[hider=Dro’Sintaba][center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/190818/95c6fe25401049c9c4c284bcde072ab8.png[/img][/center]

[center][b]Name:[/b] Dro’Sintaba
[b]Race:[/b] Khajiit - Cathay-raht
[b]Age:[/b] 52
[b]Birthsign:[/b] The Shadow
[b]Family Origins:[/b] Riverhold, Elsweyr[/center]


[centre][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/370680283755708430/612458227879248013/2cbf5cbcf6a6d7f34fe6c0d665823ad2.png?width=542&height=676[/img][/centre]

[h2][b]Appearance:[/b][/h2]
[indent]When stood upright, Dro’Sintaba reaches an unnerving 6’7”. Paired with his strong physique and incredible musculature, he is a sight to behold in his complete glory, and yet the Cathay-raht carries himself in a slouched posture and stoops ever so slightly —as if he is weighed down by something heavy. Despite this, he still manages to move with an impressive and intimidating gait - his stride powerful and confident. His habit of walking in this way has caused him to have been mistaken after dark for a werewolf more times than he would be keen to admit, and his jet-black fur does little to disarm this notion. Upon closer inspection, (if he lets you close enough), one can make out the faint traces of rich charcoal markings amongst the black fur, most prominently across his forehead over the bridge of his nose, under his eyes.

Dro’Sintaba’s eyes are an unusually bright and piercing green, that on a kinder face would be considered breathtakingly beautiful. On him, however, they just burn and simmer slowly with an indomitable intensity. It has been said that he can look right through a person in a single glance, and those who have met his eyes on a dark day can attest to this. In contrast, when engaging in his quieter pursuits - Dro’Sintaba wears a pair of bespoke spectacles that were made for him by a jewel smith and old flame. They fit him perfectly and frame his eyes in such a way that they shrink the menacing aura he carries. Occasionally there is a softness to his eyes - usually when he is relaxed, and especially when he is tired and in need of sleep. Carefree and calm is a mood that comes to him so seldom that when reaching it, his entire physique, (especially his expression) does seem to change. 

He is made of solid corded muscle that defies his age and he dresses his body well. The Khajiit is particularly fond of his smart woolen overcoat, in a striking umber shade that is lined across the shoulders with the fur of a black bear. His colour of choice is green, and when not in his coat, he can be found to be wearing loose and light tunics and scarves that cover a spectrum of green hues. There is an air of stylish sophistication to him, a regal quality of masculine confidence. He wears the clothes, they do not wear him.

His voice is a low grumble, a growling and forceful whisper most of the time. In his moments of quietude, he can speak with the inflections that allude to his deep intelligence and wisdom, choosing his words wisely as a philosopher of old might. He can be a soft and purring gentleman when relaxed - but the gravel still remains, constraining the power of an explosive roar that reverberates in his chest when unleashed.

In vulnerable moments, he likes to think he is simply Sintaba. The once ambitious and scholarly Cathay-raht, who was always smiling and proud, gentle and optimistic of his future. An astute eye would observe in the lines of his brow, and the softness of his relaxed gaze that a humble gentility still sits there, and that all has not yet been drained and squeezed from him. [/indent]
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[h2][b]Personality:[/b][/h2]
[indent]Quiet, contemplative, kindly. Three simple words that he wished would be the first that would be used to describe him. Instead, he is usually described as menacing and severe. Such descriptors are not entirely false either, as Dro’Sintaba has an enigmatic intensity to his personality that makes him notoriously difficult to get to know, worsened only by his size and appearance. He is the book that is judged by its cover, and he tends to hold most people that he meets at an arm's length. To save them from discovering the weary man that he really is. 

The cover is not the book, only the shield.

Dro’Sintaba is not without a degree of charisma, however, and he is not always beholden to his personal demons. Beneath his initial harsh exterior, there is a genuine empathic and natural leader who works tirelessly for others to keep them safe. To those he does let in beyond the walls - they will never know a more loyal friend. Often times he has shelved his dream of returning to his own family in order to save yet another helpless soul. As such, he has lived a very humble life away from his home in Elsweyr, and he possesses very little - despite having the means to afford much of whatever he’d like. 

The Cathay-raht tends to hide behind his sharp intelligence and wit, deflecting those that dare to question him by finding their weaknesses and pointing them right back. Friends, colleagues, and foes have thus far all been held in much of the same regard by him. Just temporary acquaintances that will soon become ghosts to his memory when he moves on again. 

As much as he clutches to the memories of his wife and their happy marriage, to the idea that he is the perfect husband and family man, he has not been able to resist the temptation of adultery throughout the years. It is something that brings him a deep shame, and he won’t discuss it openly but he has had flings and minor relationships during his marriage and separation from Ko’Ahanna. He is drawn like a moth to a flame to the opposite sex, knowing that they are just as drawn to him. After all, he is an enigma. An exotic adventure to later become a story to tell - dangerous and fearsome but with a mellow side far beyond that of most thugs.

Above all else, he is pragmatic and incredibly intelligent with an exceptional cunning streak that has given him something of a reputation as both a dirty fighter and strategist rolled into one. He is certainly not above using corrupt tactics to win, for he is a man who must [i]win.[/i] There are few that know of him that will challenge him to an intellectual debate or even an argument. His intelligence shines when discussing his quieter passions, and his guard drops significantly. He finds a great amount of comfort and joy in music and literature. Dro’Sintaba can hold honest and meaningful conversations for hours about novels he has read, of music he has heard, and of paintings he has seen. It is not entirely unusual for him to be moved to tears by good music, or by characters written on the pages of a book. [/indent]

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[hider=History][h2][b]History:[/b][/h2] 
[indent]Born simply as Sintaba in 4E161 to poor Khajiit farmers in Riverhold, he was not given the best of starts and his family were hardly affluent amongst the clans. Even so, Sintaba knew even when young that he wanted to provide for his parents and give them a life they could never have achieved for themselves. That mindset alone was a clue to what they would later discover was a rather prodigious intelligence in their son. With a sprinkle of luck, and more importantly, a lot of hard work, they were able to pay for their son to receive a formal education. By formal, of course, meaning they were able to pull enough coin to hire him a private tutor and give him lessons in reading, writing, and spirituality with other members of the community. He was sociable, altruistic, and traditional in his ways - as a Khajiit of Anequina should be. His parents could not have been prouder, or felt any more blessed to have received him as their only son. 

Sintaba was certain that he was not destined to be a farmhand, and through his tutelage his confidence only grew and he found he was especially fond of politics, history, and cultural studies. He had managed to build a solid reputation for himself as an affable and confident young Khajiit - with enough charisma to keep those younger than him entertained. He took on work as a tutor to the children of more affluent families in Torval, leaving Riverhold behind him for a new life. It was in Torval that he accepted more tutelage, of sorts, from the Mane. By that, he never [i]met[/i] him, but learned much from the way of life that he observed and imagined him having. There may have also been several experiments with Moonsugar. In Torval, Sintaba found himself living a far more spiritual life than he could have imagined possible for himself. He was at peace with himself, and with all that was around him. 

It was when he was 26 that Sintaba met the woman who would soon become his wife. Her name was Ko’Ahanna, a talented mage of Torval who specialised in healing. She was graceful,beautiful and from the day that she entered his life, he knew and felt that a space in his heart had been carved out just for her. They courted for some months, and after a year they married. Two years after that, she gave birth to their first child, a son, Kesdar. Raising him was an adventure, no two days were the same - and Sintaba felt yet another hole in his heart fill after his arrival. 

After 4 more years, Sintaba’s daughter came along too, Ranja. While Kesdar seemed to have taken after his father, Ranja was the image of her mother and he was surely as in love as he had ever been with anything else. He was completely besotted with Ranja, and applied all of the lessons he learned while raising Kesdar in raising her. Unsurprisingly, he discovered that there were more lessons to learn, and together Dro’Sintaba and Ko’Ahanna made possibly even more mistakes the second time around. [i]Girls were harder.[/i]

But it was when Ko’Ahanna was pregnant with their third that everything changed. The Dominion came knocking at their door - and Dro’Sintaba answered. He was a Cathay-raht, and a fearsome looking one at that; he was hardly an inconspicuous individual. In him they saw an opportunity to continue to remain uninvolved in Khajiit affairs by training their own to handle them. And so they whispered into his ear tales of becoming a hero, fighting for the future of Elsweyr and protecting the lives of his children. That was the only string they needed to have tugged at. 

What followed was a series of agonising years away from that Sintaba spent away from his family. He was moved around Elsweyr, slowly moulded into a warrior— fighting and violence was never the way in which he had wanted to express himself, but he still felt that he was putting himself to good use. He believed he was doing the right thing, making an impact. He was Sintaba, the lover of music and writer of poetry! He was a romantic, a family man; he was a good husband and doting father. He was not some… enforcer for the Dominion. And yet, that was exactly what he was becoming - strange still, he was beginning to enjoy it...

[i]”This is not forever”[/i] he told himself, praying to Alkosh that this would be over soon. This was temporary. This was him giving a service - bringing peace to clans by removing those who brought trouble to the doorsteps of good, honest people. People like his parents. People like his wife. People like [i]him[/i]. Soon they would let him be free again to the life that he wanted, he just had to make enough of a difference first. It was just a series of lies he told himself to deny the plain and simple fact he was good at what he was doing.

When it came to learning in combat, Sintaba had the idea that he never wanted to be a man who held a blade and knew how to use one. A sword felt like a commitment, like an item that travelled at your side and spoke volumes about who you were and gave an enemy an immediate glimpse into how you would fight. A sword was predictable and easily countered by a smart enough opponent and Sintaba did not want to commit to a life by the blade. In that regard, he had to be resourceful and teach himself [i]something[/i], and that something was to simply use whatever was available to him. Over the years he has made himself an expert of making a weapon out of anything. A chair leg, a plate, a curtain, a book. In his hands – anything in the room could become an instrument of death. Sometimes, words are simply not enough… 

When it finally felt as though he could put it behind him, and there were no excuses left in the barrell, news travelled fast of a man named Ulfric Stormcloak. That he had usurped the throne in Skyrim. Civil War broke out, and Sintaba’s work with the Dominion continued, and this time, he was sent away from Elsweyr as an enforcer with more Khajiit like him, other fearsome warriors who could get the job done. It was during this time that he earned his honourific “Dro”, when they appointed him as their leader. It was a bittersweet feeling. 

Dro’Sintaba never went back to Elsewyr when the war ended. There was too much left to do, and by now it had been too long - he had managed to fully convince himself that Ko’Ahanna had remarried for a safer, more comfortable life. His children would have forgotten him. His third child never to have seen his face. He felt like a shadow of himself too, he wasn’t the soft man he had once been. His hands were bloody now… Ko’Ahanna would know that. She’d look into his eyes and see only what was absent - his warm and innocent heart, his honesty and his honour. It was all just another level of denial that placed the blame on someone else, instead of him just admitting that he was Dro’Sintaba now.

Perhaps with the war over, it was time for Dro’Sintaba to do some good instead of the bidding of Mer. It seemed however, that for every good deed he attempted, there were always two bad deeds that followed. So began a life of one set forward and two steps back. He danced on the lines of morality and mocked the concept of good and evil. He became something else entirely, a shadow of his old self.  Sometimes, when he catches his reflection, he sees a glimpse of Sintaba. A man who only ever wanted to help people and be the smartest man in the room - but the sullen and permanent image of Dro’Sintaba erases him. The bitter face of a man who turned his back on his family under a false promise, a man who can never go back - for what is there left to return to after seventeen years? 

Now, Dro’Sintaba travels to Anvil, and then on to the Imperial City with a companion whom he is escorting as a bodyguard of sorts. An Imperial woman named Ms. Vasellius. Her refusal to reveal her full name is only one of the things that has so far annoyed him about the woman, and yet was part of the allure to the job in the first place…[/indent][/hider]

[indent][b]Biggest Regret:[/b] His biggest regret of course was ever leaving Riverhold. If he could do it all again, he wouldn’t answer the knock that brought him to his life of violence, life away from his family. He regrets never meeting his third daughter, and he regrets leaving Kesdar and Ranja behind.

[b]Dro’Sintaba‘s Goal:[/b] To return at last after seventeen long years to his family. To finally meet his daughter. To try to make amends with his wife and have something of a normal, quiet life - even if he knows that dream died long ago… Part of him knows this, and yet there is a part of him that simply won’t let go and move on.

[/indent]
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[h2][b]Skills:[/b][/h2] 
[b]Expert:[/b] 
One-Handed (Blunt), Hand-to-Hand - Dro’Sintaba marries the ability to handle actual weapons with his brutal and unique hand-to-hand style. He is unpredictable, frequently dirty, and especially dangerous. His mind is sharper than any blade could be, and whether he is holding a string, a teacup, or his trusty club - he will find a way to inflict some level of pain with it.

[b]Adept:[/b] 
Speech - Many of the practitioners of speechcraft are those who lend a listening ear and offer the exact words to a hurting individual to heal them of their pain, or give them an encouraging boost - not Dro’Sintaba. Surely, he could, if he dug deep enough into himself to find the hopeful and optimistic soul he once was. No, his speech is reserved for powerful acts of intimidation - for the upbraiding of his enemies. Hell, sometimes even a friend. He is a master of interrogation, and very little slips past him. He is not afraid to talk down to anyone.

Sneak - Whoever had decided that a 6’7” Cathay-raht should be so adept at sneaking had a dark sense of humour. Afterall the man does not need anything else to make him any more fearsome, yet years of walking in darkness - both literal and metaphorical have granted him such an ability. To be able to approach others undetected when the need calls for it. His dark fur blends perfectly into shadow and many have only spotted the green lights of his eyes when it was too late...

[b]Novice:[/b] 
Illusion - This was a skill Dro’Sintaba learned only to boast that he could perform magic. His spells are not exactly exciting, but in his youth got a kick out of performing magic for his parents, at least. Nowadays, Fear becomes the cloak he wears when necessary to incite terror, hopefully to scare someone enough that actual violence need not be used.

[b]Spells:[/b] Clairvoyance, Fear, Courage

[h2][b]Equipment:[/b][/h2]
[list]
[*] A short club, made to be used with one hand - stowed away and out of sight;
[*] A steel dagger in a leather sheath hidden in his boot;
[*] Hunting pouch containing two utility knives and a small whetstone. Hidden in an inside pocket of his coat;
[*] A vial of Restore Health.
[/list]
[h2][b]Misc. Possessions:[/b][/h2]
[list]
[*] A pouch of moonsugar in his trouser pocket;
[*] Bespoke spectacles, carried in the front breast pocket;
[*] Waterskin, attached to his belt;
[*] A pouch of dried meats;
[*] A sealed letter, addressed to Ko’Ahanna, in the breast pocket;
[*] A journal with a weathered leather cover, behind his hunting pouch.
[/list]
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