Hakim Abdul Jabaar,
I was born in the city of Ylaruam, my father, Jabaar, is an Alasiyan and my mother, Ismaila, is Makistani. My family moved to Parsa when I was 3 and my father worked with his brother, Kareem, to trade in furs of gazelle and antelope, and on occasion, Cheetah, Lion, Wolf and Jackal. My Uncle would hunt in the mountains and my father would travel abroad and sell them. During his travels he was exposed to some Darokinian religions and thoughts foreign to the Emirates, these caused him to turn away from the Eternal Truth, and also religion in general. The good hearted Makistani in Parsa cared little about this, but he became unpopular for promoting secular atheism.
When I was 5 my father went with me to Selenica, a city in Darokin. There I was to be educated in what my father thought to be a more open minded place. I hated it In Darokin. I felt entirely an outcast. My father was back in Parsa or on a caravan most of every year. School was especially hard, I had to learn Thyatian, and then study for hours.
But all that changed when I was 12. My father was murdered by an angry visiting Abbashani for not being faithful enough to Al-Kalim. The money ran out to keep me at school in Selenica, my mother had to return to live with her side of the family, and I was taken in by my uncle Kareem. He lived in the foothills, and would journey into the mountains to hunt for a living. He also hunted the mountain humanoids for treasure and would fight with his rivals. He knew all of those mountains by heart, and would venture into Darokin and Karameikos as well, those boarders being lost in the mountains. He showed all of this to me, and taught me much. But if I thought my life was hard before I had no idea. At first I was a cushy little school brat, and my uncle let me know it. Fighting for my life was much harder than any school work. I made it though. Being Ylari and a quick learner, I figured out that the less I talked, actually the less I did anything but what my Uncle told me to, the better off I was. I spent a lot of time on my own, because my uncle was off doing things, or wanted things done, or just didn’t want me around. So I became quite self dependent.
When we moved to Parsa my uncle had at first been overly gruff and rude, he had quickly left to go to the mountains. But after some time and some well told tales he made a name for himself and became somewhat of a local hero. My uncle didn’t show up there often but when he did he always had boasts to brag, trophies to show, and gold to spend from the pockets of his enemies. He was renown as a fighter, but the makistani valued his stories as much as his strength.
He told of how he used, spear, bow and knife while hunting, but he also carried a sword for fighting. After my father was killed, he went and slew the murderer. That way as soon as I returned from Selenica he presented me with the head of my father’s murderer and the blade that slew my father. It was really just a long knife, not a sword, but the blade that killed my father was the first weapon that was my own. I used it because my uncle made me for a few years until it broke because it was of poor quality. Then my uncle got me a sword of my own. He taught me to fight with sword and bow, as well as the spear, which I picked up whole heartedly.
At 17 I went out on my own, older than most would have left, but because I was schooled until 12, my uncle had more work to do to bring me to manhood. Living with my uncle had taught me many things, most of which shaped who I am, the virtues and customs of the Alasiyan peoples. I valued my heritage as making me a strong person, but I still felt at ostracized. I felt at most home with my uncle and not with the playful makistani, but he was a solitary fellow. So I crossed the mountains. I had no wish to return to Selenica, and the people there had no wish for a gruff Ylari to come visit them. So I ventured into Karameikos.
I adventured around for a while, but found no real place to settle down. I wanted something, something to make me feel welcome. I stayed in a few adventuring groups, mostly small bands of ruffians who would go do minor heroic things, and then go press the locals for money for their deeds. This was not making me a welcomed guest, this was not making me a hero. After encountering some knights who I aided in defending several travelers from brigands, I realized that I needed to move up in the world to get the power I wanted. In the fight I had done just as much as the knights, but afterward no one knew I had helped, they took all the credit.
I need to do truly valiant deeds, and I need to find a group with whom I can grow as a worrier and as a hero in the eyes of others. If I can gather together enough wealth, I can go off and make a home in the mountains, or wherever else I want. I want to learn the culture of others. I want to use the knowledge to better myself and my strength. I want to use my strength to aide the people, and where I am a welcomed hero shall be my home.