C'est l'heure de dire au revoir.

Là, Sana se tenait debout, les voyant partir comme le vent soufflait autour des restes des esclaves une fois fier campement; une tanière d'horreur et de sauvagerie. Les corps de leurs ennemis éparpillèrent le sol. Les restes émaciés de ceux qui avaient été capturés mais qui n'avaient pas survécu ont été posés les yeux creux dans l'abîme du néant qui était la mort qui les avait revendiqués; leurs corps ayant été écrasés sous la plante de ceux qui avaient survécu et qui étaient maintenant sur leur chemin vers la sécurité d'espoir du village qui était à plusieurs miles au sud. De petits feux s'enfuyaient encore des divers feux qui brûlaient à leur arrivée, un plus grand que le reste; celui qui avait revendiqué la peau de Sanas quand elle a été abattue par le chien rave qui l'a attaquée.
Le groupe s'éloigna lentement de la vue derrière la distance et les arbres et ce n'est qu'alors que Sana se tourna et regarda pleinement la dure réalité qui se trouvait devant elle. On l'avait vu à leur arrivée, mais la bataille s'en était suivie rapidement, puis il y avait d'autres choses qui éloignaient les yeux de la vue d'ensemble. Maintenant, elle vit la forêt qui s'étendait au-delà des arbres. Elle savait qu'elle n'aurait pas dû rester seule pour faire face à ça. Son état émotionnel était déjà si fragile mais c'était quelque chose qui devait être fait et après la perte de son père et la connaissance que le reste de sa famille était parti; la gitane n'avait pas besoin de ceux qui ne la connaissaient pas autour, et elle n'avait pas besoin de réconfort à ce moment-là, Sana avait besoin d'être seule.
La vie était pleine de rebondissements mais il semblait que peu importe jusqu'où vous avez voyagé, vous avez toujours fini par affronter votre passé une fois de plus; peu importe combien de temps vous avez essayé de l'éviter. Aussi longtemps que Sana se souvint, elle avait fui la vie des gitans. Elle avait rejeté ce qu'elle était, ne voulant pas être un artiste, un vagabond, une courtisane et pourtant ici elle regardait le visage même de celui qui avait été la raison de sa naissance dans ce monde. La vie était venue plein cercle pour elle et ses pères les derniers mots sonnaient dans son esprit, je suis désolé je vous ai chassés. Je vous pardonne, elle murmura; elle se leva et chercha des moyens pour mettre le corps de ses pères au repos, finissant par trouver une pelle qu'elle ne pouvait que supposer était là pour enterrer les corps de ceux qui n'avaient pas été assez forts pour le commerce.
Cherchant et trouvant un endroit tranquille loin de la terre contaminée du camp, elle commença à creuser, la poussière et la saleté se jetant à chaque frappe sur la terre et à son tour elle étant jetée de côté. Des souvenirs de sa vie avant ses jours sur la route, avant les années de solitude, ont inondé son esprit alors qu'elle allait de plus en plus profond. Elle ne se souvenait pas des combats, de la pression; elle se souvenait du bien de regarder son père jouer et sa mère chanter; ils lui enseignaient, elle et sa sœur, par le chant et le conte. Avec chaque monticule de terre qui a été jetée sur son épaule était comme un poids enlevé de son épaule. Elle enterrait le passé et en arriverait à la paix. À chaque coup de terre, elle trouva la solitude dans ce qu'elle était comme si c'était un dévoilement et une acceptation.
Escaladant du trou, elle essuya la sueur de son front et comprit qu'elle n'avait pas à choisir entre être ce qu'elle était et ce qu'elle avait été. Ils faisaient tous les deux partie d'elle et c'était bon. Elle secoua le cadavre de ses pères et le déplaça jusqu'à son dernier lieu de repos au fond de la terre. Tirant une flèche d'argent de son carquois, elle la plaça sur sa poitrine et reposa deux pièces de cuivre sur ses yeux; en remontant, elle fit ce qu'il fallait pour couvrir le corps qui ne tenait plus son âme. Il n'y aurait pas de marqueur pour faire connaître sa tombe; c'est ainsi que cela a été, comme cela a toujours été. Fermant les yeux, elle lui dit au revoir, à lui et à sa famille, des âmes à qui elle ne pouvait parler qu'à travers la mémoire. Pas de larmes, pas maintenant. Elle avait juste besoin de tenir pour l'instant, de tenir pour passer la journée et la nuit.
Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:

Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.