Taloin (prime)
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Appearance
You see Taloin.
He appears to be a Sylvankind.
He is taller than average and has a well-toned frame. He has piercing blue-grey eyes and sun-kissed, light brown skin. He has short, unkempt dark blonde hair shaved at the temples. He has a chiseled, angular face, a straight nose and a long, jagged scar running down his arm. The set of his jaw, the way he holds his posture just so, something in his eyes, it all gives the look of someone who has seen too much, and been changed by it.
Beginning
Born 429 years ago in an isolated Sylvan village hidden deep within the vast forests of Elanthia, Taloin was raised among towering trees and whispering winds that carried the wisdom of his ancestors. His early years were spent in harmony with nature, learning the ways of his people, the traditions of his elders, and the art of survival. Before he had a chance to fully embrace that peaceful life, war found him.
A brutal skirmish that was little more than a footnote in the lives of the warriors who attacked, shattered the young Sylvan’s world. Raiders came to the village, violating its peace in their search for conquest and resources and taking with them the one person Taloin cherished above all else. He had a younger sister who looked up to him, followed him everywhere, and whom he promised to always protect. But on the night of the raid when she needed him most, he wasn’t there. Young and rambunctious like most Sylvan boys his age, he had shirked his duties in the village to retreat to the forest. He spent hours hunting and stalking small game deep into the forest wandering further and further from the village, imagining himself a great hunter. They were happy hours, free from the weight of unimaginable loss and guilt.
A glow on the horizon called him home and as he neared the village, the smell of ash and death welcomed him home. The village was in flames, and though he searched through the smoke and charred remains, he found none alive. His sister was gone. He fell to his knees and screamed into the night sky, but only the crackle of fire answered him. For a moment, Taloin considered laying down and letting the flames take him as well, but something stronger than his pain took root on that night— a thirst for vengeance. The pain of loss and the fire of vengeance fueled him. Still considered a child by Sylvan standards, he left the ruins of his village and joined a nearby Sylvan warband, determined to fight. Although his size and age were apparent, the steel in his eyes branded by loss and forged in anger told the warriors all they needed, and they accepted him without question. Taloin adapted quickly, learning to strike with precision, to move unseen, and to turn the very forest into his ally.
Over the months spent with this ragtag group of fighters, Taloin found a new type of family. There was no softness there or the peace that once marked his early years, but there was camaraderie and purpose. Many shared similar stories to him of loss at the hands of the raiders who had destroyed his village, and he soon learned that they were actively tracking that group. He longed to catch them and have a chance for the vengeance that fueled his soul. Far too soon, his wish was granted in the form of his first real test with the warband. They had finally tracked the raiders back to their base and took the opportunity to strike. It was a poorly planned attack, the warband’s judgement clouded by personal motives, and as they launched an ambush, they underestimated their foes.
The battle quickly devolved into bedlam—swords clashed, arrows rained, and screams filled the air. Inexperienced in true battle, the chaos around him chased away any tactics Taloin had learned and left him wildly flailing at anything and everything he could find. He fought desperately, but his lack of skill led, although indirectly, to the deaths of comrades. Wounded and barely escaping, he carried the guilt of their loss with him. It was this moment that hardened his resolve. Weakness had cost him his family once, and now it had cost him his brothers-in-arms. He swore to never allow it again. For decades he honed his skills, fighting in conflicts both great and small, from the major wars that shook Elanthia to the smaller skirmishes that remained little more than footnotes in history. He became a phantom wielding death—silent, deadly, and relentless. His ability to stalk and eliminate his enemies without being seen gained him a reputation that extended far beyond the battlefields. He evolved into more than just a soldier—he took on the mantle of an assassin.
Character
Taloin is fiercely loyal to his friends, standing by them without question and treating them as his true family. However, to those outside his circle, he is cold and reserved. He has little patience for pleasantries and does not go out of his way to make others comfortable. His words are often blunt, his demeanor harsh, and his trust hard-earned.
Taloin’s weapon of choice is the bow. He has perfected the art of ranged combat, striking from the shadows with deadly accuracy. Every arrow he looses is placed with purpose, ensuring that his enemies never see death coming. Though he has trained in other forms of combat, he prefers to strike from a distance, letting his prey fall before they can ever reach him.
Taloin does not fight fairly. Honor is a concept for the naive and the doomed; survival and victory are all that matter. He strikes from the shadows, lays traps before battle, and never gives an enemy a fair chance to retaliate. If forced into open combat, he will find any way to gain an advantage—throwing sand in an opponent’s eyes, striking from an unexpected angle, or luring them into uneven ground where he holds the upper hand. Even in a duel, if he must engage in one, he will use every means at his disposal to win.
While he does not actively follow any religion, Taloin holds a loose reverence for Onar, the god of assassins. He does not pray or seek guidance, but he acknowledges Onar’s influence in his line of work.
During his years as a soldier, he picked up smoking as a way to steady his nerves and find brief moments of peace amidst the chaos. He prefers rolling his own cigars from a mix of dried forest leaves and rare Sylvan herbs, a nod to his roots.
Defining Moments and Alignment
One of his most defining victories came during an incursion into the Sylvan homeland. A regiment of mercenaries had been hired to push deeper into the forests, seeking to claim their sacred groves. Taloin and a small force of elite warriors laid in wait, using the dense foliage and their intimate knowledge of the terrain to set a deadly trap. Silent arrows picked off scouts before they realized they were being hunted. When the time came, the Sylvans struck with calculated precision—setting fire to deadwood, collapsing tree bridges, and driving the enemy into choke points. What should have been a battle turned into a massacre. By the time the last mercenary fell, the name Taloin had become a whispered legend among invaders.
Rather than serving any formal authority, Taloin aligned himself with the Guardians of the Sylvisterai—a secretive, informal network of protectors devoted to safeguarding the ancient forests and the Sylvan race. These guardians work in silence, far from politics, removing threats before they can reach the heart of the wood. Taloin’s assignments often take him beyond the borders of the Sylvan lands, eliminating dangers at their source so they never touch his people.
Companion
Taloin found an unlikely yet steadfast companion in a wild greatfang he tamed and befriended over time. He discovered the wounded beast in the aftermath of a battle and saw something in the creatures eyes, perhaps a reflection of his own story and unbreakable spirit. He spent the next three months feeding the greatfang and tending to its wounds, once he was allowed close enough. Over time a bond of mutual survival and respect was forged, and the greatfang chose to stay with Taloin even after it had regained its strength. Taloin came to call his friend Mouse.
Fiercely independent but unwaveringly loyal, Mouse fights alongside his ranger with calculated precision. Despite the years of war, Mouse retains certain habits that remind Taloin of his lost home, whether it is curling beside the fire in a certain way or responding to ancient Sylvan commands.