Sorry about this. Just can't seem tomake up my mind, I assure you this is the last time. The link to the previous approval is:
http://www.layonaraonline.com/forums/forums/thread-view.asp?tid=26443&posts=4&start=1
Full Name: Darkchild (Kiva Seidai)
Age: 110
Class(es): Monk,Fighter (Previously Monk/Ranger)
Race: Wood Elf
Sub-Race: N/A
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Deity: None
Domains: N/A
Description: Kiva appears tall for an Elf, 6’ 0”. His body, though well muscled seems to be built more for speed than strength. His well tanned skin is a sure sign of his Wood Elf heritage, but his snow white hair leaves those who behold him questioning. But what stands out more than anything is his eyes. The irises are dark blue with specks of silver, his gaze deep and distant, strangely it reminds you of the night sky.
Kiva, though not handsome by definition is certainly striking, in a more exotic sense than anything else. His long white hair is tied at the nape of his neck leaving a trailing Pe on his back. The excess hair falls free, curtaining his lean face. He prefers to wear clothes of darker colors; blacks, grays, browns, and reds. And he is just as concerned with his garb’s appearance as he is with its function.
Biography:
Kiva’s mother, a Wood Elf maiden by the name of Nathyrra, had been quite the warrior in her day. A warrior's path however is not always one of honor and duty, there are those that charge a gold coin for each time they swing their sword, and Nathyrra was one of these. Being a Wood Elf Nathyrra was expected to accept certain duties, such as using her abilities to protect the Singing Forest, the home of her clan. But Nathyrra felt otherwise, the call for a mercenary was seldom heard amoung the musical trees, and coin trading hands was even more rare in the sects of the Elves.
So, as the true mercenary that she was, she followed the path of money, and that inevitably led her into the lands of the humans. Though her human employers may not have always shown her the courtesy that an Elven Maiden is warranted, they always paid well. Well enough for Nathyrra to make a name for herself. Eventually her contracts had brought her to Mesindal, a town far south of the Singing Forest that she knew so well, but her desire for wealth was no longer overpowering her desire to see kin.
So she steeled herself and prepared to relinquish the life of the "sell-sword" and face her clan back home. As it was, she would never return home again, for as she was making to depart the town she encountered a male; anElven male. His name was Sjack, and he was a retired veteran recently arriving from the human settlement of North Fort. Sjack captivated her, he was a humanized Elf, it was true, but his eyes spoke of countless years, and his voice was heavy with the burden of a thousand battle cries. Indeed, Nathyrra had found another who courted death as she did. The two were soon married, and Nathyrra came to be with child. But even more remarkable was the feeling of peace that she now felt. She didn't need gold, and she certainly didn't need fame. She only needed Sjack. And though she had forgotten her old life, it had not forgotten her.
Not long after Kiva was born, her home was invaded by dark men. They spoke no words, no threats, or cries of retribution from deeds of her past. They only advanced, a grim promise of death to come. But she was Nathyrra, and Sjack was a soldier as well, and these assassins would not make easy prey of them. They battled their foes, and had it not been for the enemy's numbers, they would have been victorious. But the dark men pushed forward, and each lucky strike made it more apparant that if they stayed, they would die. In a desperate act Sjack hurled himself at his foes, buying Nathyrra enough time to gather up Kiva and flee. Nathyrra never looked back, she never saw the death blow, but she knew in her heart, that Sjack was dead.
Nathyrra had fled, and fearing a future discovery of her survival, she chose a remote spot in the wilds to stay and raise Kiva. For over a century the two of them lived on the outskirts of the Dark Forest. It proved more than capable of hiding them, as long as they avoided the spiders. And the waters of the Shadow River and Lake Croen supplied them with all the fish they would need. Nathyrra spent the time trainning her son in the ways of martial arts. Since swords and armor were not attainable in the wilderness, Kiva was forced to rely more on his natural talents, the strength of his fists, the endurance of his body, and the serenity of meditation. But his prowess was not the only change in young Kiva. He had been nourished for years on the dark waters of the River, and he had spent hours walking the nightmarish paths of the woods, and his environment was beginning to take its toll on him. Soon his hair was drained of all color, and his eyes became deep pools of silver specked blue. He was becoming as darkly twisted as the land he called home.
But it was worse for Nathyrra. She was getting on in years now, and she did not have Kiva's youthful stamina to save her from the harmful affects of the unnaturally dark terrain. And though Kiva repeatedly tried to convice her that they should depart and seek the medical aids in the city, she refused. She would not be taken now, soon she would be with Sjack again.
The night she died she spoke to Kiva, her eyes were ox-blood and her skin was pasty, "My son, do you know why I chose to be a warrior instead of staying in the forest?" He shook his head. "Because someone once told me what I am about to tell you," Her rasping voice was broken by a fit of coughing. Kiva leaned in closer to his mother, "A man is a sword," She whsipered, "A sword is constructed, piece by piece, it is tempered, sharpened, and it reaches the peak of its strength only to spend the rest of its time dulling and rusting. Most swords are common, a single edged straight blade with a wooden hilt. No engravings, no intricacies, the whole thing is solid, for the most part and will serve the purpose, but there is nothing to marvel at." She stopped to catch her breath. "But every so often there comes a blade of such superiority that it demands the jealousy of sword smiths and swordsmen alike, and it leaves all other blades before it wonting. Time is not a factor to these exceptional weapons, their edge is eternal, and rust does not find them. For these weapons, shame only comes when wielded by an unworthy hand." She grasped for a drink which he quickly supplied her. Swallowing hard, she continued,"Men are the same. We are born, raised, taught right and wrong. We face trials and tribulations throughout our lives; some even attain prestige through special teachings. We are warriors, craftsmen, and merchants and at one point we will be stronger than at any other moment in our lives. Life will go on and we work to regain our peak stature, but like the sword we only dull and rust. Most men are common, they work hard and live good lives, but they served no purpose. Yet from among the masses there rises those of greatness. Men who change the world, leave behind legends that will live far passed their times. It is these men all other men aspire to. But these men also have worries; the premier is concern over the fate that dictates their paths." She strained at the last words. "Remember, Darkchild, a man is a sword." Her grip on his hand failed, and Nathyrra slipped into eternal night to be with Sjock forever.
Later, after Kiva had buried his mother, he began his trek away from the forest that had left its eternal mark on him. He did not notice the miles slipping passed him, he did not notice the setting of the sun and rising of the moon. His mind was elsewhere. "A man is a sword," He recited, "What kind of sword am I?”
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