacles. Therefore his mane is clipped short for the most part. Allowing his tail to grow long, and maintaining the edges leveled. One might occasionally notice the tail braided at the base.

In general, the stallion’s body is a robust build. Conditioned to wander the Solterran lands at length, and to withstand battle. With a broad, strong neck seated on well suited shoulders. A wide chest and flexible hindquarters. Lean muscles lightly highlight against his shoulders, neck and sides. Lastly, his wings take up a large wingspan to take him into the ether.

Noam, a stallion of few words alternatively relies on his actions to get a point across. He expects people in general to do the same. Regardless of their status in society; high, low, medium… Behind veiled threats, or the pomp of silver tongues. On the surface there isn’t much to ascertain about Noam. Lacking any obvious layer or depth.

Half criminal, half survivalist – Noam continues to do what he does best, more so out of his own necessity. There isn’t a world out there where he’s become more than what he’s been molded into. On a large part he’s accepted that. Although at a cost that does more harm than good. At the root of his core, he is a lonely individual haunted by his past. Rare are the moments he challenges this mold – perhaps it comes with too much internal pain, too much baggage. With no one or nowhere to go back to, there just isn’t a good enough reason to change.

There are small parts of him, like embers that glow briefly now and then – sparking some life into his eyes. It isn’t uncommon to see him stop, and listen to a minstrel – or the tunes fluttering out from musicians and bards. He watches, not entirely with the people but apart as they dance and partake in festivities. Soaking in the ambience. Then there’s the sky. Noam is aflame in the sky. He becomes someone both unfamiliar and altogether lighter than his usual countenance.

If one is apt to notice, Noam continues to pay tribute to Solis. He feels a slave to it at times, but in reality it’s one of the few connections he’s been able to maintain. The closest thing to normalcy he can fathom. His God has become something of a love-hate relationship these days. In his breast he feels bound to Solis’ divine being. Perhaps threads of his past have intertwined with the indoctrination he’d experienced as a child soldier. Threads that are a part of him continue to cling, and seek purchase for meaning – in a fragmented state.

While he no longer serves the monarchy, he keeps his distance from the royal court. Perhaps fearing the call to arms, and his willingness to partake with blind fervor. Occasionally though, Noam will take bounties from the local authorities to keep up appearances. As a means to go as much unnoticed, while he continues to traverse the underbelly.

There are cycles for which Noam will fall into, travelling out for weeks at a time. As if he’s been spirited away to a place his body is already familiar with. His mind, miles away and hollowed out.

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Sparrow – a name commonly used by those who seek his services.

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RELATIONSHIPS/ACQUAINTANCES

• Zayir // the 'ghost'; first encounter [yr 505 - mors desert - fall]
• Cyrra // two or three descriptors; first encounter [yr 505 - day court - fall festival]
• El Rey // the 'executioner' ; first encounter [yr 505 - colosseum - fall festival]
• name // age // two or three descriptors
• name // age // two or three descriptors

[Mentions of slavery, physical & mental abuse.]

Noam remembers little of his beginning. It comes to him in warbled dreams, and unexpected reminders; be it a particular scent, a time of day, the texture of a blanket or the pattern of shapes and symbols pressed into cloth. For the most part Noam has often mistaken these reveries for glitches. Dismissing them as soon as they arrive.

SETTING
His people (he does not remember their name) lived on the edges of Solterra. Recluse, and wandering the cyclical paths their ancestors carved out before them. Guided by the seasons and the movements of the sun. They did not inhabit one corner long before moving to the next. A flock of winged, Solterran nomads refusing to submit to a collective gathering of tribes, or what would formally become the Kingdom of Solterra.

Their way of life predictably centered on warriors. The heart of their culture remained in Solis. They practiced daily, ritualistic ceremonies and acts of worship that had engrained itself into their way of life. While they relied heavily on their warriors, their nomadic tribe included healers, religious leaders and the elders who held a special place in the tribe. They were considered the historians, the keepers of the oral histories that had melded into myth and legend.

Of half-truths that wove in and out of their collective existence.

However they were not entirely isolated from the land’s bloodthirsty hunts, the rivalries of existing tribes, or the thriving black market. For that reason they considered outsiders with great hostility, and threats to their peoples. Over the years many came to abduct their children for slaves, steal their relics, conquer or wipe out their kind. An adult was often not ideal for slavery, as they often proved too problematic for the slavers. It was rare to ‘tame’ such nomadic, fierce peoples, that they were more often than not killed and robbed of their clothing and items to sell instead.

With the lack of support and the hostile relations met by neighboring tribes, Noam’s people had finally hit a breaking point. Once self-sufficient, their numbers now dwindled. Enough so, that to avoid inbreeding was impossible. What remained of the elders or the religious influences of the tribe, struggled to find answers from Solis. Until it was decided that this cruel fate was to be accepted, rather than fought against.

BEGINNING
Noam was birthed alongside a sister during this time. Amongst his mother and father, a few families and two elders. From the day he was born he experienced few comforts – but such was the way of a nomad. He was demure, reserved for his age, but took delight in the world he grew in. The wind and sky became an extension of himself, and the land bore endless opportunities to explore. The training that came with fighting was none too serious as a fledgling. Offering a sense of playfulness as it progressed into something more fine tuned, and taken on as integral responsibility.

As a yearling, he accompanied one of the adults on a scouting mission. A basic task at best, monitoring a relatively desolate piece of land that saw few travelers. There they happened upon a stranger dying in the sandy expanse ahead of them, delirious and dehydrated from the heat. Symbols of Solis marked their clothing – their supplies all curiously strange and alluring. Burning with curiosity, Noam raced to stand in the way of his chaperone. Pleading to help the stranger, just this once, to sate his curiosity. While it wasn’t beyond his people to kill all and any outsiders, they did occasionally adopt members who could prove themselves worthy. Encouraged by the markings of the stranger, Noam and his chaperone stayed – nurturing the stranger to a degree of better health.

They did not understand the stranger’s foreign dialect, or what was written in the journal she had carried with her. She was formally from a wealthy family. A study of the common religion in the capitol, she had become a priestess amidst the chaos and depravity of the kingdom. Repulsed by the deeds of her family, the corruption of the state – she’d followed a calling to go out on a pilgrimage beyond the safety of the capitol. With a good head on her shoulders, and experience with the travels beyond the safety of civilization – her best efforts had been thwarted. The priestess had fallen off course from her travels, without enough water to sustain her.

Throughout the course of Noam’s involvement, their interaction proved positive. Several days had passed when they finally returned to the others, stranger in tow. However they were only greeted with remnants of the tribe. A familiar body or two lying hardened on the ground, with the foul smell of rot spilled by the airs. The chaperone blamed the priestess for the chaos that had occurred. Without hesitation the chaperone began attacking. And by luck and chance alone, the priestess was able to defend herself. Killing the tribe’s person in the process.

SPIRAL
Noam found himself in shock. And despite all the preparedness he was taught up until then, found his legs and mind stalled by the death of his family members. Somehow the priestess urged him to come with her. Despite her repulsion of corruption in the land, she remained influenced by the thoughts of her family. Thinking the boy, Noam, deserved a ‘better, civilized life’ where he could learn the ways of the world. And know the comforts of civilization.

So began their travels back to the capitol of Solterra. The road ahead was not an easy one. And despite her ‘good intentions’, a crew of merchants intercepted them with a stake in the black market. While at first the merchants proved helpful and kind, a time came when they held the priestess for ransom and took the boy to auction in the slave market.

WAR [498 – 500 // age 1 - 3]
In that strange, and unfamiliar world Noam had been recruited as a child soldier. By chance, he’d been introduced to the harsh regimen of Viceroy on the Eluetheria Plains. At first he had complied out of fear. Lacking a better knowledge of the common tongue, he was beaten and punished for things he truly didn’t understand. Such treatment invaded his body with a sense of shame. However, the pain from such inflictions became a common association to his failures, and eventually numbed his feelings entirely. His past life continued to blur. He became strangely unburdened without these emotional connections. Praise brought him closer to Solis, unburdened by the moral dilemmas attached to each mission.

The day he lost sight to his right eye was the day he’d botched his first mission. Something cracked inside Noam when he’d lost many of his ‘friends’ that day – if you could call them friends. While there lacked any true form of camaraderie, he had begun to associate a connection to the faces that withstood the test of Viceroy’s maltreatment. Deep behind the anesthetic of pain and mind games, the losses shook something deep in his core. The mission was in shambles. Noam had given the order to retreat and came back empty handed. The punishment was severe. He was reconditioned once more, lost his eye to the beatings. It took days, perhaps weeks to recover with the help of a trained medic. He eventually regained his sight when his body finally mended. That last thread of resistance, the core deep inside finally shattered.

When the old Solterra began to burn, and the chaos was at its height – Noam’s dark and disorientated world began to crumble. Without a functioning chain of command the group disbanded. He had no true direction or purpose to follow. Perhaps his body knew better than he did. For months he wandered Solterra alone. Without noticing or realizing it, he began to follow the old routes his peoples had often traveled.

DISSOLVE [500 – 501 // age 3 – 4]
He finally met them – his weathered kin on the edge of the world. Dwindled down to only a few members. It was his sister who recognized him at first. Spoke to him in an unfamiliar language, calling out to him with an exotic name he had once owned. He had become a stranger to them. And once they realized this, they inevitably rejected his presence. They decided to leave him. But before they could he called out and asked them why. When they took flight he could feel the weight of his actions sink heavy into his soul. Their departure triggered memories of his acts as a soldier and beyond it. His leveled voice became more desperate for them to stay. He pleaded, frantic, speaking in that common language. His legs locked, and his body stilled – preventing him from taking pursuit.

FREEDOM [501 – 505 // age 4 - 8]
He watched in desperation, until their bodies finally disappeared into the sky. He had too many questions in his head to answer at that time, too many emotions – that he wasn’t certain how to handle them. Days had passed as he made his way back to the Capitol. Within that time period Noam decided he should continue what he’d done best. Hunting and killing. Accepting that he could not be redeemed, nor was it possible to change his ways. The thought of having purpose, regardless of what it was – brought peace to him once more. The sort of mindless peace, that finds its way back in the machine to keep it going.

So began his work as a bounty hunter. At first it was surprisingly easy – at least the killing part was. He followed his orders to every little detail. But as he began to accumulate some wealth, Noam began to question his intentions.

A much older priestess managed to track him down. They spoke at length. The information she had shared came in pieces with each visit, for he could not stand to be with her for too long. She had told him of his life in the desert – the abridged version through her eyes. She spoke of the auction that he’d been sent to, and the program funded by Zolin. The priestess made many of these visits over the years – perhaps feeling as if she owed Noam what fragments she could offer to him. Some days he’d retain what she’d told him, others – never quite pieced together in his head. (The priestess would record these interactions for her own personal uses).

Each kill felt different now. After the third year in the business, he began to obsess over the ways in which to kill someone quickly – and painlessly. How best to avoid messes or disfiguring the bodies. As if it would make the work easier. The accumulated effect of suppressed memories, feelings, faces and new information was beginning to spill over.

Irrational decisions periodically began to surface. He’d let some jobs go after he’d located targets, assisted disappearances and began lying to some of his clientele. Noam has begun to realize he’s unraveling somewhere in his head, and perhaps not in the best of ways. It comes with a renewed desire to ‘learn’ what it could all mean. For that purpose Noam continues with his work. Hoping that it will lead to more answers and revelations.

RECURVE BOW: A traditional recurve bow made from horn, wood and sinew laminated together. Accompanied by a leather quiver holding two types of arrow heads; light ones with small sharp points, and heavy ones with large, broad heads. (Fitted onto the armor on his right side, underneath his wing. Quiver fitted to the left.)

ARMOUR: Plain leather armor fitted for maneuverability, and meant to be light-weight. Covers the chest, shoulders, front legs, and 1/4 of the top neck.

SILVER COLLAR:
Fitted for a youngster. It’s broken, disheveled and tarnished over time. The number ‘32’ pressed into the outer surface.