Legends of the Dreaming Sea
“It’s amazing what you can do with some leather straps.”
When being himself, Kanchana Mahavir has a rugged frame and sardonic bearing, his body language playing resting skeptic when he is not actively engaged. He has pale ash brown skin, black hair swept back by knot and bandana, and eyes the colour of an overcast sky. Mahavir favours multiple layers of clothing as the weather allows, with high cuffed boots, high collared tunics, straps, belts, buckles, brooches and leather gloves featuring strongly. Weather allowing he is almost always wearing a buff jacket, but in the southern heat he sometimes makes do with a simple chain shirt. Rarely does he leave a large amount of his skin uncovered. Mahavir has a number of culturally significant piercings, but changes them regularly.
Aesthetically, Mahavir is downright ghastly. Slightly overlarge shoulders combine with a blunt jaw and aquiline nose, too sharp. His entire upper torso and head are covered in old burn scars – they healed well, all things considered, but his skin is covered with angry serrated ridges that are an odd ashy-red colour. His left check bears trace of an older deep scar, crosswise, and traces of an old black tattoo are visible under the scars of his right.
This led Mahavir to attempt to grow out facial hair, but this proved to be a patchy endeavour and inconvienent for his many disguises. He maintains – miraculously – a full head of hair.
Mahavir favours grey, brown, red, green and amber tones in clothing, preferably embroidered with sometimes clashing patterns. Leather accoutrements adorn him joined by stained leather straps placed in an unfathomable, but precisely placed, arrangement. Each strap’s reverse side is stained a different shade or colour. This ensemble hides a myriad of small pouches, folds and hidden pockets, with enough oddiments in them that he can often pull off a clever disguise on the spot.
When idle, he will be found with Venehir on his back, Seethe in a simple frog on his right thigh and a brace of knives at his left. He keeps his breastplate fastened under loose Madean nomads robes, seemingly unfazed by heat. Hidden on his person are two haftless short iron knives, balanced for throwing, one per boot, a long steel knife hanging on a cord between his shoulder blades, and a secret iron punch knife hidden as a clasp on one of his leather straps.
If on the road or expecting trouble, Mahavir dons an elaborate, intricate battle harness. Fastened across chest, side and back, it provides ample support for a range of additional pouches, vials, supplies and weapons. Seethe is secured to the left hip in a braced sheathe, allowing for rapid movement, and a sai takes it’s place in the frog, now buckled to the harness. Venehir on pokes over his right shoulder, sharing a double-cross back sheath with a brace of throwing javelins. Completeing the arsenal, his throwing knives and a single steel-wrapped baton, balanced for throwing, sit under his left shoulder, while twin bronze-headed bolas are secured to his right hip in a compact tie. Rope, climbing claw daggers, and small hatchet fastened to his left calve finish the ensemble.
Gregarious, but hides some pain about his family and upbringing. Has a great desire to impose his will on the world, to prove after years of being beat down he can master it.
Mahavir keeps a slim glossy black notebook bound in leather. No others have read it. He keeps it perfectly hidden when he sleeps.
He occasionally gets up to things, which may be archived here in order to keep his this entry uncluttered.
He’s recently set up a new inner circle.
Mahavir was born to the Kanchana family, a poor but proud farming clan. As youth are won’t to do, he took to thievery and mischief while running in the Emsharian urchin gangs. It started small, of course, but his deft hands were noticed and he rose rapidly, always using his take to support his family. When his family figured it out it was not received well – his father kept him extra busy on the farm in an effort to keep him straight (and poor). This was to no avail – Mahavir was cast out amidst scathing words at the tender age of 15, living off the streets and running with the other outlaws. He kept the name, but hasn’t been allowed back since.
After this, Mahavir became known for daring exploits. No challenge too small, no feat unaccepted, no job too tough. This landed him in hot water a number of times, in morally dubious situations dozens more times, and occasionally turned bloody. He learned to travel light and to relocate quickly, and his trade became less about keeping things and moreso about the challenge of the hunt. Fortunately, his repute also opened doors to some very good teachers and he took advantage. After years watching the better classes, he has grown jaded about not just the wealthy, but also the very concept of wealth as a good thing. After one particularly daring heist where he managed to piss off important merchant factors affiliated with Clan Gonde, he decided it best to emigrate to Arqad… and here our story begins.
A mysterious old man got Mahavir to loot an ancient ruin for a magic lamp. Mahavir, always a bit too trusting, was double crossed and seriously wounded in the ensuing struggle. Cornered, all hope lost, clutching the lamp and a weird belt he’d found, he felt his life force pouring out – and the world went shadowy and brilliant.
He woke and his assailant was gone. Instead a strange man (Kyros) was engaged in alien conversation with a fire demon conjured from the lamp. Kyros, now intiated into sorcery, helped the seriously injured Mahavir and the two went on from there.