Tarak Maeda the Legend of the Battlefield

Role

Chapter 10

Taraks flails madly from the blows that repeatededly rain
down upon him from the one known as Burwell. Holy flames
tearing at his flesh, the smell overwhelimg the room. With
one violent heave, the bull unleashes a blow of immense
power, as final breath is knocked from his body. Tarak's
vision fill with motes of pure mana, and just as suddenly
air rushes back into his lungs.

Tarak pushes himself from his feet as he utters the words
"Taraks splats!"

As he regathers his clothing, the motes of pure mana grow
stronger, his vision clouded by a flame. Slowly the flame
parts as a life starts to fill 2 weapons and one piece of
armor. A crimson flail named "dragon's heart" and a dragon
femur begin to vibrate with anticipation. A belt of dragon
tail bones tighten around his waist, as a foreign yet
somehow familiar voice fills his head.

"Step through the fire face you Adversity."

Role

Chapter 9

Tarak stalks through the woods of a mist filled forest ... well stalks may
be a slightly optimistic interpretation ... but as far as large folk in the
woods go ... its quiet. He scans his surrounds catching a glimpse of his
pray he hurls a throwing weapon at it, binding it, knocking it to the ground.
As he moves to pick his prey up, its cries for help still filling the air he
stops as memories flood his head. The strongest of the two, one a distant
familarity he cannot quite put his finger on ... something yet to be
understood but there driving him none the less ... the other his sister,
doubled over a table an erratic arangement of books of war scattered infront
of her, she turns towards him and smiles.

"You can use this. Adapt it."

As he shakes his head for a moment Tarak subconciously reaches towards the
flail hanging from his belt while uttering the words.

"Taraks get good mooses!"

Role

Chapter 8

Many many years have now passed and there is much that has flowed along the river of time.
Tarak has lived that long that he knows he is very different from others, very different
from his family and those he once called friends. He has by far outlived all of them by
more years than many would claim he has right to. His experience when younger some obvious
others no so has cemented the person he is destined to come:
1. He struggles to make friends, this is not neccesarily an issue of trust, but more he has
. had enough of saying goodbye to friends and family. A struggle letting loved ones go.
2. When his sister passed, he spent years as a mercenary, eventually leading to the warrior
. guild, here he continues to train following on from what he already knew.
3. He has a love of combat. It reminds him of his sisters laughter. This pushes him to be the
. best he can be.
3a. Further to this, the change that was triggered when he was ill, ultimately giving him the
. very chance he has now has imbued him with a drive of mastery of oneself.
4. His love of combat means he seeks conflict of all kinds, watching it, being in the thick
. of it, the more the better. Further straining the ability to make friends!
5. While he can speak quite fluidly, he prefers to speak in a similar fashion to the giants
. he use to chops trees with West of Galadon.
6. The way he was saved has forged a hidden bond with Lord Twist and all he stands for Magic
. and Honesty.
6a. This bond slowly pushes him towards the Nexuns, Keepers Of Balance
7. He is patient and determined.

Role

Chapter 7

Tarak stands at the graves of his family, two the left a fresh grave has been dug about five
feet in length, a casket sits inside the grave. A tear forming in his left eye Tarak whispers
the words "Goodbyes sister, Taraks misses."

As he places hand on shovel he remebers back to the good times he shared, as he did when he
burried his mother and father. The words he uttered when he was so young held true, for
eighty years he carried his sister, cared for her. Their bond extremely unique, it was very
early on in child hood that something was noticed was not right, her legs never really seemed
to develop so Tarak was her legs, and well she was the brains of the outfit. She shared this
gift with him help teach him things his father never could grasp. She loved the thrill the
motion she had been denied, and nothing beat the thrill of combat, so she studied the ways of
unarmed combat and applied this knowledge through her brothers body as an extension to her own.
Hearing her laugh and giggle only pushed Tarak harder, over time becomeing quite the formidable
unarmed combatant.

It was during a particularly nasty fight against a pack of wolves, Tarak was covered in blood
throwing his arms and legs in way of teeth protecting his sister, constantly getting his legs
tripped up from underhim, he knew he was ... he knew they were in trouble. Suddenly the two
found themsevles, on high ground, finally the upper hand managing to beat the wolves back
to the shadows of the forest. Peering downwards Taraks sister pokes him on the shoulder and
points towards his feet elevated some two feet from the ground.

"How the hell did you do that?"

Role

Chapter 6

Tarak peers over the edge of the crib, a small female figure lies in it sleeping soundly.
His mother and father stand behind him, a warm smile on their faces. Tarak reaches a hand
out gently touching the forehead of the smaller figure.

"Taraks sisters! So liddles! Taraks liddles likes this?"

Taraks father leans forward slightly "Once you were small like that to son."

"Taraks not liddles no mores! Sisters bigs Taraks?"

A cautious look crosses Taraks fathers face "We are all different, I doubt she will grow to
be as big."

"Yuh! Taraks looks afters liddle sisters dens!"

Role

Chapter 5

Keong sits on the ground, covered in sweat as the sun beats down on him. Glancing
across the forest he survey the stack of lumber his son has formed. He knows there
is little point in counting, his son has cut more and continues to move tirelessly
through yet another tree.

"Come over son. Lunch time, and time for school!"

Tarak lifts his head an excited look on his faces "Taraks Eat chickens?"

Montioning towards a picnic hamper, Keong nods, Tarak responds quickly wedging his
axe in a tree and running over. Pausing briefly before he begins to devour the first
of two chickens. Lifting his head slightly Tarak peers at his father,

"Daddies, when Taraks backs big schools?"

"I don't know son, I am looking, I am looking ..." as his words trail off Keong
sighs.

... Six months earlier ...

Keong stands in the kicthen of his home, the fury on his wifes face obvious. "What has
he done this time?"

The woman looks at him and sighs "This time he has punched out a cow! Who the hell knocks
out a cow!"

Keong sighs, "Same reasoning as the rocks?"

The woman nods, "Two cows, one on the left was sleeping the one on the right was not, so
he knocked it out. Then he sat in the middle of them arms stretched moving like a sea-saw.
... Taraks makes sames!"

Peering at Keong she questions, "What happened the day it rained?"

Role

Chapter 4

Keong was always a big man, standing some seven feet tall and broad of shoulder
there are very few humans who can match him for sheer size and strength. But
playing with his now five year old son, he was experiencing the very rare occasion
where he was simply being over-powered. Giggling and laughing all the way Tarak
wraps his arms around his fathers thighs and lifts himm cleanly from the ground.

"Stop! Stop! Put me down son!"

Tarak peers up towards his father and lets out a small huff. "Taraks does!"

As he is dropped to the ground, Keong riffles his sons hair, "Strong little one
ain't ..." before the words leaves Keongs mouth Tarak stomps his feet and lifts
his father from the ground again "Taraks not Liddles! Taraks Big! Like Daddies!"

"That you are son that you are! Come now time to eat breakfast and make our way
to the forest. Chop chop!"

Role

Chapter 3

Taraks father, bursts through the door of his home north of the Feanwyn,
completely tearing it from its hinges. Removing his clothing he grabs large
wash basin and wrings the water from his clothing. Quickly moving he turns
to his wife, "Quick what ever you can find, catch the rain!". Reaching out
the window he quickly redirects the roof overflow to the large bowl, a sense
of hope crossing his face as the bowl slowly fills. "The rest of the water
quick quick, and bring our son." Emptying the various containers into the bowl
him out there is a small squeak as laboured breathing is replace by silence.
Lifting his head Tarak lets out a little giggle as he firmly grasps his fathers
thumb.

Role

Chapter 2

Taraks father, Keong leans against a tree in the Feanwyn Weald, seaking
shelter as rain falls from the sky. Reaching a hand out he catches a
of couple drops in his hands, feelin a slight tingling sensation. Flexing
his hand a glimmer of hope crosses his face, the pain that had been
troubling him those last few days gone. Peering at the still upright tree
he had been setting to fell, he noticed each axe mark ever so slightly
closing over. Leaping to his feet he begins to run north through the forest
taking the shortest way possible to South Darien.

...

The God of Magic sighs, lamenting the days of Ages Past.

Small tears form at the corners of his eyes as they grow with pure mana.

As the tears fall, some land on the various mortals of the realm.

Role

Chapter 1

I guess many a story sometimes you just need to go back to the
beginning, this takes us back a Century and a half, Tarak was barely
six months of this world and he was extremely sick...

A large man dressed in the clothing of lumberjack stands over a small
crib held closely in his right arm was a beautiful woman, the pressure
of concern and lack of sleep clearly evident on her face. In the crib
lay a young child, gaunt yet screaming in anguish from the fever and
disease that ravishes his body.

The large man stretches a hand towards the child, laying the back of
his hand across his forehead, pulling is hand back he lets out a sigh.
Peering up from the crib, he stares outside the window for a moment,
pulling the woman closer to him he utters the words "He has brought us
a lot of happiness even tho he may be short of this world."

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