LC

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

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Kiffar had been, for lack of a better descriptor, catatonic for several minutes now. In the way of orange cats everywhere, he had picked a random shadow to stare at, and promptly become vacant of all thought and expression, save the occasional flicker of his tail. As a result, he missed the majority of conversation in the time since he had seated himself, stirring only once the authoritative shouts of the approaching Blades became audible. That, at least, was enough to make him blink a few times, seeming to return to the present from whatever abyss had borrowed his attention as they were all herded to the sides, and issued instructions. He found himself pressed to the wall at the rear, just beside the opening tunnel, and thankfully without squishing anybody else between himself and the wall.

It took him a few moments to process and mentally catch up with the goings on, but soon enough, he dipped into what fraction of a bow he could manage while crowded back against the wall, fingers brushing his chest, icy eyes locked on the Emperor and his escort. He was familiar with them, in passing- vague memories of time spent guarding the talks between Emperor and Mane, before things had gone so wrong.

"Mane-of-Men, this one is pleased you still breathe. Kiffar thanks you for this pardon. He regrets that he is no longer worthy of offering service to the Mane-of-Men, but Kiffar will gladly make clear the tunnel's exit for him. Come, Elfling. Witch-woman, Darmon-Thing, and the fancy man-thing should come, too. Maybe the lizard-things, yes yes. We will go take fresh air and give hands to things that may lurk and skulk beyond. As a favor for the pardoning, yes? Then maybe come back for Kiffar's things from the things-box. Kiffar likes those things."

He seemed to have little interest in hanging around to see if the others followed his presumed lead- indeed, his words were muffled by the time he was half done speaking, as the massive Khajiit ducked down and started his way down the passage opened at the back of the cell. On the bright side, he made an excellent duster on the way, with his shoulders brushing the walls and his head the ceiling, clearing the tunnel of cobwebs by simple virtue of walking through it ahead of everybody else. If the tight space bothered him, he didn't let it show- or at the very least, he seemed determined to resolve the problem by getting to the other end with expediency, moving briskly and stalling for nothing. He'd find the exit soon enough. Hopefully. Probably. If it wasn't locked.

Bleach - Resonant Souls

Sagamiyama - Sakuhana Park
Night

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Darius nodded, pleased as the chaos started to settle- A solid plan, and solid support, made all the difference in the world in keeping a level head. A level head, of course, made all the difference in living to see another day. As his barrier was reinforced with another overhead, and the boys settled on a plan, he grunted his approval and starting back a few steps to get clear of the barriers, leaving the others to keep the Hollows at bay, trusting the barrier to keep them safe... Safe enough, at least.

"Just keep slashing at them! Don't let them get around, kill them with papercuts! You boys can do this- It's no different than whack-a-mole!"

Further back he trotted, until he had a clear line to the sky, drawing on the same strange, unfamiliar power that had let him craft that wall in the first place. Magic. Kido. Whatever they called it, it was mystical to him, and some parts of it just worked better when he built them around things he was familiar with. It was how he had figured out he had a talent for it, stumbling on it almost by accident when trying to copy something he had seen one of the proper reapers do during their training. A great red ball from the palm of their hand, fast and explosive. Shakkahou, they had called it. A cannon blast, red as a dying star.

He had thought it would be funny to imagine it on a smaller scale, a pistol beside a cannon. Doing the motion, picturing it in his head, something so familiar, had been the key to unlocking the ability. He did so again now, focusing on the Hollow flying in the air above them, hand moving on muscle memory- drawing an invisible pistol from his belt and aiming it high, focusing power in his fingertip, packing it tight, imagining the pressure building until he could practically see the imaginary bullet, primed inside his finger. They had told him to name the technique. These Soul Reapers seemed to put a lot of stock in naming things; and in hollering those names loud and proud when they were performed. That was familiar, too. Shouting the process was training bread and butter.

"Down here, you big bastard! Let's see that ugly face- Looks like a damn bat got busy with a walnut! TAMAHOU!"

He let the technique fly. Just like a bullet, it erupted from his finger faster than he could see, with a thunderous crack- a fast, lethal shot of raw kido sent rocketing towards the flying Hollow, aimed to catch it right in the center of the mask. Just as they'd been taught.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

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Of all those in the cell, only a few looked his way- and of those, only two bothered to answer his greeting. Kiffar was beginning to think these people would not be so sociable, and the yearning for his old cell had already begun... Though these ones, at least, didn't spew whatever insults came to their vile tongues without hesitation or filter! For Darmon, he had an appreciative nod, accepting the man's name, respecting the will to actually green him in turn. For Yarmira.... Well, when dealing with crazy people, special care must be taken, and Kiffar was nothing if not accommodating to those with particular needs! He resisted the urge to lean away in horror as the little treefling declared that she had used his corpse well, wondering at what horrors she foresaw in her mad premonitions of his death, only to see that she was comparing him to a Senche. That almost made him scowl, stricken by the blatant racism, but it would do no good for a madwoman.

Besides... She followed it so swiftly with flattery, and he did love flattery. He instead offered his best, toothiest grin. It was a horrifying sight, truly, an approximation of a smile ill suited to feline features. Why the many manthings and elfthings did not simply tip their ears and blink their eyes, he would never understand. For good measure, he extended a hand to pat her head, between the strange antlers that adorned her, ruffling her hair in a manner that probably came with some risk of whiplash. Divines, but he could probably pick her skull up like a yarn ball with those murder mittens!

"Kiffar is... Pleased this one has been so resourceful, yes? The treefling did very well. Kiffar is... Yes, Kiffar is here to help the treefling. But Kiffar must have dinner first, and the guardthings will bring the dinner Kiffar has asked for, with the little potatoes. Or else the guardthings will have to fix two doors."

The last, he spoke over his shoulder, loudly enough to be clearly audible in the corridor even with all the chaos. Satisfied that his point was made, despite zero evidence to confirm it, he shuffled his shoulders contentedly and began the arduous task of pressing his way deeper into the cell, seeking a space he might have room to sit or curl up. Instead, he found himself thigh-to-face with a foppish man who seemed to be declaring himself the loin-lapping champion of his kind. Kiffar blinked lazily, leaning forward to stare straight down at poor Isai in confusion.

"This one... It flirts with the witch-woman? Kiffar thinks she will eat you, too, but her way will be much less fun than yours. Scoot, scoot, fancy man-thing. Kiffar will sit here, and the man thing will be scooted or be a cushion. Treefling! Darmon-Thing! Come, come, sit with Kiffar, tell him of why the many manthings and elfthings are here, while we watch the fancy one be eaten by the witch-woman."

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

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For six days, Kiffar had been rather enjoying the peace and quiet of the oft-unused cells of the City Prison. The guards liked to do him that favor, if only for their own sanity, whenever he was brought in- A nice, quiet cell towards the very back, where he couldn't pester them too much, and the lack of stimulus led to him napping more often. It suited him just fine. He liked napping, after all, quite a lot. So for six days, he had napped, and eaten, and occasionally exercised before napping some more. In two more, he would be released, free to go find some more trouble to cause until he inevitably stumbled back in, to be dropped right back in the same cell again. Some of the more understanding guards had started calling it his guest room.

Then, some silly fool decided to start a riot.

Ordinarily, he might have approved of that much chaos, and partaken in it gladly if he were free to do so. But he wasn't free to do so- He was locked in a cell, and his expected peace and quiet was shattered by the screaming, the shouting, the clash of steel, sometimes near, sometimes distant. Soon after, it was disturbed further still as the cells began to fill up, one by one, packed to capacity, creeping nearer and nearer to him until a group was shoved into the next one across to his own. Half-orcs and Nords, Bretons and elves. Then, worse, they threw a man into his cell! Some rancid Dark Elf that immediately began mouthing off to anybody who came into view. Kiffar's nap was firmly interrupted, with no hope of returning to sleep, which left everybody else to deal with the unfortunate reality that if Kiffar wasn't sleepy, he was hungry. The first his new neighbors would know of the massive Cathay-Raht was when he stood from the pile of blankets he had acquired to make a comfortable place for himself on the floor. Laying down, behind the mouthy elf, he might have been mistaken for several people, huddled together for warmth, or for a pile of laundry. Once he sat up, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn that parted immense jaws far enough to fill sharks with terror, there was no ignoring him. He was massive, more than massive, and being bright orange hardly made it easy for him to blend into the background.

For a moment, he simply sat there, blinking blearily and licking his teeth, dispelling the weariness that called him back to sleep- what little of it remained, at least, with all the chaos keeping him from that blissful blackness. Then, with a sigh, and a rumble of his stomach that might put a wolf's best snarl to shame, Kiffar pushed himself upright, moving to the door of his cell and roughly palming the elf's head to drag him back from the bars, despite a wail of protest and smacking hands. Leaning against the bars, he tried to speak softly, to get somebody's attention, and was drowned out by the noise, both outside and inside the prison. He tried a little louder, glowering at a guard who dared to ignore Kiffar in favor of his silly wounded finger, and when that, too, failed, he decided he would get dinner on his own. Grumbling irritably, he squatted down, hooking his fingers through the lower bars of the grated door- and lifted. Once, twice, thrice, with heavy, jerking pulls, until something gave with a screech of metal on stone. The hinges gave before the walls, of course, simple barrel hinges that they were, and the Khajeeti giant just... Lifted the doors away from their place, letting them fall into the corridor with a crash.

He stalked out of his cell- the elf left behind, and kept there, surely, by another guard- scratching at his bottom sleepily, seeming entirely unbothered by any drawn swords that rose to meet his apparent prison break. He simply stared at the nearest guard, one whose face he recognized well enough, and flicked his tail in what was clearly supposed to be a polite greeting.

"Kiffar hungers. The man-things did not hear him, so he is here now. Kiffar will have meat, with the little potatoes. The potatoes Guard-Granus and Guard-Biggus told him are tasty, yes?" He pointed towards the cell across from his own, sniffing irritably. "Kiffar will go there now, since the man-things made him break his door. Unless Guard-Tabulus wishes to end Kiffar's sentence early this week~? Kiffar promises he will behave this time, for a whole three weeks."

Guard-Tabulus did not, apparently, want to end Kiffar's sentence early. Amidst all of the yelling, threatening, and frantic attempts to command Kiffar back into his cell, his polite request for a meal or his freedom went without a clear answer. He was, instead, shepherded towards the opposite cell by the guards who knew him well enough to know he wasn't actually about to start breaking them all in half over dinner. Yet. With some gentle, and nervous, prodding, in he went- vast shoulders crowding the door as blue eyes swept over his new companions, blinking with contented slowness.

"This one is Kiffar. Hello."

My Hero Academia: Just Another Hero, Act 2

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Ace had been, quite cleverly he thought, hidden behind the professor's hologram during the announcements- leaning back at that long vacant desk, legs kicked up and crossed atop its edge. It was all about entrances, after all, and if the professor wasn't going to use his desk, then somebody certainly had to! The fox was more pretty, than handsome- at least, so long as one could get past his mutant nature. Androgynous in the extreme, his style was little help, riding the line enough to leave people guessing at his gender. He was quietly taking a file to his nails, carefully maintaining the points they naturally grew to, and glanced up only briefly when the hologram dispersed to favor the classroom with a smile. Despite the toothy nature of a vulpine face, he managed to make it seem pretty, wiggling his fingers in the semblance of a wave before he returned his attention to the task at hand.

Despite his apparently keep interest in nail care, he kept an ear pivoted towards the rest of the class, trying to get a feel for this supposedly wild bunch. Spending time in the States had been a good move, he knew, but it had certainly left him out of the loop here, and what he'd caught up on so far painted the picture of a chaotic, trouble prone group of misfits. Which, he supposed, was par for the course for a hero course, but they could at least stand to be less blatant about it... He found himself rolling his eyes at the antics of Kyoya, all too familiar with that type, and peering warily towards Kagari soon after. The little giggle sounded positively menacing- Just what was she daydreaming about? He'd heard less sinister laughs from actual villains!

Then, the contributions of his own yearmates. He loosed a soft, breathy laugh as Reiji's introduction came to a close, looking up through his lashes at the lot of them, brilliant green gaze sweeping across them each in turn.

"What Reiji means to say is he's heard a lot, and he's choosing only to listen to the good bits~. You all gathered quite a reputation while we were away, you know. I'm still sorting through all the gossip. Oh, and, don't mind Izanagi too much. The only chains and cages he knows about are stashed in his room, where he thinks I won't find them~. The field trip was only sprung on us a few minutes before it was on you all, so don't get your hopes up too high on questions. So far as the training exercise goes, we'll be feeling you all out in our own ways. Some of us are a little more prone to tests of strength than others, so get stretching, hmn? Personally, I just plan to get to know you all a little, do a bit of.... Digging~."

He grinned, playfully menacing, as he pressed a nail to his temple- The implications of his tone somehow riding the line between flirtatious and deeply disconcerting. Was he planning to dig through their heads? Just seeing who of them was made uncomfortable by the thought alone?

"Now, if that covers all the baseline questions, let me get some introductions from you all. I know your names, but I don't know the faces to put them with, yet. At least, not most of you. I, for one, am Akai Jace. You can call me Ace, or Vulpes if we're in costume. I just got back from Stateside, so I'll need whichever one of you is the local gossip hound to catch me up on all the good tea after class. Knowledge is power, and all- and the little things come in handy as much as the big things."

My Hero Academia: Just Another Hero, Act 2

Buddy time

My Hero Academia: Just Another Hero, Act 2

Ace

M Y H E R O
M Y H E R O

The Kitsune Hero- Vulpes

I d e n t i t y
Akai Jace, 23

_{3 ★ P R O H E R O Japan, Unranked - Eirei College}

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_{P e r s o n a l i t y}

Akai Jace (Going, most often, by Ace) is a generally light hearted and playful person, preferring to face the world with easy laughter and mischief well suited to the creatures his family have long been compared to. Well aware of the androgynous nature of his appearance, and the reputation of his mythical cousins, he is also something of an incorrigible flirt, though harmlessly so- rarely, if ever, taking things beyond the surface.

He has a deep seated love for music that rivals even his commitment to heroism, to the point that he very nearly attended a college of the arts rather than a hero college, the final decision made entirely upon the knowledge that, even without additional schooling, he could at least continue to pursue music in his free time, where the reverse might have meant losing the opportunity to work as a hero entirely.

_Origin

Ace comes from a long line of supers who share, to one degree or another, his quirk. There are some who believe his bloodline was somehow engineered to be as they are, given the uncanny similarities they have to a creature of myth and the broad range of their abilities- and not even Ace knows the truth of the matter. All he knows for certain is that he has a gift, and he intends to use it for the betterment of the lives around him.

While some in his lineage have been heroes, they were fairly minor- and far more recent, fresh in the minds of the people, is his mother. A notorious villainess, she modeled herself after the legend of Tamamo-no-Mae, the spirit of a Kitsune supposedly trapped within a sessho-seki in ages past. She wielded her powers of enchantment to sow chaos amidst the government and the hero association, and was only barely brought down near the culmination of her plans by Endeavor.

With the shadow of his mother's actions looming over him, unable to escape ridicule, Ace became determined to overcome adversity, to undo the damage she had done, and become a beacon of good and hope where she had been one of paranoia and suspicion. While his powers are ill suited for the flashy displays and powerful blasts common to hero work, he works hard to be a comforting presence, and while he might not blow a villain away, he makes a point to handle them quickly and efficiently.

Q u i r k
Kitsune

Gen 5 - Metamorphosis/Psych - Awakened

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Kitsune- Like the mythical creatures of old, those with this quirk are possessed of a singularly persuasive and mischievous nature, and physically altered to resemble the foxes these mythical beings were modeled after. With powers of illusion and suggestion, they may warp the minds and perceptions of their foes, for good or ill, and guide them towards a new course of action.

_Supermoves
° Glamour: Ace completely focuses a target's attention in himself, and makes himself appear dazzling and beautiful in their eyes, to distract them and leave them vulnerable to strikes from himself or his allies.

° Suggestion: While a foe is glamoured, they are far more susceptible to persuasion and direction, and he may suggest a course of action to them. So long as he makes it seem reasonable or enticing, and the foe doesn't possess high mental fortitude, they may feel compelled to go along with it.

° Hallucinate: Ace may alter a target's senses to make them perceive, with all five senses, things that are not really there- or to fail to perceive things that are there. This can be used to distract and confuse his foes, or even to make them believe they have suffered injuries that they haven't.

_Ultramoves
° Nightmare: A heightened form of Hallucinate, this move requires extreme concentration and skill from Ace. Manipulating his target's perceptions, he places them in an all-encompassing hallucination akin to a nightmare, wherein he works to drive them to a state of terror- or bliss- that leaves them completely insensate for several hours afterwards.

S k i l l s
Persuasion • Ancient Weapons • Deception

Support Item - Staff of Foxfire - Selfmade

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Acting as a focus for his quirk, Ace's staff works to allow him a limited ability to project illusions that are visible to everybody nearby, rather than only his target. It also works just fine for knocking people upside the head.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

It'll be fiiiine he can always get more

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

The Orange One

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Age: 36
Race: Khajiit (Cathay-Raht)
Appearance:
As a Cathay-Raht, Kiffar will never have an easy time blending into a crowd. Standing at a full three meters and change in height, with a broad, powerful physique, he towers over kin and strangers alike. Orange fur, striped with black and accented by cream, make him stand out all the more- for even amidst his fellow Cathay-Raht, commonly darkly hued, he is unusual. Eyes of an icy blue give his stare a disconcerting level of intensity, let alone the unwavering nature of a feline gaze.

Beyond the natural gift of size, he is well muscled by a life of hard training and effort, with a fair share of scars beneath the veil of his pelt- enough to suggest a life of violence, though not so many as to imply he does not know how to duck. So far as gigantic tiger men go, he may yet be considered handsome, despite the beginnings of grey sneaking through the orange and cream around his chin, brows and whiskers.

Personality:
Kiffar is a simple man, of simple drives. While it would be incorrect to call him stupid, he does not make a habit of concerning himself with intellectual matters, believing them best left to others with wiser heads than his own. He believes that there are very few problems that cannot be solved with either violence or flirting, and he vastly prefers the former option when possible. On his own, he is prone to aimless wandering- But with proper direction, he can be a terrible tool of brute force... So long as he remains fed and entertained.

Without one or the other, he can be prone to becoming moody, either growing increasingly irritable, or descending into a state of pouting from which it can be difficult to rouse him. Likewise, long bouts of discussion on matters which interest him little may drive him to wander off, bored, which rarely ends well for anybody nearby...

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Skills:

Sharps:
Kiffar has always appreciated a good blade, and as a warrior and a manesguard, he was expected to know how to use them well. While he has a personal preference for a greatsword and a backup dagger as his standard kit, he is well versed in the use of swords and axes big and small, and is particularly fond of axes as a tool for throwing, when he can loot them off of somebody else. Blades overall, however, are tools to him, things used for killing on the job, not for fun. He greatly prefers to go without them entirely, where he can afford to have a little fun.

These Hands: Kiffar is a master of each of the Khajiiti traditional Claw-Dances- The Zhan Khaj, Vrin-Thak, Rawlith Kahj, and Ziz Kurah- and was, once, renowned for his prowess as an unarmed combatant. While he still maintains these skills, he has grown fonder and fonder of a more instinctive, wild brawling as the years passed, relying on his sheer power, speed, and reflexes to thread the formal techniques into a far less pretty and refined, but far more adaptive and brutal style all his own.

Yeet and Skeet: In the rare case that Kiffar's prey is too elusive for him to close the gap, he has grown adept in covering that distance with thrown weapons. While it is far from his best skill, there is something to be said for the raw power with which he can put a javelin, axe, or dagger into- and occasionally through- somebody's chest. While his strength allows him to cover incredible ranges, his accuracy leaves something to be desired beyond the length of a room.

You do not see Tyberos Kiffar: While it would be nearly impossible for Kiffar to actually conceal himself from view without the aid of magic, he is quite capable of standing still enough to go unnoticed in the right circumstances- And he moves with a shocking degree of care and silence for somebody of his scale. So long as he isn't in somebody's line of sight, he is more than capable of sneaking up on them.

Poison Tester: Due to his incredible constitution and keen senses, Kiffar occasionally acted as poison tester during his time as a Manesguard. While he is hopeless at brewing potions, he can expertly identify most common, and some rare, potions and poisons by taste and smell- And, generally, is able to survive imbibing the latter in small doses.

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Magic:

Kiffar is orange. Kiffar is not good at silly spells and magics, and is offended that you would remind him of this fault in his incredibly narrow broad range of talents.

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Equipment:

Personal Items:
Garb of the Unbound- A fancy title for the only clothes anywhere nearby that (Mostly) fit Kiffar. As pictured.
Scabbards (Empty)- The empty scabbards for Kiffar's favorite sword and dagger. He called them perverts for trying to take his belt.
Satchel- Kiffar's satchel. It contains mostly snacks, a pathetic scattering of septims, and several blacksmiths puzzles.
Amulet of the Kitten- A Malachite pendant, crafted for Kiffar by his beloved mother. His most prized possession.

The Lockbox:
Leg guards- Light weight, sturdy leg armor. Kiffar attempted to claim it was decorative. A Guardsman's broken shins begged to differ.
Sword and Dagger- Kiffar's favorite sword and dagger. Sized and weighted for him, they are almost comically large to others.
Moon Sugar- Kiffar was... Holding it for somebody else?
Wrist Weights- Taken for similar reasons to his leg guards.

Stored Items:
Storage? What is this storage you speak of? Why would Kiffar trust others with his things? You are silly, man-thing.

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Background:

Kiffar, the Vast:
Born a Cathay-Raht, destiny marked Kiffar for war, to be used by his people as an instrument of brutality, in defense of their home, or in pursuit of their goals in other lands. Even amidst his kindred, he grew to be large, powerful limbs lending him speed and strength fit only for violent use. The Cathay-Raht were once described as large and fast enough to do battle with werewolves, and Kiffar is a breathing example of that truth.

He was tutored by warriors and by claw-dancers, and pit against his kindred to refine him. His life was one of training and of action, and it was upon his sixteenth nameday that they considered him ready.

They named him Kiffar the Vast, and for ten years, he did battle in their charge.

Kiffar, the Manesguard:
So great we're the actions of Kiffar the Vast, in the years of his youth, that honors were extended to his family- To come to the city-state of Torval, to be of the kin of the Mane. Kiffar was to serve as warrior guard, to be bastion and claw to the Mane himself, and he took this duty with pride. There he was refined further, and came to be among the most lethal and feared of his people, for all the Manesguard must be so.

For ten years did he protect and serve the leader of his people. For ten years, he bore the palanquin upon his shoulders when his master sought to wander his realm.

For ten years, they named him Kiffar the Manesguard.

Kiffar, the Unbound
Chaos came to Elsweyr in the dusk of the third era. Chaos came, for leadership was lost. Assassins came in the night for the Mane, and like ghosts, evaded the watch of his guard. The Mane was slaughtered in his bed, and Kiffar knows only that the deed was done in the wake of his master's treaty with Cyrodiil, and the rise of the Renrijra Krin. He believes, knows in his spine, that it was they who brought blades in the night. But this belief does not rid him of blame, and of guilt. The Manesguard failed in their charge, and were reviled for their failure.

The whole of them were removed of their posts, as war began in the sands of Elswyrr, and banished to wander, shamed and outcast.

They named him Kiffar the Unbound, and he left his home forever.

Kiffar, the Troublesome
It has been nearly a year now, since the day of his banishment, and Kiffar has wandered far beyond the warm sands of home. To the lands of the Empire proper did he roam, and there he sold his talents as a mercenary, as a bodyguard, as a champion, and as a common thug, for no duty was too little or too rough for his shame. He turned to mischief to ease his guilt, turned to fighting to ease his rage, and became a common face within the dungeons.

They knew him there, and in a way, that was a comfort, for he knew he would never again know home as it should have been, only as it could be found.

They did not name him here- And he believed he would never be named again.

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Ambition:

Kiffar will find the Renrijra Krin agents who slaughtered the Mane, and he will rip them apart with claws and fangs, and leave the scraps for their betters to find. They, he will haunt to his final days, for the failure in his duty can be answered only with his end... And first, with theirs.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

I give to you... Kiffar.

Kiffar, the Orange

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Age: 36
Race: Khajiit (Cathay-Raht)
Appearance:
As a Cathay-Raht, Kiffar will never have an easy time blending into a crowd. Standing at a full three meters and change in height, with a broad, powerful physique, he towers over kin and strangers alike. Orange fur, striped with black and accented by cream, make him stand out all the more- for even amidst his fellow Cathay-Raht, commonly darkly hued, he is unusual. Eyes of an icy blue give his stare a disconcerting level of intensity, let alone the unwavering nature of a feline gaze.

Beyond the natural gift of size, he is well muscled by a life of hard training and effort, with a fair share of scars beneath the veil of his pelt- enough to suggest a life of violence, though not so many as to imply he does not know how to duck. So far as gigantic tiger men go, he may yet be considered handsome, despite the beginnings of grey sneaking through the orange and cream around his chin, brows and whiskers.

Personality:
Kiffar is a simple man, of simple drives. While it would be incorrect to call him stupid, he does not make a habit of concerning himself with intellectual matters, believing them best left to others with wiser heads than his own. He believes that there are very few problems that cannot be solved with either violence or flirting, and he vastly prefers the former option when possible. On his own, he is prone to aimless wandering- But with proper direction, he can be a terrible tool of brute force... So long as he remains fed and entertained.

Without one or the other, he can be prone to becoming moody, either growing increasingly irritable, or descending into a state of pouting from which it can be difficult to rouse him. Likewise, long bouts of discussion on matters which interest him little may drive him to wander off, bored, which rarely ends well for anybody nearby...

---

Skills:

Sharps:
Kiffar has always appreciated a good blade, and as a warrior and a manesguard, he was expected to know how to use them well. While he has a personal preference for a greatsword and a backup dagger as his standard kit, he is well versed in the use of swords and axes big and small, and is particularly fond of axes as a tool for throwing, when he can loot them off of somebody else. Blades overall, however, are tools to him, things used for killing on the job, not for fun. He greatly prefers to go without them entirely, where he can afford to have a little fun.

These Hands: Kiffar is a master of each of the Khajiiti traditional Claw-Dances- The Zhan Khaj, Vrin-Thak, Rawlith Kahj, and Ziz Kurah- and was, once, renowned for his prowess as an unarmed combatant. While he still maintains these skills, he has grown fonder and fonder of a more instinctive, wild brawling as the years passed, relying on his sheer power, speed, and reflexes to thread the formal techniques into a far less pretty and refined, but far more adaptive and brutal style all his own.

Yeet and Skeet: In the rare case that Kiffar's prey is too elusive for him to close the gap, he has grown adept in covering that distance with thrown weapons. While it is far from his best skill, there is something to be said for the raw power with which he can put a javelin, axe, or dagger into- and occasionally through- somebody's chest. While his strength allows him to cover incredible ranges, his accuracy leaves something to be desired beyond the length of a room.

You do not see Tyberos Kiffar: While it would be nearly impossible for Kiffar to actually conceal himself from view without the aid of magic, he is quite capable of standing still enough to go unnoticed in the right circumstances- And he moves with a shocking degree of care and silence for somebody of his scale. So long as he isn't in somebody's line of sight, he is more than capable of sneaking up on them.

Poison Tester: Due to his incredible constitution and keen senses, Kiffar occasionally acted as poison tester during his time as a Manesguard. While he is hopeless at brewing potions, he can expertly identify most common, and some rare, potions and poisons by taste and smell- And, generally, is able to survive imbibing the latter in small doses.

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Magic:

Kiffar is orange. Kiffar is not good at silly spells and magics, and is offended that you would remind him of this fault in his incredibly narrow broad range of talents.

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Equipment:

Personal Items:
Garb of the Unbound- A fancy title for the only clothes anywhere nearby that (Mostly) fit Kiffar. As pictured.
Scabbards (Empty)- The empty scabbards for Kiffar's favorite sword and dagger. He called them perverts for trying to take his belt.
Satchel- Kiffar's satchel. It contains mostly snacks, a pathetic scattering of septims, and several blacksmiths puzzles.
Amulet of the Kitten- A Malachite pendant, crafted for Kiffar by his beloved mother. His most prized possession.

The Lockbox:
Leg guards- Light weight, sturdy leg armor. Kiffar attempted to claim it was decorative. A Guardsman's broken shins begged to differ.
Sword and Dagger- Kiffar's favorite sword and dagger. Sized and weighted for him, they are almost comically large to others.
Moon Sugar- Kiffar was... Holding it for somebody else?
Wrist Weights- Taken for similar reasons to his leg guards.

Stored Items:
Storage? What is this storage you speak of? Why would Kiffar trust others with his things? You are silly, man-thing.

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Background:

Kiffar, the Vast:
Born a Cathay-Raht, destiny marked Kiffar for war, to be used by his people as an instrument of brutality, in defense of their home, or in pursuit of their goals in other lands. Even amidst his kindred, he grew to be large, powerful limbs lending him speed and strength fit only for violent use. The Cathay-Raht were once described as large and fast enough to do battle with werewolves, and Kiffar is a breathing example of that truth.

He was tutored by warriors and by claw-dancers, and pit against his kindred to refine him. His life was one of training and of action, and it was upon his sixteenth nameday that they considered him ready.

They named him Kiffar the Vast, and for ten years, he did battle in their charge.

Kiffar, the Manesguard:
So great we're the actions of Kiffar the Vast, in the years of his youth, that honors were extended to his family- To come to the city-state of Torval, to be of the kin of the Mane. Kiffar was to serve as warrior guard, to be bastion and claw to the Mane himself, and he took this duty with pride. There he was refined further, and came to be among the most lethal and feared of his people, for all the Manesguard must be so.

For ten years did he protect and serve the leader of his people. For ten years, he bore the palanquin upon his shoulders when his master sought to wander his realm.

For ten years, they named him Kiffar the Manesguard.

Kiffar, the Unbound
Chaos came to Elsweyr in the dusk of the third era. Chaos came, for leadership was lost. Assassins came in the night for the Mane, and like ghosts, evaded the watch of his guard. The Mane was slaughtered in his bed, and Kiffar knows only that the deed was done in the wake of his master's treaty with Cyrodiil, and the rise of the Renrijra Krin. He believes, knows in his spine, that it was they who brought blades in the night. But this belief does not rid him of blame, and of guilt. The Manesguard failed in their charge, and were reviled for their failure.

The whole of them were removed of their posts, as war began in the sands of Elswyrr, and banished to wander, shamed and outcast.

They named him Kiffar the Unbound, and he left his home forever.

Kiffar, the Troublesome
It has been nearly a year now, since the day of his banishment, and Kiffar has wandered far beyond the warm sands of home. To the lands of the Empire proper did he roam, and there he sold his talents as a mercenary, as a bodyguard, as a champion, and as a common thug, for no duty was too little or too rough for his shame. He turned to mischief to ease his guilt, turned to fighting to ease his rage, and became a common face within the dungeons.

They knew him there, and in a way, that was a comfort, for he knew he would never again know home as it should have been, only as it could be found.

They did not name him here- And he believed he would never be named again.

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Ambition:

Kiffar will find the Renrijra Krin agents who slaughtered the Mane, and he will rip them apart with claws and fangs, and leave the scraps for their betters to find. They, he will haunt to his final days, for the failure in his duty can be answered only with his end... And first, with theirs.