Isian, of the Curatores. (MISSION COMPLETE)

[Maxodis]

Name: Isian
Age: Twenty-Four
Birthplace: Magna Bibliotheca
Gender: Male
Species: Ichneumon (Egyptian Mongoose)
Job/Position: Isian is a Curator, on pilgrimage from his home as a rite of passage.
Physical Description:

To the creatures native to this part of the world, Isian would make for an unusual sight. Built very much like a weasel or a stoat, it would be easy to mistake his species from afar. Closer inspection would reveal a number of significant differences. His torso is longer than either aforementioned creatures, allowing for a lean, sinuous flexibility and speed that they lack. His legs and feet are also shorter, allowing for a lower center of gravity when maneuvering. His ears are larger, bearing a stronger resemblance to mouse ears. There also is no break in the line from his forehead to the tip of his nose, allowing for a smooth, if not plain, face. His eyes are a vibrant hazel, appearing almost a fiery orange in direct sunlight. The area around his eyes and feet are furless, leaving only patches of black skin. His body tells a story of a lengthy journey, a sinuous torso and calloused paws telling of mountains scaled, and muscular legs with road-hardened feet speaking of countless miles traversed. What sets him apart from other creatures most starkly is his fur. Dark grey fur covers most of his body, warming to an earthy brown down his arms and legs and even darkening to a faded burgundy near his ears. Rather than the thick, bushy quality of the local creatures, his fur is lighter and longer, flowing smoothly over his sleek form. Longer tufts of it, almost looking like spines, begin behind his ears and run along the length of his spine to his tail, which ends in a black tip. His fur is spotted with yellow flecks.

In keeping with the customs of his homeland, Isian does not wear much clothing, even in cold weather. Besides a bronze shoulder guard called a Galerus, a featureless bronze mask, a banded skirt of studded leather strips, a loincloth, and worn sandals that strap up to mid-shin, he is bare. The mask he wears gleams from its high polish, unadorned save for two long oval slits for his eyes and a series of small holes near the part that fits over his mouth. The mask stops just short of his ears, arcing in a smooth line down to the bottom of his jaw. It is held in place by a leather strap that goes behind his head. The galerus is similarly polished, but decorated with gashes and chips in the battleworn metal. Two thin leather straps secure the shoulder guard to his torso. His paws are almost always covered by his caestus. Comparable to an armored gauntlet, his caestus are made of woven strips of leather with interlocking plates of metal over the knuckles and down the forearm. They are fingerless, leaving Isian free to wear them constantly without sacrificing finger dexterity.

He moves with a smooth grace, his stoic self-confidence apparent in the proud set of his shoulders. His movements betray a steady economy of movement that comes from a strong awareness of his physical capabilities and limitations.

Belongings:

In keeping with his people's codex, Isian began his journey with a very specific set of items in his possession, arranged neatly in a kit designed to allow him to traverse almost any terrain unimpeded. While the instructions set down in the codex leave no room for compromise, the items allowed a disciple on a pilgrimage are only intended for a journey of a few months, lasting no longer than a year. It is with little surprise that scarce few of his original tools have survived his lengthy journey. Stubbornly following the mandates of the codex, Isian has crafted his own replacements within his ability and improvised for much of the rest.

The result is a ragged, stained, patched leather satchel, its condition such that almost daily upkeep is required to prevent it from falling apart. Within are a number of makeshift items that closely resemble travel gear, but do not appear to be suitable for even basic use. Small stone hammers, their heads cracked and their handles splintered, deep climbing nails pitted with rust and dulled with age, lengths of grass woven into frail, dry rope. Many would consider the satchel and its contents to be garbage, not even fit to properly feed a fire. But the codex must be upheld. To breach its protocol is to go against everything that was taught, and to nullify completely the reason for his pilgrimage. Though loyal to the written word of the codex, he is no fool. He has long since learned to make do without travel gear. It is only written that a disciple must be in possession of such items, not that they must use them.

In stark contrast to his travel satchel, a relatively new bag hangs from his other shoulder. The surface of the hempen sack is broken by long, cylindrical protrusions. It holds at least a half-dozen scrolls, and wooden rolls from which to make more. The paper covering them varies in color, the oldest taking on a yellowed tint, while the newest proudly gleams a bleached white. Additional pockets are sewn into the sides of the hempen sack, holding a variety of smaller items, from writing implements to flint and steel to small vials containing herbal salves. A larger pouch near the bottom of the sack is used to store fair quantities of food. He keeps a leather-bound water canteen strapped to his left hip.

Personality:

Upon first contact, Isian adopts a conciliatory demeanor, first securing his bronze mask before dropping into a deep bow. His manners for addressing strangers are all by route, as rigidly defined in his codex as almost every other aspect of his life. He is to appear subservient and pleasant at all times, and has been strictly trained in masking any other emotions. It is accepted that no creature is perfect, and sometimes passion can overcome reason. It is for this reason that he wears a bronze mask, and is meticulous about keeping it securely on unless in company of close friends. At times, Isian will still his breathing and close his eyes, offering only the blank surface of the mask that hides the frustration or anger underneath while he searches for the strength to quell such emotions.

Only when in trusted company may he remove his mask, and even then the guidelines that dictate how a creature becomes trusted are as rigidly written. Should a creature find themselves in his company with his mask off, they would experience a remarkably different individual. Observing Isian's personality is like looking into a many-faceted gem. He is flippant, inexhaustibly curious, pedantic, stoic, vigorous, and insightful, among many others. Having devoted his entire life to upholding the behavior written in his codex, he has never fully developed as an individual. Instead, he hold a strong sense of pride to be a humble part of a cause larger than himself, a behavior that at times clashes with his own driving desire for greatness. He has traveled far and seen many sights, broke bread with warriors, laborers, conquerors and missionaries. He has observed more facets of life than most can understand, yet his own grasp of his experience is incomplete, having only witnessed and never felt.

The same holds true for many other basic levels of understanding. He has always been dutiful about writing of his travels, meticulously jotting down specific details to maintain as accurate an account as possible. Where others might read his scrolls and feel the stirrings of emotion, Isian would only feel the slightest, imagined twinge. His lack of understanding many basic courtesies often leads to miscommunication.

Above all, Isian is zealous about learning. He holds true to the belief that there is at least one new discovery to make every day. Should he discover something that he finds pleasing, he becomes uncharacteristically giddy, experiencing childlike glee and excitement well beyond normal expectations.

Strengths:

-He has a powerful desire to learn and discover that burns in him like a wildfire, which has given him strength throughout his journey and is far from abating.

-He is thorough and methodical about everything he does, never leaving to chance the consequences of an action made in desperation.

-He is an accomplished fighter, having been trained from an early age in a defensive fighting style consisting of a mixture of boxing and wrestling called Pancratium. Armed only with his caestus, he has little difficulty disarming and subduing an opponent.

Weaknesses:

-He lives by the codex, as he was trained since birth. Every word has been burned into his memory from years of long repetition, and he follows its mandates to the letter, even to his detriment.

-He does not relate well to other creatures, treating them with kindness, but also viewing them with the same detachment as he would view a plant.

-He is not fully aware of the customs of local creatures, the majority of his understanding coming from written accounts of others.

History:

Isian is a slave. He was born a slave, to parents who were also slaves, as were his grandparents, and all relatives born since the written word first came to the Ichneumonii people. They do not view their slavery in the same light as others who once knew freedom. They do not rally against their lot in life, or bitterly condemn the traditions that have made them slaves for generations. To the Ichneumonii, their slavery is no misfortune. It is a privilege; one that saved them from their tribal lifestyle, one that gave them knowledge and culture. Their enslavement did not break their spirit, but rather opened their eyes to a level of enlightenment beyond their own means. Their enslavement brought hope to a dying people.

Such concepts of slavery are as foreign as the Ichneumonii themselves. Their beliefs and ideas are often viewed with distrust and outright fear, as no society in this part of the world has even dreamed to come close to that of the one that engulfed and empowered the Ichneumonii. Then again, only in the quiet, backwater place at the farthest edges of the world would mention of The Empire be met with dull, incomprehending stares.

To speak of the empire at length would be a phenomenal task, not to mention one that would take much careful planning and consideration, due to the centuries of history that would thus be called into account. Such ambitions are best left to historians, and while a great wealth of information could be gleaned from its story, what is most important is that comprehension be passed, to shed better light on the motives and actions of one such creature born of its influence.

The Empire, never officially known by any other name, began as a mass expansion in a show of military might. In the span of a few short decades, an area of dominion unlike any ever seen was amassed by The Conquerors. As ambitious as they were confident, the conquerors were not content to leave their expansion at just their most powerful neighbors, not when they knew they had the potential for so much more. As more lands fell under The Empire's standard, long standing traditions and cultures were smashed into oblivion, proclaimed as heretical, and forgotten. Much information was lost in the name of total dominion. Over time, this unadulterated intolerance weakened The Empire, nearly bringing it to its knees. Mass internal conflict arose, and many of the original Conquerors were caught in its flame.

In their place, a council of scholars arose. Called "The Masters" by the common masses, they achieved a dominion over their subjects that no amount of brutality or strength could achieve. They all but forsake the way of the sword, acknowledging the inconsistency of brute force over the persistent strength of the written word. The Empire continued its rampant expansion, though through the deft manipulation of knowledge rather than the determined stroke of a sword. Much of the information that was lost was regained, and preserved.

Knowing all too well the power of the knowledge they had accumulated, The Masters were not inclined to leave such potential unprotected. A great library was planned, a structure rivaling the magnificence of any of the great buildings erected in tribute to The Empire. No building could be constructed without a massive number of slaves, however, and the section of The Empire that the building was planned for was largely without such multitudes of labor. Rather than diverting an incredible amount of resources towards transporting the required laborers from all around The Empire, The Masters moved instead to expand their dominion in that area.

The Ichneumonii people were an old tribe, their long-established culture and traditions stretching back for countless generations. Their ancestral land, a narrow strip of land along the shore of a great river, consisted largely of expanses of mud flats. They were a proud people, respected by other tribes for their stoic devotion to upholding their tradition infallibly. Though surrounded on two sides by larger neighbors as powerful as they were ambitious, the Ichneumonii never faced the threat of aggression due to the mutual agreement that had been set in place between the riverland tribes generations ago. The Ichneumonii were never at war with their neighbors so that they may put all their effort into defending against their common enemy, a species of snake, called Aspis in the Old Tounge. The Ichneumonii were renown for their sole ability to hunt and kill the venomous monsters. In exchange for protection against the Aspis, no greedy eyes turned to the land of the Ichneumonii. At least, until the threat of The Empire loomed on the horizon.

With an invasion force of diplomats and heralds, The Empire discovered the Ichneumonii fighting a war on two fronts. Dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, those in charge of bringing the riverlands under Empire power deemed it necessary to discover the cause of the fighting before stepping in to end it. The Empire's representatives that visited the Ichneumonii lands spoke a tale of betrayal, telling of the local tribes surrounding them uniting in the cause to repel the Empire. The Ichneumonii disagreed and refused to take part in their resistance, keeping the would-be allies divided and separate. Desperate, the rebellious allies turned on their long-time protectors, throwing their forces against the Ichneumonii in a brutal invasion attempt. Through brave, the Ichneumonii were cautious and intelligent fighters, utilizing unconventional tactics to drive back their foes and defend their borders. Representatives of the Empire were also sent to the neighboring tribes in order to gain a more complete picture of the situation. None returned.

The rebellious tribes were crushed violently in a matter of months after numerous attempts at peaceful negotiation. Their broken people were enslaved, sent off in chains to nearby quarries to cut stone for the Great Library. The Ichneumonii were also enslaved, being a tribal people and thus far too uncultured to be simply absorbed into The Empire. Unlike their belligerent neighbors, however, the Ichneumonii recognized The Empire as their saviors, as without their interference, the overwhelming force of their aggressors would have surely overwhelmed them. In return for their loyalty and gratitude, it was decreed that the ancestral lands of the Ichneumonii were to remain untouched, left in their natural state so that one day, through hard work, they may earn back their home. In addition, the Ichneumonii were honored with the exclusive right to build the Great Library with their own paws.

Build it they did, with as much pride as if it were a monument to themselves. The construction took decades, during which the Overseers of the project made a startling discovery. Unlike their former neighbors, the Ichneumonii slaves had an incredible aptitude for learning, some becoming as intelligent as The Empire's many philosophers. Along with an unshakeable faith in The Empire's benevolence and almost unparalleled loyalty, the Overseers saw unmatched potential in the creatures under their watch, and immediately began working to harness their potential in a fashion that few expected.

Upon completion of the Great Library, the Ichneumonii slaves and their children were all offered a choice. They could choose to be free, moving back to their ancestral land to continue living in peace as they had for generations, or they could continue to be slaves. Not slaves as they had been, working from dawn 'till dusk at manual labor, but slaves to the cause of protecting that which they had wrought. They would be slaves to the pursuit and purity of knowledge, Giving themselves over body and soul to its protection and preservation. Of the Ichneumonii in captivity, some grasped at their freedom, many of them older creatures who wished to return to the land of their youth before they died. A great many more eagerly accepted the opportunity offered to them.

Though respected and privileged, the remaining Ichneumonii, forevermore known as the Curatores, were still slaves. An extensive book of instruction was created, detailing every responsibility expected of the Curatores and setting in word every aspect of their life. This massive volume, called simply the Codex, became known to every Curator by heart from an early age, when their training began. Over the next few centuries, the Codex became everything to the Curatores, blending with their ancient tribal ceremonies in a set of traditions that, while still show their fierce loyalty to The Empire, set the Curatores apart in a fashion that made them as much an equal as any other conquered people within The Empire.

Over time, the strength of The Empire weakened, falling to internal corruption and strife. The reign of The Masters came and went as their descendants all slowly died out. Without a unifying presence, much of the once great Empire fractured, erupting into conflict to fill the power vacuum. These struggles also passed with time. Throughout it all, the Curatores upheld their oath to protect the greatest treasure of The Empire, their devotion unshaken despite its source dying a slow, withering death. To this day, they still follow their Codex with pride, not only defending the knowledge put under their care, but also studying it to better understand its value.

One of the mandates that dictate the lives of the Curatores states that young men and women coming of age must make a pilgrimage from the Magna Bibliotheca of their home and go out to the world in search of knowledge to bring back. What type of knowledge required is nonspecific, so a disciple may return with a working knowledge of a foreign language as easily as a detailed record of crops grown in a nearby area and its effect on local trade. While all new information is accepted, the manner of information, and its importance, is the first of many factors that will ultimately decide how much influence a Curator will have over their peers, in accordance with their self-governed hierarchy. Generally these pilgrimages last no longer than a year, perhaps two.

Which at long last brings us to the story of an extraordinarily driven individual. There is little point in outlining the details of Isian's youth, as his was no different from those of generations of youths before him. The Codex teaches all the definition of their lives with precision, allowing little room for individuality and encouraging a sense of pride in being part of a cause greater than one creature. Despite all this, Isian always displayed a sense of ambition that other of his order lacked. Where others found themselves content with the greater cause of their lives, Isian always harbored suspicions about the full extent of his personal potential.

Newly come of age, Isian left the Magna Bibliotheca as many others before him and countless after him later would, with a near unyielding sense of duty to his order. His journey took him to several distant islands across the sea, where he studied the customs of the indigenous people and their relation to the nature around them. His findings all revolved around the volcanoes that formed the islands, with the tribal locals describing them with reverence, as if they were sentient forces rather than naturally occurring events. Despite filtering all the gathered knowledge through a veil of academic indifference, Isian could not help but feel a growing awe for the mighty formations in the year and a half he conducted his research.

He set off back to the temple of his birth with his work completed, but feeling unsatisfied with his conclusions. While he had clearly defined that which he had set out to discover, the young disciple couldn't help but feel as if he had only scratched the surface of the mystery and allure of volcanic formations. Still, duty stated that he must return in short order. His findings were already more than enough to grant him full acceptance into the Curatores.

The devastating storm that assailed his ship and its crew caught them unaware not more than halfway through their voyage. Isian never learned if the captain suspected foul weather prior to its occurrence, as the captain himself was killed when the vessel's main mast snapped, sending spear-length splinters of wood sailing through the air. With the captain dead and the ship crippled, Isian found himself stranded with the remaining crew members in the middle of the sea. The last of their food was two days gone when a passing trader came upon the wreck and towed them to the nearest port.

With no ship or means to secure one, the journey home became substantially longer for the young ichneumon. What would have been a week's journey by ship had become a journey of some two months through mountainous, rocky land. Undeterred and with no time to waste, he set out almost as soon as he stepped onto land.

Not even a day into his new endeavor, he found himself once again thwarted by nature. Recent rains had caused a series of extensive mudslides in the area, making travel dangerous, if not impossible. With determined fervor, he pressed on through the uprooted landscape, following the cliffside path where it showed, and improvising where it was concealed. Through sheer force of determination the young creature plowed through another two days of exhaustive travel before he found where the trail, and all the land beneath it, had slid away from the mountain, dropping several hundred feet below into a frothing sea.

It is said that trouble bears three children, and the third proved to be the most perilous. As Isian backtracked through the washed-out landscape, he found his path blocked by a snake. The creature had lost its den and its young in the rampant mudslides. Driven by desperation, it attacked the ichneumon on sight, offering the young creature no opportunity to escape. For many others, the story would end here. The Ichneumonii, however, carry within them a resistance to some of the strongest snake venoms, and are gifted with reflexes as sharp as the reptiles that they alone can hunt. Even caught unawares, and having never before seen a snake much less fought such a vicious creature, the young Ichneumon held his own. Armed with only his Caestus and a knowledge of pancratium, which proved to be next to useless against a creature lacking arms and legs, Isian only managed to kill the beast by bashing its head repeatedly against a large stone. Forced to grapple the creature, it managed to score a shallow bite on his arm before Isian painted the rock with its blood.

While resistant enough to the snake's poison to keep from dying, Isian was not spared from the illness that quickly set in from its influence. Fevered and barely lucid, he struggled back to the port town that was a day's hard travel away. Periodically collapsing from exhaustion, the ichneumon was helpless to the images that his fevered mind conjured. Some were terrifying, snakes with endless heads and swarms of bats that darkened the sky. Others sparked emotions of poignancy, elation, and all those in between. Above them all was an image of a mighty volcano, which no matter what came before, always brought a soothing sense of peace to the young creature's tormented mind.

Isian was not aware of when he finally returned to the port, only that at some point during the inexorable climb of his mind back to clarity, he found himself strapped to a bed in what appeared to be a medical bay. The next weeks gave the young creature time to think in a fashion that he had never been allowed before. He considered his unsatisfying work, his desire to achieve something more, and the potential within himself that he had never truly tapped into. The codex had dictated his life and demanded respect, but ultimately its purpose was to guarantee the protection, preservation, and expansion of the Magna Bibliotheca's vast store of knowledge. Knowledge was of unquestionable value, but only if it was unerringly true. How could he add his contribution to that mass of information with findings that he knew with every fiber of his being to be incomplete? The pursuit of knowledge is one that is far larger than one creature alone, but does that mean that he should so meekly settle with his destiny, adding a mere pebble to the mountain of information already stored when he could achieve so much more? He could travel the world in search for volcanoes, amassing a wealth of information while he searched for the answer to a question he could only vaguely define.

What he planned was unprecedented. The longest recorded pilgrimage lasted two and a half years, and when the disciple's thesis proved that that time was well spent, the prestige the newly titled Curator was unrivaled. Others had attempted to follow that example, but the significance of their work had never held up to the critical review that resulted from these attempts. While not explicitly against the Codex, an undertaking such as this would go well beyond the two and a half year precedent, when it was expected that he would return within the year as many others had before him and many others would after.

Twelve long years later brings the story to its present day, which finds Isian in Mossflower, a land far beyond the reach of the fallen empire. His journey has been as long as it has been fulfilling, awarding him with sights and experiences beyond counting. Several vague mentions of a long-dead volcano brings him to this region, with stories of the fabled 'Salamandastron' becoming steadily more commonplace the closer he comes to its destination. Tempered by long years of travel and driven by an inexhaustible vigor, every day brings Isian closer to his dreams.

((Yap, I think that's it.))

Code Words: -Correct-

[Treble Tiderunner]

You and your long bios. Accepted.