Sular Esselam, firstborn of the House of Snakes, stood upon the parapets. The newly arisen sun shone brightly over the light brown skin and sharp features of the young man, his long black hair waving in the hgih winds which seemed almost to prophesize the arrival of the Barbarians. His eyes were an almost storm grey, staring into the distance, not at the advancing horde, but beyond, as if he were staring at the edge of the world itself. His complexion was foreign to those around him, and, standing just shy of 1,90m, he was considered to be a giant by those around him. This exotic appearance was only strengthened by the colorful robe which he threw around himself, seemingly shimering in the rays of the sun, under which he wore a suit of boiled and prepared slabs of leather, tightly strung together to form the appearance of scales. Around his neck hung a locket, which carried the insignia of two interwoven serpents coiled around a single gem, a symbol both of his heritage and his loyalty.

While it was common knowledge that the Empire had conquered the Shash-La of the East many years ago, few within it's borders had ever met the strange, tall humans, with their oddly tinted skin and strange ways. Their customs and skills, honed by the wide open food plains of Alan Shior, roughly translated as 'Mother's Skin', were foreign and exotic to those within the Empire, and Sular was no exception. He had been sent into the army of the empire as a treaty of sorts, from the House of Snakes, one of the houses with a voice in the Selequoir, or, as the simple-minded Empyreans had named it, the Council of Houses. He was of nobe blood, and yet, failing to recognize the immense gift that had been granted to them, the leaders of the Empire had simply seen it as another measly tribute, and sent Sular to fight and die far from his homeland. As was to be expected of barbarians.

Upon his back, one could see what seemed to be a long length of jointed wood, oddly engraved. However, even as Sular reached back and released the clasp that had secured his weapon in place, it unfolded, the several joints evening out into a solid length of gleaming dark wood. Fully revealed, the bow was almost as tall as Sular himself, a true monstrosity that towered above some of the guards stationed besides him. A sturdy thread, woven from the hairs of his father's greatest stallion, was strung between several wheels between the two ends of the wood. The grip was engraved, once more, with the insignia of the Hesh-Coril, the House of Snakes, wrapped in supple leather to increase grip on the haft. Reachig back, Sular revealed a quiver previously hidden from beneath the folds of his cape, and he set two arrows tipped with fine steel beside him, within reach. The third arrow he draws, tipped with iron,he set on his bow, as he waited for the fools to come within range.

Far from his own lands, Sular had been pressed into service by the empire, and yet it was not the Empire he fought for. To a true warrior of the Shash-La, the fools of the Empire were nothing more than slightly stronger Barbarians. The only respect they deserved was for their military might, and even that was filled with contempt for the brutal, unhoned ways in which they committed their wars. Without elegance nor fashion, ignorant of the rules of the Selequoir, which formed the moral base of Shash-La culture. However, still the firstborn son fought these barbarians. For with each arrows that tasted the blood of his enemies, he honored his house and his father, and all those of Alan Shior. In him he wore the pride of the Shash-La, and it would be both armor and shield. He saw the advancing hordes of the enemy, and he faced them with a smile.

Let them come and taste the steel of a true warrior.