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Basic info


Name: Sukegei Aruktai Bukha of house Devante

Nickname: Suke

Titles: None.

Race: Elf

Gender: Male

Age: 44

Height: 6' 3"

Weight: 230

Skin color: Black

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Orange

Sexuality: He has yet to explore this avenue.

Personality: Loyal, stern, intolerant, cunning, tactical

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Devante Enforcerer

Hobbies: Enforcing Devante Policies

Place of Birth: Farming Community

Place of Residence: Wherever his khan stations him.

Alignment: Neutral

School of magic: Earth/Fire

Distinct markings: Vitiligo

Family- None they are dead



Two katanas, ceremonial mask and a drip enriched coat.


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Racial Abilities:


Speed -  As a mer he can reach a max speed of 20 mph. And due to his occupation, he is quite nimble and dexterous.


Strength - This warrior is capable of lifting 900 lbs while possessing 2x human strength. This is due to his race and his training.


Hearing - As an elf, he has threefold the hearing range of a human with equal resistance to prevent the blowing of his eardrums.

Stillness (stance)- The Devante art, is passed down from generation to generation. A rare, potent ability that grants the user the ability to sense magical properties with semi clarity. This means that while he can sense something is coming, the exact nature, velocity, angle, mass, or intent of the attack remains obscured. Imagine it like that of the hairs of a fly, while it informs the host of a coming attack or intruder, it doesn't provide a perfectly clear vision of the source. The second effect is the ability to suppress one's own Chi to a near 0, coming off as unimpressive. The mask fades whenever an attack is ready to be made. Making it so the target has a far limited time to react when contrasted to most users of the arcane/spiritual arts. When achieving this state of mind, the body emits a soft white outline. 


Reaction time- Fight first think later served him well in the Sands and the furnace of war. His muscle memory is honed through his decades of combat.

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Claw of the fox: Sukegei will gather heat from the air, slashing his blade as it sends forth an explosive v shape projectile that travels 50ft. On impact, it sends out a 5ft radius of concussive death.


Breath of the desert: This chocolate god will congregate nearby heat to formulate a torrent of fire. The flames will rotate, simulating that of a cylinder six inches away from the blade. By aiming the tip or slashing at a target, the attack will extend his reach by 20 feet, causing second-degree burns or immolation if the helpless victim cannot escape.


Fangs of the earth: The samurai will stomp his foot, sending forth a line of jagged spears from the ground. They expand outward to a maximum length of 40ft, with a width of 20 ft. Each of these fangs stands a total of three-foot in height, with a girth of 4 inches.


Shifting sands: The ground beneath his feet will move, sending the enforcer 25ft in a direction. Alternatively, the ground ahead of him can be pulled inward to yank his opponent into melee range. (25ft long, 10ft wide)


Sahara's veil: The elf will stab the tip of his sword into the earth, sending forth a cloud of particles that will blind all those around him, covering a total spherical area of 40ft.


Oni's tongue: The soldier will stretch out his free hand, sending forth a whip of malleable soil. When it coils around the target; it will solidify, allowing him to pull the enemy or an object to his location. The maximum reach of this tool is 50ft.



My people were without a proper home. The desert and its cruelty were the closest things we knew to culture. Those that lorded over us might have changed, and with them, the customs we espoused. In my youth, I use to hold resentment, clinging to stories of old while scraping by within my village. Every day was a struggle to keep the encroaching hands of death at bay. Bandits often sought to plunder our bounty, while the militia remained vigilant as our only defense. The empire, for all its claims, rarely provided much aid. This didn't stop them from demanding our crops and collecting their precious taxes.

I was an unruly child, contesting the accepted dogma that we must offer penitence for past transgressions. These sins were not mine, but those of previous generations. Yet, my disdain didn't originate from the notion itself. Instead, who we were forced to bend the knee to. The eternal house may have sought to remedy many of our financial woes, yet they offered no security against the horrors of the sands. Our walls may have been prettied up, but this, in turn, only made us a more appetizing target to the outlaws just exceeding our borders. One day, death came, not in the form it often donned, instead, that of monstrosities.

The elders were weak and cowardly men, dispatching letters to the regime that governed us. Despite paying our dues, no help ever came from the empire. Out of desperation, they saw fit to solicit aid from the Devantes. A faction of monster hunters and renowned warriors whose accolades were that of legend. I was still not even a teenager, scoffing at the idea that such figures were accurate, given the stories surrounding this faction. Much to our shock, they arrived. However, their services were anything but cheap. We had gathered everything, and even then, could barely meet the required payment. 

I recall thinking that even if we were somehow delivered from these beasts, would we somehow endure past the looming harsh season? It didn't matter. Tomorrow's problems, while just over the horizon, would have to be faced then given our alternatives.

The contract was completed, and while we all gathered and presented our offering, the elder kitsune denied our compensation. I remember how he carried himself that day; those words and kindness surpassed any I had ever seen from the occasional roving military units of the Eternal House. Most of my brethren expressed thanks, it was all vapid noise, given his gesture was quickly forgotten. I, however, was not so quick to disregard. I spent my days honing my skills with a blade, looking to one day match that man's skill and honor. Many scoffed, but their ridicules only fueled my ambitions.

I was forever changed by that experience, seeing that perhaps others were deserving of my fealty for the first time. Eventually, I joined the militia, standing guard as I tested my blade and arcane skills against unworthy prey. Those brigands once regarded as a menace were undeserving of my proficiency within this profession of death.  With each slaughter, I changed the way I perceived my village. They were not victims. No, they were pathetic and frail. This resentment festered, while I grew more and more distant from my family and community. If we are to pay repentance for preceding failures, how could we do so if we couldn't even maintain our homes without the assistance of others?

One day, word reached our tiny hamlet that the kitsune's had opened their ranks to outsiders, if they could establish themselves as having merit. While gossip, I discerned this to be a worthy pursuit and gamble, abandoning my world only to roam across that harsh desert. Thankfully, I was taken in, evaluated, and found of barely acceptable quality. Initially, the Khan's proclamation secretly angered me. Humility wasn't an easy trait, and I was stupid. Matsumota sensed this fire and offered me a lesson. We sparred, although that term barely applied, given how out-classed I was. Yet, rather than kill me, the warlord laughed as I laid defeated. She told me to get stronger and try again. Maybe then I might be worth staining her blade with my blood. 

I trained under their regiment for fifteen years, clawing my ways from nothing to the Devante house. Everything had to be earned; no kindness was given. This philosophy contradicted everything I had known, and while alien, even my eyes could see the wisdom in such dogma. The day came when I was allowed to bear their name and sigil, as I finally decided that there was no one else more worthy of dictating this wasteland than my Khan. And my life was secondary to her rule. While empires might wane, and seasons and men's hearts may change, the glory of the Beastkin union, that was forever. Eventually, after many missions and contracts, I was ordered to join my Khan once the former empire had succumbed to its failures. 

I found myself back to that familiar hamlet, the people somehow were still loyal to a dying regime. They refused to bend the knee. While I expected anger when I looked on Matsumota's face, I saw only a smirk, as if she enjoyed their defiance, or instead respected it. It was then, the actual reason for my accompaniment on this campaign was made known. The Khan tested me, giving me the order to draw my blade and execute the civilians. Among them, I saw the faces of my parents, watching with horror as if pleading for me to say no. My loyalty was being questioned for a good reason, given even I had a moment of hesitation. Ultimately, I drew my katana and executed them one by one. My swipes were fluid, detaching heads from the body with precision, speed and with prejudice.

Matsumota had removed my parents, keeping them for last, as they remained knelt near her, begging for me to show compassion. I saw in their eyes the vulnerability I despised, that very cancer that kept our people as a whole stuck within the trenches of subjugation.  They were not my parents, merely symbols of my former weakness and the last thread tethering me to this wretched state. And so, I ended them in the same manner as the others, dropping to my knees I wheezed from what I had just done. There she stood, my leader, stretching out that gloved hand as if dictating me to rise, not as an elf but as a Devante. I ascended that day into a changed man, a better man. For the first time in my life, I had the one thing I had always longed for—a proper home.

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