Raslon

Explorer of the great southern seas, adventurer of the old school, bravery, courage, quests!

The job description had indeed sounded much better than the job itself. Sure, being second navigator of a great ship had a certain something to it, though Raslon was a bit unsure of his boss, the monkey who had become chief navigator. Well, they managed to find the designated island, more by luck than by any skill, Raslon suspected. In any case, the boss was the boss, and one has to obey orders.

But then the ship was wrecked, and only a few survived, but that made all the difference in the world. Among them was Risla, a lovely ottress whom Raslon quickly fell in love with, and Syrin, a completely insane slave trash cat, who tried to get at him all the time. Raslon wanted to teach the kitty a lesson, but Risla always forbade that. Pity.

Through sunshine and rain, war and fortitude, their love grew. They endured many adventures together, and the last one separated them. Raslon searched during many a moon, but his hope never waned. Such is the power of love. He kept on...

Until one day as he reached Ravarra. For once, his usual inquiry about Risla's whereabouts was answered with something other than blank incomprehension. Anxiously, Raslon intensified his search. Someone knew something about Risla. Why wouldn't they tell? Fear and anticipation filled Raslon's mind.

Truth, once scented, has a tendency not to remain contained for long. They finally had to tell him. Risla was dead, murdered by Syrin's guards. Syrin herself was also dead, so no revenge was to be had. Staggering, his entire being in paralysis from the impossible, Raslon left Ravarra in blank denial, and vowed never to stop searching... not until he'd found Risla again.

Ever since, Raslon has never been quite himself. He's often seen staring into the void, or searching any group of people with a worried frown. He never sleeps an entire night, and is always on the move, forever doomed to continue his quest.

He's almost found her... almost...