Tribe 8 (1st ed) - The Fallen Marz
Marzell (Marz) Adinn
Former Tribe: Joanites
First Eminence: Fury
Second Eminence: Freedom
ATTRIBUTES: (29 pts used) Agility +0 Appearance 0 Build +1 Creativity +1 Fitness +2 Influence -1 Knowledge 0 Perception -2 Psyche 0 Willpower +2
SKILLS: (40 pts used) Acrobatics +2 Archery +1 Dodge +2 Hand-to-Hand +2 Melee +2 Throwing +1 Intimidate +1 Craft (Metalwork) +2 Tactics +1 Survival +2 Teaching +1 Athletics +2 Swimming +1 Healing +1 Synthesis 1 (3 SP)
SECONDARY TRAITS: Strength: 1 Health: 1 Stamina: 35 Unarmed Damage: 7 Armed Damage: 7 Flesh Wounding Score: 18 Deep Wounding Score: 35 Instant Death Score: 70 System Shock: 6
Perks Quick Learner
Marz is a tall twenty-four year old woman with tawny skin, deep brown eyes, and a short mop of thick black hair. Her muscular body shows both the hard work and carelessness of her life with the Joanites, having more scratches, burns, scars, and bumps than typical - including the calloused hands with old burn marks and an old, long cut dangerously close to Marz's throat.
The ex-Joanite wears an oversized coat and shirt, trousers, and boots. The shirt is cut to meet the waist and remove the sleeves. Marz carries her favorite sword that was crafted the year before, a small crow etched into the handle, and a backpack which holds her canteen and the smithing tools that she was allowed to keep (e.g. a flint stone). The backpack only has two different spaces remaining, so food is in another bag inside, and any spices, herbs, or healing items are in the smaller pocket.
Marz was always the troublemaker, the black sheep, someone that tuned out or stirred chaos and played when the elders were teaching history, lore, discipline, their place as the arm of the Tera Sheban. Enough family and friends in the Joanites saw Marz's hard work and how she shined in the right situation - excelling in combat and smithing, or putting genuine effort into "boring" topics under the right mentor - that the tribe accepted the behavior as a painful quirk that could be hammered out or smoothed over. But she was always on the edge of pushing it too far, and was scolded and punished frequently. After years of tension, Marz's brash and stubborn behavior embarrassed the Joanites during a public and important ritual with the Tera Sheban, and she was finally exiled.
The ritual for Marz's exile had leaders, family, teachers, people Marz loved and loathed, somberly and silently lined up in order of rank to the exit. Mint was gently wafted to cleanse the community of the shame brought upon them. As Marz reached the mid-point, the stares began to bore into her and the fragrance burned her nose. A strength she took for granted began to leave her body. Marz swiveled on a heel to face what lay behind her, and the world became a midnight sky. No...The "sky" was Joan and Tera Sheba, the only light left flittering from the cold stars in their skulls. The icy scent of mint became heavy and overbearing. The line of Joanites morphed into a castle of tiers, each tier harshly pressing and pulling at the tier below it like dough, and all of them stretched so far and high that Marz could not comprehend the scope, and all swallowed up by Joan and Tera Sheba. Marz desperately reached for them as the foundation beneath her feet crumbled, even though it was impossible, and felt herself sucked into a whirlpool. Falling, drowning, mint sprouting from her lungs and climbing up her throat.
And then Marz was at the exit, hacking up nothing but bits of bile. As she sucked in the air, she peered at something in the distant horizon. It should have been too far to perceive, but Marz saw a community, a family, with open arms, without rank. A place where Marz didn't need to meet arbitrary standards of value, or learn every rule precisely and obey without question. A place where Marz and people like Marz belonged. A deep ache that she had never felt before, and yet seemed so familiar, took hold of her and lit a fire in her heart, and Marzell strode forward without a trace of doubt.