Ibrayin's birth was not one of note. He was not born to a rich or powerful
family, nor was he born into poverty. He was not the firstborn child, nor
was he the youngest. Indeed, for most of his life he went unnoticed- another
child in a large family that lived by farming the rough soil along the great
road east of Seringale. He had many brothers and sisters, and his childhood
was filled with chores, hard work, and the simple pleasures of a rustic life
His parents were both good natured followers of the Light, if not
particularly pious, for the many tasks of everyday living left little time
Long days of hard work left Ibrayin a diligent child, but he always yearned
for more than the life of a farmer. He buried himself in what little books
his family could afford, and often times made visits to the nearby monastery
where he learned all he could from the attending monks. It was then to
nobody's surprise when he left his homestead as a young man to join the
monastery. There he learned their ways, trained both his body and his mind,
and was soon inducted into their order.
Ibrayin excelled at the art of meditation, a skill that he spent most of the
day perfecting. And it was through meditation that he felt he could best
achieve knowledge. Countless hours were spent in isolation, until the young
monk felt that even the secluded monastery was too much of a distraction. He
ventured out into the wilderness, surrounding himself in nature where he
believed he could best carry out is ascetic persuits. For days, weeks,
months, and eventually years he lived a quiet life of fasting, abstinence,
self-discipline and meditation. He lived as a hermit in cave, venturing out
only to gather scant nourishment from the surrounding countryside before
fasting and meditating again.
And so years passed. Through meditation Ibrayin gained wisdom, but he always
felt that some great truth eluded him. One day, as he searched the
wilderness for roots and berries on which to break his fast he happened upon
a wounded traveler. He man had been ambushed by bandits. After a short fight
the bandits stole the man's gold and valuables and left him for dead. For
days the man had searched for help, his wounds festering and growing putrid
before finally being discovered by the ascetic monk. Ibrayin took him to his
cave and did all he could to care for him. But the man was dying, and
Ibrayin had little more to offer him than prayers. For three days the man
suffered in agony before dying.
This had a profound impact on Ibrayin. He felt his years of meditation had
meant nothing, for in the end he could do nothing to save this poor man's
life. Life was sacred, this much Ibrayin knew. And it was his duty to
protect and safeguard the sanctity of life. On that day Ibrayin buried the
traveler and never again looked back at his cave. He had a purpose now.
There was too much evil in the world, too much death and suffering. And it
needed to be stopped.
This appears to be little more than a weathered old man. His frame is scrawny, malnourished even. The limbs of his body look to be nothing but skin and bone, and his ribs are clearly visible. The skeletal man is dressed in tattered rags, worn and frayed along the hems and long ago weathered to a dull grey color. They look almost ready to blow away from his slender body. His leathery skin is a deep tan in color, covered in deep wrinkles that show the passage of time has not been easy on him. Tangled locks of wispy grey hair fall down to his shoulders, coarse and straw-like. His face is beset with many wrinkles and age spots. Deep set blue-grey eyes take in his surroundings with a harsh, piercing gaze. Despite his age, this old man exudes a great sense of vigor and vitality, moving with speed, balance and strength that defies his fragile appearance.