The Sargothian Race: (General Humanoid appearance, with a slight feline adaption, rough fur and claws, with animal muscular properties)
The Plains of Origin have always been a battlefield, clans and tribes vying for vital strategic ground, land yielded and gained over the years as ownership of land passed countless hands. There is a place however, deep in the Shuvian desert, where the Sargothians were first encountered. Hru'vath -The First Champion, leader of last pack of Sargothian brethren led his people to this place, it is said a vision came to him at the break of dawn and as he awoke in sweat and stutter he felt his very essence being pulled towards this now sacred ground.
The wars of age old Sargothian legend have now faded to dust, but our people were at a time of strife, with food sparse and disease rife, to take the entire clan into the blistering deserts seemed like a fools errand, but we are loyal people, and our ancestors faith in Hru'vath was well rewarded, but not before much blood was spilled.
As our ancestors approached the gorge, with all intent of hoping to find residents within the gorge and breaking peace with them, they were assaulted. Barbaric creatures, never truly described in detail, except for their teeth, sharp, long, and the stench of rotten flesh descended upon them. The battle was long and hard fought, but at our weakest, Hru'vath raised his spear to the sun, and in a great flash of light blinded the enemy, giving the one opening needed to finish the fight and achieve victory and give our people a new hope, a defensive gorge, fresh running water, and just enough food.
This hope however, did bring one great loss, the battle had all but worn out the inner strength of our greatest hero, and disease took hold, in these dark times the elders were formed, sages of wisdom whom guided our people to a spiritual place so that we were settled in both mind and body. It was during this time, that reflection was brought upon the glare of the sun, that had brought us victory. Its intense heat upon the lands, always felt lessened upon our backs, during the day, we fought with greater vigor and strength. We began to bond with the day and respect the night, until one day a name was heard, whispered as the name of the sun, whispered as the name of the sun god.
Solas.
We gave praise to our new god, and from that day forth swore to honour the sun and its properties, To protect those who bore its gaze, to fight with glory and honour, to bring hope in the darkest of times.
Now, we the new brood, are the hope of our clan, born and raised under the sun, there are two distinct packs we find ourselves belonging to.
Those born in the day, blessed by Solas, are the Light prowlers, the large majority of the brood. They are the forefront of our people, who go to battle, hunt and teach.
Those born in the night, given purpose from Solas, are the Night prowlers, the small minority. These are our guardians of sleep, those who protect us when we slumber and when we are at our weakest.
There is only mutual respect between the two, with the odd extreme case.
Now however, something stirs in the brood, a knowing, something is happening, we can feel it in the heat and the glare of light.
Name/Aliases: Thoryus Fowlheign
Sex: Male
Race: Sargothian
Age: 27 Human Years, 64 Sargothian Years
Appearance: Strong muscular appearance, that of a hardened well trained fighter, deep blue eyes and light coverage of fur, unusually light for a male. Standing tall at around 7 feet, with broad shoulders an imposing presence and confident walk.
Personality: Stubborn, compassionate and merciful, whilst retaining honour through battle and ready to do as the clan needs
History: Born at breaking of dusk, the birth maidens took a long time to decide which clan Thoryus belonged too, it wasn't until the next day, when the sun cracked and the child crying ceased, that they knew for certain that he was a Light Prowler. My childhood was not one for the fainthearted, yet it made me into the man i was today, my fathers gaze rarely left me as i grew to age and the moment i could understand how to listen and speak was the moment i was taught how to fight strategically, how to win battles and wars.
When i came of age to wield my spear and don my armour it became significantly apparent how much more the day affected me than the others, my strength during the day was astronomical, with no training i bested those with years of practice, but the opposite was also true, as the night came my strength faded to the point where i could barely hold my spear. My father would have none of this. I was forced to train at night with the Night Prowlers, i was taught that the daylight was a blessing and that if i take the gift i was given for granted, then i would be doing injustice to Solas. So i trained hard, i would not disappoint my father, my clan or my God.
Years passed, and my strength grew, until i stood tall against all but the best of the Night Prowlers, only then was i allowed back into the daylight.
And it felt glorious. I began to go out on skirmishes, to protect our borders from other clans. Soon i started leading the skirmishes, making sure to keep our borders safe and offering safety to the lost souls in the desert.
Now i feel the same shudder the clan feels, something is amiss, and i aim to find out what is happening, even if it means leaving the gorge and our sacred grounds to do so.
Equipment: Hardened leather armour and shield, with short wooden shafted spear.
Clan: Light Prowlers
Magic: Mundane powers of light; ability to manipulate light and its warmth for healing and sight.
Healing: Slight ability to heal wounds using warmth of light to stabilize and close light wounds, cuts and bruises.
Sight: Ability to conjure a small orb of light to give enough light to see a slight way into the distance.
Sundrenched: Physical strength and senses increased dramatically during the daylight.
Skills: Extreme martial prowess, heightened senses, high militaristic intelligence.