Name: Tapras
Title: Watchful Coyote
Ethnicity: Swastian
Gender: M
Background: Growing up in a small, hardscrabble village in the Northwestern hills, Tapras learned from a young age how to hunt alongside his father and brothers. Village life was hard, yet peaceful. They worked hard and ate enough to fill their bellies, drank and made merry on religious celebrations, and entertained themselves with stories passed down through the years from the Before time, or, occasionally, those of a travelling storyteller.
Of course, as excitable youths, Tapras and a couple of his brothers decided it would be far more worthwhile to set out to see the world. Taking their worn, well-kept rifles, ammunition, trail rations and canteens, they made a trek southwards and joined up with a caravan from the Eastern dunes, selling trinkets and simple refurbished toasters.
Signing on as guards, they had little do do as the caravan made its way along, occasionally taking potshots at dangerous beasts and once or twice at possible bandits, but for the most part they just watched the surroundings and spoke to those who had travelled far and wide.
Eventually, though, Tapras heard tell of some villain known as the Bandit Lord and, more importantly, the bounty a rich Hinkisian trader had placed on his head. He wanted to set off at once to claim this bounty, but alas, his brothers were less enthusiastic.
They argued, and eventually Tapras scowled, shouldered his rifle and set off, saying he was going whether they came or not.
He's been walking the hot sands, ever-so-slowly approaching his quarry since. He's been through a few scrapes, escaped from a few sticky situations, gathered a few scars and aged a fair bit. He doesn't talk much, not since he left his brothers.
Appearance: Tapras, a lean-faced young man with jagged eyebrows, high cheekbones and a pinched, wary expression, is clad partly in the ragged clothes he took with him from home. Where those have frayed beyond salvaging, they've been replaced with various other styles from along the road. His dark hair, approximately shoulder length, is usually tucked back behind his ears.
He wears a thin, dark brown jacket sewn with beads along the cuffs and neck, a pair of rugged denim shorts, their camoflague pattern faded to a bunch of reddish/brownish smudges, and his feet are either clad in simple hide moccasins or left bare, when appropriate. Helping to keep up his pants, as well as hold weaponry, is a broad, dark blue cloth belt of village make.
For cold weather he has a spare, thick woolen shirt to go under his jacket, along with a pair of legwarmers of dubious origins. For when the desert sun beats down, he has a black
Tagelmust-style turban.
Primary: A Springfield M1903, the wooden parts worn smooth in places yet overall kept in good working order. The sides of the rifle are decorated with a long pattern in yellow, red and brown paints, culminating on the stock with a stylized, round-bodied coyote with large, cartoonish eyes. It's carried slung across his back with a thick string.
Secondary: A Colt Peacemaker, somehow surviving from 1873. It's in fairly poor condition. A circular brass emblem is embedded in the wooden grip, etched with a tribal symbol of a sun with a human face. Belonged to his grandfather.
As well as that, he has a pair of bolas also given to him by his grandfather, tucked through his belt. [/quote]