About KyarlaKyarla
Description:
Kyarla is nearly seven foot tall, but in the crowd she tends to hunch down in a wide low stance. She's learned that sticking up is a bad thing. Her fur is a dappled grey, shading toward red at the muzzle. The muzzle is distinctive to the redfang gnolls. Like most of her kind, she's got lean, ropy muscles. Her black eyes are always darting from one shadow to another and you'll see the twitch of her nose as she sniffs for danger... or food. Her clothing is little more than rags, torn and stained. It's obvious that she's had to squeeze through some pretty harsh places to avoid being captured. Her sack must have been taken recently, as it's in better shape than most of his stuff. Over her shoulder hangs a clay jug that she'll stop and sip from occasionally. She carries no weapons or armor, but her hide and her fangs show she doesn't need them. Backstory:
Humans are weak creatures. But crafty, oh so crafty. With numbers and weapons and magic the humans scoured their tribe's hunting grounds. Such was the danger that the Redfangs stood with orcs and hobgoblins. The ancient rivalries were put aside. Not forgotten, but put away for now. Many of the groups fleeing the humans talked of tribes wiped from the earth and some were the last they knew of. These humans were not taking slaves or prisoners. The Redfang fought as they hunted. Sneaking close and striking quick, then slipping back into the night. Many of their guards fell, but more came up like a swarm of ants. There was no end to this war. When they had been driven from the lands they knew, Ghyrryn One-Eye drew them together. "We have seen what these locusts have done to the lands. We've heard of lesser tribes slain to the last child. That will not happen to us. The Redfang will not be slaughtered like the Wolfkin Orcs. The Redfang will not be slaughtered like the Whitescale Kobolds. We will spread like leaves carried on the winds." "We travel in small groups, fast and long as we can. We run for thirteen moons, then seek out places hidden and secure to settle. But we are still one people, and one day we will recover our homeland. We have three teeth of Slayer-Of-The-Beast, our forefather. The bones will choose three of you and we will cut you to hide these teeth inside you. You will have his strength, and his cunning and his nose. When the humans have been defeated, you will be able to smell your kin no matter how far we have fled. We will be rejoined. Until then, hunt well." Kyarla was chosen by the bones, and she was cut down the chest. One of her forefather's fangs was put in her, next to her heart. This has made her mighty. Months later, she is traveling with a mass of refugees, some fear her, but many have had the fear beaten out of them by their flight. Others see her strength and hope that she will drive off other predators.
Cut off from her people, there is a little despair in her. All these other races smell wrong. Once in a while she lets the blood of the elder flow through her and smells for her family.* Sometimes this centers her, other times it just reminds her how alone she is. A little drink throughout the day calms the pain. She's learned that too much means she wakes without the few belongings she's collected. But a little simply takes the edge off. When she really needs money, she knows the there's always a brawling ring that she can join in. People will pay her to beat another senseless. Her thick hide gives her an advantage, but they usually put her against three or four. The money is good, but the shame of having her muzzle tied keeps her away. But when the hunting is bad and the belly is empty, she turns to it. *See Supreme Tracker mythic ability
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