Justal of Pliyia

Justal

Overview: A young Pliyian tribesman from the Pliyian Enclave in the northernmost part of what was once Loriea. Has dreams of becoming famous and returning to his people a lauded hero. He is especially skilled with bows of every shape and size as well as handling javelins like they were made for his hand alone.

Physical Attributes:
Height = 6' 2"
Weight = 200 lbs.
hair: black; "scruffy" (and that's being nice)
eyes: light brown
distinguishing features: (think Lando Calrissian, but cuter) The only thing distinguishing Justal from any other Pliyian are his eyes. They seem quite bright against his dark skin and, constantly flitting about, they rarely miss what is going on around him. Many a young woman has been captivated by those eyes.

Skills/Abilities: Justal's skill with ranged weapons is extraordinary, bordering on the supernatural, though he has been known to miss . . from time to time.

Background: Justal was born into a grand legacy. Of all the tribes a Pliyian could be born to, he was born to the Mnimia . . . and to no greater or more well-known people than the Shaman Jonal (aye, the very same who protected his people's freedom) and his warrior-woman, Slafiah (aye, She who slays bears with her bare hands). The tales of their courting are some of the most popular ballads.
         Jonal and Slafiah had five children, all leading distingished lives: The eldest became the new tribal leader, the first to ever be appointed by a unanimous vote. The next, and only girl-child, became a shaman, rivaled only by her father in power and esteem. The third had the fastest feet Pliyians had seen for several generations, winning his tribe the highest awards at the Conclave (held every 5 years). The fourth took after his mother, a warrior of no little repute. In short, the Pliyians were in awe of the Mnimia tribe.
         And then there was Justal. That's usually how the introductions went: "Here's so-and-so, the great such-and-such; so-and-so, but you're familiar with His exploits . . . And this is Justal." The kindest anyone could say of him was "He's the youngest."
         It was easy to be intimidated by the Mnimia, even easier to be awed by the company of such legendary people, but for Justal, one of them, it just didn't seem like he could hold his own. It was frustrating and depressing and just plain aggravating. "Look at me!" he wanted to say, "Just look at me! I'm great, too!" But no matter what he had to say, one of his brothers or his sister, or even his parents had something of more importance to say. After all, each one of them had famous bards and travelers telling of their exploits. What had he, gangly son and wanabe archer, to offer?
         As much as he tried, Justal could just not seem to get anyone to notice him for anything other than the disappointing son of Jonal and Slafiah. He had no adventures to tell around the campfire, no secret message to carry half-way round the world, no famine or plague to cure, no fiends to slay . . . . He had . . nothing.
         Nothing except his bow, and Justal was nothing if not determined to prove his own greatness. Despite his not-quite seventeen years, he decided the only way he was ever going to get noticed was if he went on a long journey. A quest, yeah, that's it! He'd go on a quest. He'd pretend the gods sent him a vision-quest and off he'd go. That would surely make Pliyia take notice, wouldn't it? And even if it didn't, it would by the time he got back. He was sure of that.
         Justal was nothing if not determined.