The fearsome warrior known as Taran Warrior Of The Blade (known to more as Taran The Shamed) hails from the Plainslands of Majeria. An orphan at birth, he was raised by one of the most noble and revered peoples of Majeria: a Samurai clan. His upbringing was under House Ovsunn, a prestigious and renowned family. The House’s founder, Master Yon Ovsunn, was perhaps one of the most respected and honorable men to have ever lived in Majeria. The villagers he oversaw and the army of Samurai he commanded all revered him as a great leader and warrior.
But first, the Samurai themselves…
The Samurai tradition, while mysterious, is an ancient part of Majeria’s history, most notably for their formidable devotion to the land and villages to which they protect. Historically, Dwarf clans are commonly thought to be rich in Samurai tradition. Then came a time when the their training, masterful weapons, armor and stoic warrior pride was passed to humans. The human Samurai clans were able to modify and adapt their learnings from the dwarves to suit their own needs and strengths; becoming elite experts in the ways of martial arts, archery, small weapons and being proficient riders: the mounted attack. Reading, writing, language and learning the history of Majeria and Essence is an equally important aspect of the Samurai and relates directly to his cunning in battle. They have a relationship to Essence in so much as their ability to harness that which nature provides and surrounds them. It is this intimate connection to the world that makes them such skilled warriors. Meditation helps to provide a keen sense to their surroundings. However, the most iconic and important part of The Samurai’s image is, of course, their steel sword – the Katana. The dwarves originally forged these great blades giving them precision, strength and detail. They are light in weight. They are made for killing in a single blow. With a deft strike in the proper hands they do just that. The blades are ceremoniously given to the Samurai by their Master once they complete their training. Samurai soon began to develop a reputation as the most feared and loyal defenders of Majeria. Some enemies have been known to flee in horror at only the sight of this expertly wielded blade. So deadly, barely a swipe across a neck or limb… and it is gone.
The human Samurai clans are now all but vanished from Majeria and even the remaining Dwarf clans are not nearly as prominent as they once were in days of peace. Time has its way of eroding honor. Only the most steadfast can travel the Path of a Samurai and modern times paint the tradition an anachronistic. But some true warriors still remained…
Having grown up in a household of Samurai, Taran was given a rather strange blessing for an orphan. Not of noble birth, as Samurai under normal circumstances are, he would not be given the chance to become Samurai. However, Taran’s adopted father had taken this orphan child and raised him as if he were his own blood. While he had no sons of his own, Zin Ovsunn did have a daughter. Alice was nearly the same in age as Taran and could ride and swing a blade as skillfully as her fellow male counterparts. Their bond was that of a brother and sister – as close as one could imagine. Taran proved to be an exceptional rider. He possessed an unrivaled alertness and quickness about him. He was often given the task of scouting the land for enemies or information. By the time he was seventeen,he was considered Samurai. He was proficient in all of the necessary skills these warriors must possess. His ability with a sword was almost unmatched; certainly none his age could defeat him in competition. At his Ceremony, he was given the title “Warrior of the Blade” along with his very own Katana. It shimmered in the light as it was passed to him. Kneeling before his Master he accepted the sword and placed it in its dark blue sheath. A Crescent Moon etched into the blade, handle and sheath: the symbol of the Ovsunn House. While he was now part of the clan, there would still be many years ahead of him in training before he would be considered a Master himself. This was not to pass…
On hearing word of an impending evil force gathering in the fields beyond the village, it was Taran who was selected to scout ahead and report back with the details of the invaders. On his horse, Mifune, Taran rode out to the edge of the fields to scan the rival camp. He laid eyes upon a force he dared not imagine. Only 10,000 strong, he knew if he and his Clan were to survive at all they would need the aid of others. Deciding he should speed to his Dwarven allies, as there was indeed little time until the impending attack was to come, he tore off towards them. It was while he was en route, camped for only a few hours that he and Mifune were ambushed by a scouting party of the evil army. He fell prisoner to the assailants and learned the name of the commanding officer leading the attack on his people: Major General Bron Talarra. He now knew of their plans and realized he must act quickly if he was to provide any aid of his own. While his captors stopped for a brief moment, Taran was able to free himself. After a swift blow to the back of the kneecaps, Taran regained access to his sword from one of the thugs. Taking his weapon, the four captors quickly found themselves without limbs or heads. His captors clearly had no idea with whom they were dealing and proved easy to dispatch. Taran, once again back on his horse, sword in hand, raced to his home to warn his family. It was too late. The March had already plowed through his village and fields, laying waste to all in their way. As he approached his home, tears streaming down his raging cheeks, he watched as the fields and houses burned. Many enemies laid motionless on the ground along with his fallen brethren. But their forces were too strong and House Ovsunn was outnumbered 100-1. Taran thought to himself, “I should have been here. I should not have delayed by attempting to seek the aid of the Dwarves. I should have died here with my family.” At this moment he would have taken his own life; an honorable way to join his fallen clan members after seemingly deserting them in their time of need. Shame filled him as he took his blade and readied it to his chest. It was then he realized a powerful (and potentially dangerous) object may still yet be within the remaining castle walls, locked in secret and hopefully not yet in the hands of the enemy. Wiping the tears away from his face he pulled himself up and placed his sword back into its beautiful sheath. He raced to the burning fortress and made his way to the descending staircase that would lead him to Master Ovsunn’s Defense. A gift given to his people by the Dwarves, the magical piece of armor was forged centuries ago. Throughout generations, the Ovsunn’s protected their people and retained this special gift within their keep. There are stories how it once protected the clan from unimaginable invading forces and whoever wears the armor is given great power. It became a great source of myth and legend. It is not known all of the powers this piece of armor may possess but it is clear it is indeed very mighty and should never fall into the hands of evil. Zin Ovsunn (or anyone for that matter) did not wear the armor. To do so was considered too great a peril. But it should at all costs be protected. Ovsunn may well have donned the armor if he had had the chance. Before The Black March descended onto his fields. Before they slayed his people. “But,” thought Taran, “my father met them head on.”
Taran made his way into the vault and indeed he had this time made the right choice. For in front of him stood a group of enemies that were ransacking the burning fortress for treasures. A minor Mage, clearly leading the remaining enemies in this scavenger hunt, stood grinning at the shimmering armor. He was about to seize it when through his black heart a cold steel blade plunged. Taran was behind him and he moved the blade upward at such a force and ferocity that he split the Mage in two. He turned to see the look on the faces of the remaining men. They dropped their jewels, weapons and any other treasures they had pillaged and bolted for the stairway. It was too late. Taran sliced them to bits as they tried to flee. His rage was unquenchable. He thirsted for more bodies to cleave, but none were left. For now. He saw the armor and knew he had no choice but to take it with him. It was all that was left of his clan. Not to risk further trouble with the heirloom, Taran decided to put it on. Doing so was strictly forbidden and he had no idea what would happen once the armor was placed over his shoulders. It quickly began to burn and sear through his clothing. His thin shirt disintegrated and the armor bonded permanently to his body. Taran tried to pull it off but to no avail. As the fortress collapsed around him, he dashed up the stairs and emerged into the black, smoke-filled air. With the armor now attached to him, he set forth on his horse. His clan’s banner, now tattered and singed, waved and rattled in the wind as he galloped after the evil who had done this to his family. He did not look back.
Fifteen years have passed. Taran now seeks the death of all who conspired against his family, his former life. A sword for hire. A rogue. Hunting down and dispatching those involved in the raid on his clan. Some of those have sought a new life or peace. If Taran finds them, they will not know peace.
