Le village
Le soleil était lourd dans le ciel mais il n'avait pas encore commencé à se coucher, l'air était épais avec l'humidité de l'humidité et même s'il commençait à refroidir grâce à la brise de l'après-midi la chaleur des batailles pesait encore sur la ville et faisait tout bouger beaucoup plus lentement que la normale. Wylsen avait pu parler au gardien de l'auberge pour nourrir ceux qui avaient combattu pour la ville et les mettre en place pour une autre nuit, la ville devait ces aventures et il espérait qu'il les rembourserait en petit. C'était tout ce qu'ils avaient à offrir.
En regardant la rue, Wylsen a croisé les bras au-dessus de sa poitrine alors qu'il regardait les gens de la ville sortir de sa cachette. Les femmes du village étaient occupées à remuer la nourriture de leur propre cuisine et la cuisine de l'auberge dans la salle principale de l'auberge. Les hommes avaient rassemblé ce qui restait de ceux qui avaient été massacrés et les avaient drogués à l'extrémité sud de la ville où Hanzo et Mortosh avaient brûlé les corps de ceux qui étaient tombés au cours de la bataille précédente. Le sang taillait encore la rue mais Wylsen pensait que ce n'était rien que la prochaine pluie ne se laverait pas. Debout, il se demande ce qui est arrivé au reste du groupe qui s'était rendu quelques heures auparavant au camp des esclaves. Ils auraient dû être de retour et il commençait à s'inquiéter que quelque chose d'horrible s'était passé.
Le retour
Les anciens prisonniers étaient plus que reconnaissants pour la nourriture qu'ils avaient reçue des efforts de Lob et Vaeri. Pour la plupart d'entre eux, c'était la première chose qu'ils avaient mangée pendant des semaines et alors que ce n'était pas un festin, c'était plus que suffisant pour les soutenir le reste du voyage. Ils ont commencé à s'ouvrir, ne pas parler de leur vie depuis la capture, mais plutôt regarder ce que leur vie avait été avant. Certains ont parlé d'attendre avec impatience de retourner dans leurs propres villages et villes, de revoir leurs amis et leurs familles. D'autres ont parlé de la façon dont ils avaient prévu de construire une nouvelle vie et de commencer à s'installer où ils n'avaient rien à retourner. Quoi qu'il en soit, il souriait en gravant les lèvres de la bande fatiguée pendant que le chariot sortait de la forêt et retournait vers le village.
Il a fallu plusieurs heures pour ramener tout le groupe au village, mais heureusement c'était un voyage paisible et alors que le soleil commençait à se coucher dans l'ouest, ils pouvaient voir la petite ville. Sœur Agnès avait donné les derniers droits à ceux qui étaient tombés au combat. Des vies aussi cruelles étaient maintenant terminées et il était temps d'aller de l'avant. Respirant profondément, elle s'appuya sur son bâton de marche qu'elle avait fait récupérer Wylsen du magasin pour elle et erra lentement de l'extrémité sud de la ville en direction de l'auberge. S'arrêtant alors qu'elle voyait le reste du groupe revenir avec ce qui semblait être un grand wagon rempli de gens qui avaient vu de meilleurs jours, elle a accéléré son rythme.
Elle a appelé et il est sorti de l'auberge, se demandant ce qui pourrait se passer maintenant. Alors que ses yeux tombaient sur le groupe d'aventuriers revenant, il laissa sortir un soupir de soulagement. Ils étaient de retour, ils étaient en sécurité et ils avaient réussi, à partir de ce qu'il pouvait dire, à ramener plus de personnes qui avaient été capturées. Il sourit alors qu'il marchait vers Soeur Agnès et appela le reste.
"Ils sont de retour!" Wylsen a crié au groupe qui avait défendu la ville lors de la deuxième attaque. Soeur Agnès a saisi son bras alors qu'elle commençait à compter le nombre de personnes qui étaient revenues et a remarqué qu'il en manquait une.
L'archer n'est pas avec eux, elle a dit rapidement alors qu'elle regardait sur lui.
"Sana"? Wylsen a dit en retournant son regard et a ensuite avalé dur comme la nonne a oint dans la confirmation. La journée avait été longue, les deux parties de la fête d'aventure semblaient avoir eu plus à faire qu'elles n'auraient dû faire face et Wylsen craignait le pire. Il en manquait un.
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.