Rhovik

Rhovik
Status	Active
Race	Rakash
Gender	Male
Guild	Cleric
Instance	Prime
Relatives	Thanashar, Rhysen

Appearance

You see Rhovik, a Rakash.

He has an oval face, almond-shaped black eyes and a freckled nose. His blue-black hair is short and peppered. He has black skin and a slender build.
He is very tall for a Rakash.

He is wearing a spiraling cambrinth armband inlaid with a carved onyx ram, a lumium chain helm, a light steel plate mask, a golden-hued sanowret crystal, a divine charm, a woven shoulder tote, a heavy silk duffel bag, a rugged blue backpack, some rugged leathers, a sleek arm quiver covered in death adder skins, an octagonal shield of cobwood reinforced with a chitinous boss, a simple steel parry stick, some abyssal black haledroth knuckles, some sleek diacan brigandine gloves with twisted black gold cuffs, a bent copper ring engraved with the Estate Holder's crest, a pair of electrified goldfyre zills patterned with jagged lightning bolts, a purple gem pouch, a sharpened vardite skinning knife stamped with a unicorn, a lockpick ring, a tight bundle tied with a braided bundling rope, some pale gold trousers and some abyssal black haledroth footwraps.

Pack

Karavirs

A Path of His Own

Crossing had seemed much smaller from the road.
Rhovik decided that within the first day.
From a distance, the city had simply been their destination—a collection of rooftops beyond the road, a place the three brothers had spoken of while miles still stretched beneath their feet.
Standing within it was another matter entirely.
People were everywhere.
They moved through the streets with the irritating confidence of people who knew exactly where they were going. Traders called out their wares. Adventurers passed carrying weapons Rhovik had never seen before. Conversations spilled from open doors, carts rattled along the streets, and somewhere nearby someone was shouting loudly enough that Rhovik could only assume either a fight or commerce was taking place.
He was beginning to suspect there was little difference between the two in Crossing.
Thanashar had taken to their new surroundings easily enough. Their mother’s lessons had already placed the Ranger’s path beneath his feet long before the brothers ever reached the city.
Rhysen was much the same. Their father’s teachings had prepared him for a different road, one built upon strength, instinct, and the willingness to meet trouble head-on.
Rhovik knew where his brothers belonged.
That left the considerably more troublesome question of where he belonged.
He stood along one of Crossing’s busy streets and watched another group of strangers pass.
One of them glanced at him.
Rhovik glanced back.
The stranger quickly found something else to look at.
Rhovik frowned.
Perhaps it was the beard.
His brothers had places to begin.
He had a beard.
Wonderful.
It wasn’t as though Rhovik had been raised without lessons of his own. His parents had taught all three brothers about family and Pack. They had taught them of Everild, of courage and battle, and of the honor expected of those who called upon the Immortal’s name. They had taught their sons of the Three Rakash gods as well, passing down what they knew of the gods belonging to their people.
Rhovik still had much to learn.
He simply had no idea what he was supposed to do with what he already knew.
For the first time, there was no mother nearby to ask.
No father to point him in a direction.
Even his brothers could not answer this one for him.
And perhaps that was the point.
So Rhovik began walking.
He considered what he knew first.
There was something appealing about Thanashar’s path, but the more Rhovik thought about following it, the more one truth bothered him.
It was Thanashar’s path.
Rhysen’s was easier to understand.
Hit things.
Rhovik suspected his brother would provide a considerably longer explanation involving strength, discipline, and instinct.
Eventually, however, something was getting hit.
Rhovik smiled despite himself.
He loved his brother.
He did not need to become him.
So he kept walking.
Crossing seemed perfectly willing to provide alternatives.
Everywhere he looked, someone appeared to have found an answer. There were people who dealt in coin, people who worked with weapons, and others who wielded strange arts Rhovik barely understood.
Surely somewhere in all of this there was something meant for him.
By midday, Rhovik had discovered several things he did not wish to become, spent coin on food that was not nearly as good as anything from home, and somehow ended up farther from where he had begun despite being reasonably certain he had been walking toward it.
He stopped at another intersection.
Looked left.
Looked right.
Then looked behind himself.
Nothing was familiar.
“Excellent.”
Perhaps this was what finding oneself looked like.
If so, Rhovik was beginning to think it was badly named.
He chose a direction.
Not because he knew where it led.
Simply because standing still was unlikely to provide an answer.
For now, that would have to be enough.