[HIDER=DRAVEN][CENTER][COLOR=GRAY][I]Character Theme – [/I][/COLOR] [URL=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y37D0BvACv0]Moon Blade[/URL]
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 [IMG]http://i.imgur.com/HaV8Z.jpg[/IMG]

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【[U]Full Name[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Draven[/COLOR][/I]
【[U]Race[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Human[/COLOR][/I]
【[U]Appearance[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Draven is an average human there is nothing much to his appearance behind the basics. While being born on an isolated island off of Melenaoth, his skin has gained a peach skinned tone. His hair is a long, naturally straight, ribcage length chestnut brown; his eyes are also a light hazel with a few specs of gold that flicker in the light taking over his hazel eyes with pure gold. His skin is fairly clean with no wrinkles or hints of rapid aging. However he does have a beard that connects to his upper lip which has a bushy mustache curled at the end aka Handlebars. His island attire consisted of nothing but a very loose oversized shirt along with baggy pants that stopped open lipped at the base of his calf muscle. In the starting area, after meeting I'onriyi, Draven gains an entirely new wardrobe. Dawning his purple warden symbolism, he wears a large purple trench coat accompanied by black cargo pants with a fitted shirt with the sleeves removed. Draven does not wear shoes or sandals, he simply wears a foot cover that rests on top of his foot while the bottom is exposed allowing him optimal movement. Finally he wears a pair of simple fingerless gloves.

Draven however is on a different level on physical ability than most humans; he can almost be compared to a Penin not physically since it’s impossible for a human to sand up to a being with two skulls and the ability to handle scolding hot liquid, but in the sense of stamina the Penin thrive off of. Draven is a rather tall fellow, standing at a height of 6 foot flat. Draven has a solid weight of 170 pounds (Roughly 77 kilograms) in complete and totally refined muscle. From birth Draven has forged his body maintaining it at physical peak and striving to increase the strength and endurance it can withstand. With his lean built frame he can move quite quickly and easily, wearing minimal clothing in battle as it restricts movement, hence the loose pants and sleeveless shirt. 
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【[U]Gender[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Male[/COLOR][/I]
【[U]Age[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]27[/COLOR][/I]
【[U]Sexuality[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Heterosexual[/COLOR][/I]
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【[U]Birth Country[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]North Wegam Fermos[/COLOR][/I]
【[U]Starting Village[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Zerul[/COLOR][/I]
【[U]Organization[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]The Wardens[/COLOR][/I]
【[U]Warden Affiliation[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Balance Warden[/COLOR][/I]
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【[U]Personality[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]It’s safe to say that Draven is far from the average human personality wise; his history has molded him into a completely different mortal than most. While other humans, even penin, hell Deigan are far from touching Draven. While war and the constant shift of Ages and magic have made people volatile and pessimistic, Draven has remained unphased. While his history will explain most of his journey and his personality, this will be preliminary. You see Draven has never had any contact with the world outside of his birth place. He very oblivious to things around him, he has no sense of morality or remorse. Although this does not mean he is Apathetic or ignorant he simply has never experienced remorse nor ever has felt anything beyond happiness.

As Draven knows nothing of the outside world, he is often confused by simple customs and even has trouble telling people apart. He was raised as a weapon, and as such, is bad at expressing emotion. As a weapon he can’t really be considered human, although once he meets more people he can obtain a sense of humanity and resolve once he’s been introduced to said customs and laws. As for now there is not much to Draven other than the fact that he is a weapon as sharp as a freshly made katana. 
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【[U]Magic(s)[/U]】
[COLOR=GRAY][I]Adept at Art of the Warden, Novice Arcane[/I][/COLOR]

【[U]Other Specialties[/U]】
[I][COLOR=GRAY]Draven being a Warden has amazing feats of strength, flexibility, and pain-endurance. Draven leaps about with strength and force using his training as a Warden; people not proficient at this kind of training soon lose their breath and get exhausted. The Art of the Warden is unlike this. Strive for quiescence of body, mind and intention. Finally Draven can analyze the movement and abilities for warriors who are trained and skilled, the more battles and years served the easier it is for Draven to process. Careless and sporadic fighters are a major weakness for Draven for he cannot read any of their movements, since they have no experience or conviction. [/COLOR][/I]
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【[U]History[/U]】
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Like his personality Draven’s history is the most peculiar of the sorts, it first however starts naught with Draven, but that of his ancestors. His Father Dyrus, was amongst one of the most noble Warden to have served, committing himself to the art and the religious guidelines that came with his devotion. He was a young adventurous man who enjoyed meditating, but always felt he was missing something from his normal duties. Something with more flare than the repetitive life he lived with other Wardens. Of course Dyrus was a Peace warden; never did he steer from anything but eternal peace. Like the Spirits he believed that each and every man was created with a seed of good and existed no matter how evil one’s aspirations might become. This was the sole purpose for his life, to strive and deliver peace to anyone he saw fit. However, how could he be content with just meditating and training if he wanted to enlighten so many? That is when Dyrus first decided to disband from the Wardens and follow his own path, using the knowledge bestowed onto him as a light through the darkness. 

Becoming a Vagrant wasn’t as easy as he had hoped, without the support of the wardens he was basically living day to day on the essentials. His spirit and hope were quickly becoming diminished as his hunger and thirst grew in their place. His travels couldn’t commend for his labor, while he did spread his mission of finding eternal good in everyone, most people dismissed him as the vagabond he was or a religious zealot. His clothes became battered and his muscle became lean as his body started to thin until his bone became a distinguished feature. While on the ropes of life and death Dyrus’s vision became a dream that began to escape his grasp. This is when he achieved an epiphany.  While on the plane of death he realized that he would need to suffer as the world suffers in order to reach enlightenment and only then would he be able to see the good in man. In his altered state Dyrus began to detach himself from human thought, emotion, and being so he could transcend into that of a spirit. Dyrus ate small meals nothing large and often experimented with hallucinogenic drugs. Combined with his continuous meditation his life became coplanar. 

After 60 days of mediation on the 6th lunar moon Dyrus had finally achieved Nirvana or Enlightenment. He was free from ignorance, greed, hatred and other afflictive states. He knew the root of evil and the causes of suffering with the means to destroy them. With this Dyrus knew his dream once again became a vision he could present to the world. First he would have to rekindle his flame for the Art of the Warden and retrain his body to mold into his peak physical form once more. Months passed and Dyrus was ready and set out once again, not as a vagrant, but as an awakened warden. With each month passed Dyrus nurtured the weak and the poor who suffered ailments of the mind and body. Not only did he heal, but he became a vigilante, fighting crime without the art of killing. His words and solutions worked wonders as he became revered as a ‘Holy Man’ instead of a vagabond. The wealth his name carried expedited over many lands. It seemed that he had reached Nirvana and made his goal a reality. However one thing the Warden did not foresee was a wife and that wife came to him amongst one of his travels. 

She was a beautiful human woman with long brown hair that dropped down to the tip of her waist. Most of her hair was parted back while locks of hair weaved underneath and draped down her shoulder onto her chest. Her skin was a pearly white while her eyes were golden, a quite unprecedented feature for any human.  While her name was unknown there was something foreboding about her, yes, it was the amulet she wore. While most knew nothing of it by appearance, its name carried great worth, it was none other than Mindhaven one of the divine relics of old. Some speculate that is what drew Dyrus to her or the power it held neither of those were true for he fell in love with her because her beauty and innocence. Dyrus cared less of Mindhaven let alone knew what it was since his time in the Wardens none had spoken of ancient relics. From then on it was history; the two kicked it off. Still continuing his goal Dyrus did settle down along with his newfound wife only to travel to nearby lands and spread his magic. The Holy Man stayed with his beautiful wife and together they formed a bond near unbreakable, that bond made even stronger with their new gift to the world. 

This gift would be Draven. Life seemed almost perfect for the two, his wife now in her final trimester the child would soon to be born and from then on their child would deliver Dyrus’s mission. Unfortunately all men are born with seeds of good, but akin to a pregnancy, can be fertilized into a corrupted seed of evil. After a long journey to the neighboring lands Dyrus had returned from healing the sick and spreading his awakened knowledge. However on his way home something felt eerily wrong, a devastatingly evil melancholic stench clouded his home. Dyrus grew worried as his wife had been home all day. Growing weary he entered his first fighting stance “Lily of the Valley” left foot front, right foot back-side, right hand forward, and left hand at side. Upon entering he found his wife entranced by a cloaked figure who was taking advantage of her, but to his surprise she did not convulse from fear or anger, but she seemed to welcome the man’s touch. His vision must have been wrong, they had been married for 10 years now and had a baby on the way, how could she be fornicating with some random man and enjoy it?

That is when Dyrus caught wind of the man and heard the speaking of magic, this was not arcane magic he was speaking, but that of the Devil’s tongue: Black magic. Aware of his prowess and magical abilities he knew of why his wife did not refuse this man’s ambition. What Dyrus did not know was what the man was there for.  This was none other than the simple fact that she bore the amulet of Xoril. The man was powerful as he set ablaze the entire house and surroundings in one sentence. Angered Dyrus engaged the cloaked figure in combat; the battle was evenly matched while black magic was met with fierce art of the warden. Both men were growing tired as the battle raged on and the flames began to sap their oxygen and energy alike. That is when Dyrus caught the faint glimmer of an amulet in the man’s cloak. Looking past the man to his unconscious wife he saw her amulet had been removed. As his Awakened state was being pushed to the point of breaking, his anger swelled in his body like the raging fire behind him. This was the cloaked figures plan all along, he had summoned the flames not only to kill, but poison the Holy Man with his demonic black magic. However, it was too late for Dyrus. In his seventh stance “iris” (a "race start" position) he charged the cloaked figure creating a feint to chain into his ultimate technique. 

The cloaked man was heavily injured, but not before he could cast one last spell. Dyrus fatigued, braced himself for the impact. Wincing he closed his eyes then opened them a second later to realizes there was no harm done to him. The cloaked man vanished leaving a trail of blood puddles behind. Dyrus thinking he won ran to his wife’s aid. Unfortunately the spell was never meant for him it was meant for her instead. A simple spell that pierced her upper body near her heart, the cloaked man had missed by a few inches due to his serious injuries, but enough for her to be guaranteed death’s embrace. Beginning to tear Dyrus wrapped his wife in his arms as her hair began to turn a bright white. Her skin grew pale and cold as her eyes fluttered open fighting the weight behind them. Her lips began to move slowly only letting out groans here and there. Dyrus began to speak only to be silenced by her index finger, she spoke [i]”Mi…Mind..haven”[/i] Dyrus understood her slurred language only to create more tears from knowing the truth of her amulet. “Why..Why..Didn’t you tell me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…I couldn’t protect you..” tears turning into streams as they touched the scorched wood beneath him. She spoke once more [i]”It’s okay…I love you…Sss…Saaa..Save…Draven…”[/i] shuttered before her hand fell limp.

Howling at the sky like a wolf, Dyrus was distraught and almost broken exactly as he was years ago. Forcing back his tears he took one last look at his wife before shutting her eyes. Using the Art of the Warden Dyrus sharpened his hand to the point where he could perform a Caesarian section on his wife’s stomach. Minutes passed and as his hope diminished, and the fires grew larger and more rampant, he finally heard the sound of hope. The loud echo of a baby’s cry resonated in his ears and a fresh sleeve of tears rolled down his face. The fires seemed to die down all at once as Dyrus stood on his feet with his newborn son in his arms. Blood from the cloaked man and wife dried on his cloak turning this Noble Peace Warden into a black cloaked Chaos Warden. His state of Nirvana was still present only with both Awakened Good and Awakened Evil.  It seemed he had finally transcended that of man in his spiritual journey. However it was over for him, he would surely be exiled from his land and indeed he was. No one believed him of his wife’s murderer since all the evidence seemingly vanished. Sentenced to Exile Dyrus had no choice but to take his new born son with him. 

Now we enter the league of Draven. Four years later, Dyrus had traveled to an uninhabited community located in the mountains of Northern Wegam Feros. There they wouldn’t be bothered by anyone or anything as long as they stayed within their boundaries. There was water for them in a small reservoir and natural food on the island such as fruits, berries, and fish. Now that Draven was 4 he was able to learn the Art of the Warden by his father. Draven still young and gullible accepted his father’s rite of passage and spent the next twenty two years learning from his father. Draven never asked of his mother, but was only told stories of her by his father. Draven simply knew she was gorgeous and had a heart of gold carrying the powerful Relic: Mindhaven. While he was curious about his mother, he was settled on finding Mindhaven as a memento to the woman who gave him birth. Upon asking where the location of the relic was, his father simply told him that it has returned to its mistress awaiting its next appearance in Reniam. Completing training and mastery of the Art of the Warden, Draven’s last lesson was to kill his father in order to become a Warden (He wouldn’t actually become a warden and this wasn’t the last lesson to become a Warden, it was simply for his father’s sake). Draven still gullible obeyed his father’s wishes and carried out his destiny. In the last seconds of his life Dyrus confessed everything to his son and simply told him [i]”Find your mother’s amulet. I love you son.”[/i] before parting ways. 

Draven buried his loving father and remained on the mountain for some time. Draven was raised in a completely uninhabited part of the world where he knew nothing of ethic, morals, or traditions that the races of Reniam worshipped; only the information his father bestowed onto him. Instead Draven was raised to be a well forged sword. While unable to express emotion without being horrible at it, Draven would soon have to learn how to understand these traditions and emotions in order to live. Curious about the land past where his father showed him, Draven decided to take a little detour to his regular boundaries. Venturing down the mountain Draven looked around encountering new fruits and berries while finding wildlife that he had not previously seen before. The only living creatures where he lived were a few birds that occasionally came to rest on Draven’s shoulder. His first encounter was with an ore lizard, astonished by the small creature, Draven bent down to poke it before the lizard bit his finger. Surprised Draven simply slashed at it with his hand before killing it. Shrugging, Draven took the lizard to cook it later but the armor on its skin would be hard to skin. 

However as focused as he was on the lizard his sense didn’t pick up the people watching him from far away, they were a group of slavers working under a major slaving operation. They were quite surprised to see someone like Draven up in the cold mountainous temperature with nothing but a belly button high shirt and capris like pants. What they did idolize was the fact that Draven was a hulking spectacle of a man, the perfect slave. Excited they would surely get a promotion amongst their ranks they followed Draven from afar until they found the small shack he lived in. Once their reconnaissance was finished they retreated towards their own community. Exasperated, they told their leader of the man in the mountains they found with abominable strength and endurance. Intrigued the leader had sent five of his best men to go and capture the Man of the Mountain and return him at once. And so the five traveled to the small shack that Draven lived in taking cover in the land. In the shrubbery and tree tops nearby they watched in stealth before assaulting the shack with arrows. Draven had simply been relaxing after killing the strange lizard, drinking his fresh tea, whilst preparing his lizard to be cooked. Once the arrows were launched Draven’s ears twitched from the symphony of arrows about to reign down onto his little shack, who could have been attacking him this late in his life?  

Standing up Draven rushed through the front door that had now been completely etched with arrows, Draven immediately jumped into the nearest treetop in a black flash.  The first slaver received a sharpened jab straight through his chest. The birds flocked from the trees in a large swarm before the slaver fell from Draven’s hand onto the floor below him. While it was true that Draven has never been a fight other than the one where he killed his father he was still able to utilize his art. Even so, the more experienced that the target the easier it is for Draven to read their movements. Terrified by the immense power the man possessed the four remaining slavers decide to assault him head on as a collaborative effort. Draven fell swiftly from the tree landing on his feet almost as if he were a cat. In one coordinated movement they attacked Draven one after the other. It was almost as if Draven could see their moves in slow motion as he sprinted towards them and dispatched one after the other in a straight line. At once they all fell to their deaths leaving a path of corpses to his porcupine of a shack. Draven sighed wondering why he was assaulted like that; he hadn’t done anything besides kill a lizard.  

Following that failure the Slave leader waited a week before deciding to make another attempt at capturing Draven. Furious that his most elite had failed, he decided to take his community to Draven, all fifty men including the Leader ventured to the small wooden shack that was inhabited by this Man of the Mountain. The company surrounded the shack in a massive circle that spanned over twenty meters in diameter.  The Slaver made his way to the front of his company with arrogance justified by his tremendous force at hand. Suddenly his arrogance turned into horror as his eyes became fixated on the burials of his five elite warriors. Anger swelled up inside as he gave Draven one last warning before commanding his squadron to move in. Draven exited his shack counting the number of men that surrounded him before taking his second stance of the art. “Daffodil” left foot forward, right foot back, arms at his sides bent at the elbows with palms facing upward. The slaver laughed and sent his small army into the fray all at once, Draven exhaled before beginning his massacre. Five died in the first ten seconds followed by fifteen then twenty-five until he finally got to the thirtieth man who then met the cold floor as the remaining life left his body. 

The leader was horrified and in frenzy at this point; he commanded them to draw their weapons and attack. But before they could reach his immediate vicinity an illusion was casted and ferocious wind engulfed the remaining company. I'onriyi had entered the battle of the Mountain with his powerful staff, encrusted with crystals. In all the confusion and disarray the leader sought an opening in Draven’s defense. In a blink of an eye the slaver bull rushed Draven with his sword drawn, “Drekghriz anh, Crane” Draven muttered as he turned to the side extending his arms behind him catching the sword snuggly in his back and arms before snapping and breaking it. “Drekghriz anh, Ostrich” sending a flurry of attacks at the slaver before finishing the move with a palm strike to the heart. The slaver’s eyes shook violently until his mouth spurted open with blood that coated Draven’s face, he was dead. Draven threw the slaver to the side and walked towards the battle mage. 

I'onriyi Stonehand: Grace of Winds, had heard of the struggle from afar and had been on business in the port city. His mercenary work had brought him, but upon hearing the ruckus and seeing a single man outnumbered he had been forced to step in. Looking then upon the felled men he glanced at the strange one who had been assailed, he now wondered why, and he questioned the intelligence behind assisting him. His eyes narrowed slightly, but his body appeared to relax, his staff remaining ready. "That was quite the display, a very unique way to utilize arcane magic. Not to mention the Art of the Warden," I'onriyi was an incredibly learned penin having studied the majority of magical disciplines, even managing to ordain some information on the illusive Art of the Warden, of course it had come at a certain price....

Regardless, it seemed this man was incredibly skilled, it awakened his natural curiosity, and so he queried "what's your name?" He waited for the human's response, hoping he'd not have to fight him as well; it would end very bloody....
Draven was quite confused he couldn’t really tell this man apart from the ones he had just killed aside from his height, but he never figured people to be as tall as he. Besides he had a weird looking stick in his hand that he used to fight with; unfortunately he couldn’t use swords or weapons himself so he would never know the half of it. It was clear that he wasn’t one of the slavers especiallysince he had helped him dispatch the rest of the victims. Draven stood straight and itched the back of his head “Uhm Thank you. I’m the 2nd head of my family, Draven the Warden of Balance. You’re not bad at magic yourself.”

Nodding his head in response I'on leaned to the side, noticing that the shack this 'Draven' had been living in was rather, well blatantly destroyed. Frowning and glancing about he patted himself down until he heard one of his several coin purses where he kept gold. Extracting it from his clothes he tossed the tied coin purse to Draven, "seems you're rather bad off so I figure you could use some o' that to get back up and about." Glancing away again I'on surveyed their surroundings and then shook his head while thinking. He bravely began striding towards Draven, or so it seemed, for when he reached him he walked right passed and towards the shack. "I could fix this up if you like actually...It'd take a bit of time, but certainly less than rebuilding it from scratch." Using specifically worded arcane magic he knew he could reconstruct the small building, it wouldn't be too hard really. Turning back towards Draven he questioned "well?"

Draven watched the man intently he hadn’t had any human interaction or racial interaction with anyone but his father and the people he had just murdered without a hint of remorse.  The man pulled out a satchel that Draven thought was a weapon at first being weary of any sign of attack. Draven then caught the purse as fast as the man sent it toward shim. It was light surprisingly light, not enough or it to be a bomb or anything. He opened it up and saw large gold circles with inscription on it, confused Draven tried to bite the coin. Retracting he rubbed his mouth since it caused him pain “What is this?  Up and about?” Draven turned to his destroyed shack and simply looked on at the wandering battle mage, “No need I think I’m done here, I need to find Mindhaven anyways.” 

Shrugging the penin turned from the rubble and walked back to Draven. Deeming the man no longer a threat he quickly replaced his staff in its holder on his back. "That, my friend, is gold, you use it for...buying thi- wait you don't know what that is?!" Surprised I'on looked up at the man in confusion, but quickly waved it off. "Essentially when someone else has something you want, you don't just take it from them, and you give them some of those...”he gestured to the coins”...and they are of equal value. Make sense?" He thought that was fairly straightforward, though as a penin who had grown up in the mountains of his people's home it was hard to understand someone not understanding the concept of gold's inherent value. For to a penin value was just that: inherent.

Draven scratched his head and looked at the gold piece again, gold, Draven heard of this element that his father talked of but he never thought that the world could take such an abundant element and mass produce it for trading. Draven just started flipping the coin and then rolling it down all the gaps in his fingers quickly moving them up and down to shift the coin up and down like a never ending escalator. He started to rub his chin "I never really took anything from anyone other than their lives, but my dad said to just barter for stuff or use gold, but I've never seen so much. This is a lot of gold right?" Draven was unfamiliar with how much each gold piece was so he thought just five pieces would be a great amount. "I don't really need clothes but I'll get some. Where do we go from here, do you know where I can find mindhaven? It's an amulet you know." Draven asked intently.

"Know whe-..." I'on shook his head, marveling over the boy a bit. "As far as I know it has returned to its mistress, but who knows it could be out there somewhere." Thinking a moment he glanced at the coin purse "yeah that is quite a bit of gold, maybe I should show you how much. Come with me, or stay if it pleases you, but I'm getting out of here." If Draven followed he'd end up leading him to town and helping him learn the ways of survival in 'modern' society. Following that he'd give the man a way to contact him and then depart, he'd always have an endearing and lasting impression of Draven. Quite the strange and incredible individual really, quite strange....

[i]"As far as I know it has returned to its mistress…[/i] Draven felt a slight hint of Nostalgia as a fresh memory of his dad saying the same exact thing to him when he was small. “A wise man once told me the same.” Draven said quite coyly. “Alright Mr. I’ll follow I need to join the ranks of Warden again I need to dabble in arcane more and after that Necromancy.” The two both ventured out of the Northern Mountains into modern society. Over the span of the next 2 years Draven joined the wardens and began searching for clues of Mindhaven’s location while trying to learn Arcane and Necromancy to further improve his skills in magic. Still unaware of the world around him he awaits the day that the man with the stick in his hand calls upon him once again. 

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【[U]Physical Abilities & Magical Abilities[/U]】 
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Being a Warden he can use the Art of the Warden, while not technically magic, Draven still uses it as such. The Art of the Warden focuses on controlling magically energy and using it in a precise manner making it most effective with concise thoughts. Draven’s body is perfect for the Art of the Warden being that his body is a welcome home for the concept of keeping energy in the body. First of all Draven has a fighting style that he has advanced from the Warden Martial arts. His fighting style is called the weapon less style, meaning he cannot wield weapons, it is physically impossible to master weapons or even hold them correctly. The Weapon Less Style/Drekghriz anh(Toothless Dragon) is a martial art designed specifically to destroy swords via unarmed combat by embodying that of a sword itself using his hands and legs as weapons. 

Since Draven’s fighting style and its moves are named in the arcane language which allow him to augment his hands into sharpened weapons. Not in the literal sense to where his nails are sharper than steel, but enough to pierce through skin. The martial art also has an emphasis on speed, combos, and tactics, rather than the brute force of Barbarians. Draven using the Art of the Warden focuses on concentrated powerful attacks that target internal and external damage. Aside from that Draven can empower muscles, enable faster and more accurate movements, or even cause a sort of inner protective barrier beneath one's skin, granting someone a kind of natural armor like other Wardens. 

[INDENT][LIST]
[*]Drekghriz anh, Crane: Draws/catches the opponent's weapon between the user's back and arms, snapping/breaking it. Primary sword-breaking technique.

[*]Drekghriz anh , Cheetah: Gets into a "race start" position (either with your fingers or the bottoms of your hands on the ground). Rushes forward in a phantom illusion using a feint. Chains into other techniques.

[*]Drekghriz anh, Ostrich: Left palm at heavens, right palm at side, left foot forward, and right foot back. Palm strike with right palm to the heart. Able to damage the heart. 

[*]Drekghriz anh, Hawk: An upward right hand palm strike (bearing an after-image effect) to send the opponent high into the air. Air pressure utilized.

[*]Drekghriz anh, Rhino:  Close-range thrust into the heart with right hand. Nails sharpened. Shown as a "Finishing" technique.

[*]Drekghriz anh, Tiger: Fig Tree- No stance at all. Intent is to predict the enemy's next move by their stance. Because of this stance, the opponent cannot determine the following movement; Draven is then granted maximum versatility.

[*]Drekghriz anh, Turtle: A powerful punch directed at the opponent's body. An armor-piercing technique that can hit behind armor, shields, barriers, etc. Targets the skin, muscles, organs, bones, etc. being hidden behind barriers.

[*]Drekghriz anh, Mongoose Snake: Starts out on right knee with right hand forward, left hand and leg bent back. Right palm strike, then a piercing strike with the left hand.
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