Notable Parents: None
Name: Azzah {last name unspoken}
Age: 25
Sex: Male
Hair Color: White 
Eye color: Yellow
Appearance: 
[img]http://fc06.deviantart.net/images2/i/2004/08/2/f/Azzah___Ronso_Alchemist.jpg[/img]
Weapon: Guns, This is a new day and age.
Any Armor: Gauntlets and shoulder armor for larger guns
Biography: 
Like many others from Spira, Azzah doesn't remember his real parents. They, like many others, were casualties of Sin, lost to the sea when the enormous beast capsized their ferry on the way to Luca. By sheer happenstance, and the whim of the current, a single survivor washed up on the beaches of Bikanel Island, saved from drowning by his bassinet... a makeshift boat, perhaps, but enough to keep the Ronso cub from drowning. Beachcombing salvage teams frequently combed the sands for valuable detritus (and the occasional bodies, which had to be dealt with), and it wasn't long at all before he was found. The Al Bhed didn't exactly know what to /do/ with him, but they weren't going to simply let him die... 

 He was given an Al Bhed name, since no one knew his given one. He was taught their language as he grew, and their ways with machina. Although his hands soon grew too broad and coarse for delicate mechanical repairs, he was strong and willing to aid in other ways. In time, he found a niche as a gunner...perhaps a strange occupation compared to what people might expect, but he didn't feel he needed to stomp about and rant about the 'warrior's way' and the rigid framework of honor. It wasn't how he was raised. Do what you can to help the Tribe. When you are called, answer. Other than that... do what you want to. Life's too short to squander.

As it is, his calling took him and a dozen others to many places, lending their mechanical knowledge to the construction of many of the blitzball arenas. When construction is not needed, then repairs are the calling of the day.

Personality: 
Although he would seem cheerful and lighthearted for a Ronso, in comparison to his adoptive people, he was an island of calm and insight. His way of combat is slow but careful, each shot like a snipers, not the frivolous spray and pray many others claim. He knows he is a misplacement of two people, on the coldest nights he feels that the reason he wanders is to find his place, not on the sacred mountain of his blood, nor the eternal sands of his teachings, but someplace else where his soul will no longer wish to leave.

Are you arriving in Besaid or Living there?: 
He is always wandering, a personal permanent pilgrimage to see the world. As such, he is arriving to besaid.