The dwarf known as Tarro leans heavily on the gunnels of the Jenivere, his thoughts far away as he stares into the spray. He imagined he must seem a very poor traveling companion to the other passengers. He'd boarded the ship in Bloodcove with little more than a somber nod and a small note passed to Captain Kovack before stalking up the gangplank and laying claim to a cabin. Since then he'd hardly said two words to anyone...except perhaps Cook Torillo, who's gruff nature and knack for not asking a lot of questions made for easy conversation when the occasion arose. Otherwise, Tarro simply leaned here, Onitsii's powerful black and gold coils wrapped around him, paying no attention to anyone. In truth, it wasn't that he intended to shun anyone, he's just spent the past week's voyage pondering how he'd ended up in this mess?
From his fine cut green coat to his carefully trimmed beard, Tarro bore the trappings of civilization, but all of it was little more than camouflage. Tarro's heart would always belong to the fierce Mwangi Jungle that had raised him. Few outside his homeland even know the Taralu clans exist, dwarves living in huts, hunting in tree, river and plain, the idea was ridiculous to the narrow-minded masses he'd encountered since his departure. But Tarro kept the memory of his people, his ancestors alive wherever he went. He owed them the few gifts that remained to him in this life.
Smiling sadly, he pats the scaled head of his companion as it rests on his shoulder. Onitsii's mother had been his first and truest friend. Hiding from a pack of deinonychus as a child, terrified little Tarro found the only remaining egg of a ransacked clutch. Two days he'd hidden in that rotten log, clutching the egg until it hatched in his arms. When he finally returned to the village, hatchling coiled around his arm, witch doctor Halla had proclaimed it a sign from the ancients. Ghoznii they'd named the snake, "Ancestor's gift". From that moment on, Tarro's life was set before him. Halla had educated him day in and day out in the ways of the ancestors, molding him to take her place. For his part, Tarro devoted himself fully, the rituals and magic coming easily to him, and his bond with Ghoznii growing as rapidly as the python itself.
The next decade seemed to fly by, until Halla took on a new apprentice from a neighboring clan and time stopped altogether. Shanna was the most stunning woman Tarro had ever met and their connection was immediate. The two were joined within a year and Shanna was with child not long after. The ancestors were truly generous to the young shaman, but as he would learn, their gifts must always be balanced. Tarro, was not the only one to be taken with young Shanna. Harak, the chief's son was also enraptured by the young acolyte, but he harbored no real affection, only dark obsession. Harak had made his intentions known early and challenged both Shanna and Tarro but Halla was more than capable of protecting her apprentices even from the chief's son and he was left to seethe. Harak's obsession broke not long after the birth of little Shaarii, and so the best day of Tarro's life was soon followed by the worst.
On the deck of the Jenivere, Tarro shivers, remembering his last night among his people. Little remains of that memory but flashes and despair. The heavy rain in the dark...greeting Halla before realizing the fire was gone from her eyes...the building terror as he noticed Harak hunched over Shanna's prone form...Harak's eyes as he looked up...the words escaping his lips in a voice so unlike his own, "She was supposed to be away...didn't see her till I'd bled the witch...wouldn't listen, none of you ever listened...we were meant to be."...Harak rising, knife in his hand, "See what you did? Too late...I was too late to save them from you little shaman. But I'll avenge them, for our ancestors I'll avenge them and the lot of you can be forgotten...just hold still, you'll be back to her before you know it..."...The flash of gold in the firelight as Ghoznii struck...and finally the rage filling him...Tarro had no idea how long he lay after collapsing off of Harak's body but it was Shaarii's cries that finally roused him. Rushing to the back of the hut, Tarro clutched his daughter, feeling more lost than he could have contemplated before.
Eventually, Tarro did the only thing he felt he could, run. Harak's death was at his hands and without Halla to protect him, staying would mean his end as well. And so he fled into the jungle with his daughter and the egg that would become Onitsii, rain washing away the tears shed for wife, mentor and oldest friend, all he could offer them anymore. Come the next day he found his fears well founded, hunting parties persued him and the remains of his family through leagues and leagues of jungle to the southwest. Tarro's flight took him all the way to a small village on the northern shore of Lake Ocota. His pursuers closing in, Tarro was forced to make the dangerous decision to stow away aboard the ship anchored by the village to resupply, a ship under contract with the Apsis Consortium.
