"Tarnsmen, riders of the great Tarns called Brothers of the Wind, are masters of the open sky,
fierce warriors whose battleground is the clouds and sky; they are not forest people; they do not care
to stalk and hunt where, from the darkness of trees, from a canopy of foliage, they may meet suddenly
unexpectedly, the quarrel from the crossbow of an invisible assailant." Captive of Gor
 

From the dawn of time, the Voltai rose high above the flat lands. Holding within it a hidden citadel,
a fortress that was unknown to all but those whose birth right had allowed them to become apart of a
city feared by many. Whose warriors were some of the fiercest men upon all of Gor. A city that was
inaccessible, except by Tarn, those fierce beasts that thunder through the skies, like a bolt let loose from
a well aimed bow. Treve, a savage city upon an equally savage world, the one place this man calls home.

As if a mirror shattered and the shards bled into two, the brothers, mirror images of each other,
once fought side by side. Now only he remains... Born long ago in the mountains of Treve, his only family
now gone, but his life is now reclaimed with a golden ring. Twin gold rings with the insignia of Treve are
held upon him, only one is now seen upon his left hand, the other kept on a chain at his neck.

His Oath, His Codes, and His Home Stone, are never forgotten.

His past - remains unknown to all but one.
His heart - opened to only her... Kerina.

He has come to accept that the choices he has made have forever altered his life. He left Treve, the reason
unknown to most and now he has returned. Much has changed, he too has changed. Once thought missing
by many, only a select few knew where he had been. Though they could say nothing as fate was the only
force that would bring him back. Unchanged in many ways, but to look into his eyes, the grey-black depths
speak of things most do not want to ever think about. He returns to the land of his birth, his Home Stone,
his Brothers, his Companion and child. Nothing is as it seems, yet everything is the same.

Civitatis Trevis
Se'Sword of Treve
Commander of BoW - BoWTrv
House Dark Raynes - TreveSW
Registered Red Caste - RRaMC
[2d24 - Date of Acceptance 01/02]

Free Companioned to Kerina of Treve [072803 - Annually Renewed]
Father of the Bandit Princess, Kaelyn Mace [011004]

[ A look into the past -  Talon and Kerina ]

A cant of his head given toward you, showing the glint of the grin that slowly edges across his lips.
Dark eyes, so grey and devoid of any true color they seem black align upon you, slicing through dark rivers
of raven hair that fall just below the breadth of his shoulders. A heart-stopping clash of thunder breaks the
stillness of the night, an uneasy feeling that sets one on edge, and adds to the intensity of the storms fury,
overtakes you. A foreboding feeling that eyes rest upon you, watching your every move, is felt like a chilled
breeze washing over your flesh, causing a shiver as you gaze out into the bleakness of the night.

Do you see it?

Or perhaps you only feel it, deep in your gut, that soon the end may be near.
Depthless orbs of nightmare black follow your footsteps, your movements,
your very breath as it escapes into the cool night air.

It is said that the Tarns of Treve are the largest and most aggressive in all of Gor. Astride an ebon crested War Tarn
called Widowmaker, he soars high over the Voltai cloaked within the silent veil of night. A shrill cry pierces the silence as
his winged mount descends. Steel-shod talons rape the ground before finally with a loud snapping of its wings, the beast alights.
Beads of liquid black track you as the great bird lifts its head back as a deafening, blood curdling screech is sounded as its
wings break the air like thunder, proclaiming the magnificent beast Master of its domain. The riders gaze slices through
the darkness, a steeled glance leveled through the bleak night. His wind-whipped, raven hair is tied back from his
rugged face with a worn leather thong, still his face is partially concealed by a worn black windscarf.
He watches those around him in silence, but ... is he watching you?

Stabilized at 34, though he has seen many more years then he cares to remember. He moves with an easy self-assured
stride, standing just over 62 hort, and weighing nearly 65 stone of pure Gorean muscle. He is broad chested with well muscled
shoulders. His hands are large and rough, perfectly fit for weapons. He is clad in well-worn black leather, finally ending in black
tabuk skin boots. His steps are veiled in near silence as he moves with an ominous, predatory gait. A red tunic left partially
unlaced, covers the thick muscles of his chest, and the many scars upon him ... the marks of life, battle, and love.

His weapon of choice, a short sword passed down through generations, is slung over his left shoulder. An expert swordsman,
his steel is keen and swift, and his strike is true. Know this before you attempt to draw your steel against him. A tarn lance and
crossbow are strapped to the saddle of his winged mount. The finely crafted weapons have met their mark time and again in the battles
fought both high above, and on the terra firma of Gor. A tarn knife, sheathed in black leather is kept within his right boot, another
razor sharp blade rests sheathed at his hip. His powerful form is engulfed by a black cloak edged in red, clearly denoting
his caste. Upon his back rests a black, seven-layered, boskhide shield with the vivid standard of Treve.

Do not mistake him for anything but what he is...
A Tarnsman, A Rarius, A Fighter, A Trevian.

His loyalty is sworn and clear.

"Indeed, there was little known even of the city of Treve. It lay somewhere among the lofty, vast terrains of the
rugged Voltai, perhaps as much a fortress, a lair, of outlaw Tarnsmen as a city. It was said to be accessible only on
tarn back. No woman, it was said, could be brought to the city, save as a hooded, stripped slave girl, bound
across the saddle of a tarn. Indeed, even merchants and ambassadors were permitted to approach the city only
under conduct, and then only when hooded and in bonds, as though none not of Treve might approach her
save as slaves or captive supplicants. The location of the city, it was said, was known only to her own. Even girls
brought to Treve as slaves, obedient within her harsh walls, looking up, seeing her rushing, swift skies, did not
know wherein lay the city in which they served. And even should they be dispatched to the walls, perhaps upon
some servile errand, they could see, for looming, remote pasangs about them, only the wild, bleak crags of the scarlet
Voltai, and the sickening drop below them, the sheer fall from the walls and the cliffs below to the valley, pasangs
beneath. They would know only that they were slaves in this place but would not know where this place in
which they were slaves might be. It is said no woman had ever escaped Treve." Captive of Gor