[attr="class","rostername"]@hyaska

[attr="class","rostersub"]a [fourty-two] year old [hunter] from [elara town]

[attr="class","rostercat"]Hyaska Kirei Sinmaru

[attr="class","rostercat"]42

[attr="class","rostercat"]Male

[attr="class","rostercat"]Demi-Sexual

[attr="class","rostercat"]Trainer

[attr="class","rostercat"]Dragon

[attr="class","rostercat2"]To judge the book by its cover would be to perhaps find the presumption not far from the truth of the pages. Hyaska is, among other things, an exceedingly honest—if rather blunt—personality who strives to both pursue and maintain a certain level of straight forward directness to how he is and what he does. He rarely gives his word but when he does it can be expected to be withheld to the fullest of his abilities, when he speaks he says little and cuts right to the quick, making his points succinctly but exactly as he sees them, only sparing the time to remain dignified and polite but decidedly without unnecessary complications and difficulties deceit, or sugar coating that so often others love to use or hear.

If the truth hurts then it only needed to be said that much more then as far as he is concerned. He is far from a naive or inexperienced person when it comes to most walks of life and the ways of survival among both the wilderness and people but still he finds that the simplest most practical option is oft' the most correct and proceeds as such, even if it is beyond the tastes of some others. His care takes little notice of what opinions of himself he may gather save that they are honest in portraying him for his faults or his virtues, whichever one takes more notice or whatever light he may be cast in does not bother him in the slightest, and if others may hate him then so be it: what matters most to Hyaska is that the work is accomplished properly in the fastest most efficient manner as so long as whatever the current goal or task is completed then nothing else is particularly important.

At least, not enough to change how he does things. That is not to say he is without conscience or heart for the plight, well-being, and feelings of others, just that he holds professionalism and duty above cultivating good will and friendship. Even so he is not directly rude or unkind in his actions, merely direct, blunt, and perhaps without some of those social courtesies so many are accustomed to hearing that bend the truth around to make it more pleasant to hear. He is not without civility either—for what little he speaks and what few words he says when he does—though his are more formal things: for when circumstance allows he is without fail with politeness and respect, though mayhaps some of his customs seem odd or unnecessary to those not used to him, using honorary titles in reference always when addressing someone, using surnames when possible, and when time and favor allows insisting on chivalry of sorts. He is never one to be unnecessarily cruel and even among his prey seeks a fair hunt if not a fair fight, if possible taking or challenging only the hale and hearty. For all his brusqueness he holds life sacred and venerable, seeking never to take or challenge it in vain and instead preserve a more natural balance in trying to turn the ways of modern society back towards older times and maintain some of what has been lost in the art of living since.

He believes in the individual strength and the spirit strongly in this aspect, and from the outside it may seem he is a hypocrite to his own ideals both freely taking life and yet claiming to hold it sacred, but for all his dedication of hunting and mastery of the arts of the bow and combat, he hunts only to survive, living off only what his own hands can carve for himself rather then the conveniences of a society that has lost so much of itself, and only seeks to find a prey worthy of hunting and fighting, leaving alone the mothers and their young to continue their part and only taking the injured when their time has already come and there is nothing to be done for them anyways. He respects all life, especially that of the pokemon he hunts and the pokemon he hunts with, viewing the creatures as the intelligent yet wild beasts they are in their true nature rather then the soft domesticated pokemon one would find in the city and the comforts of a trainer. Still, if one were to find him in need, be it friend or foe, prey or predator, he would not be one to turn them away without hearing them and he would not be one to flippantly pass them off.

Indeed, in all his matters and dealings among others he has an incredible ability to always remain poised, calm, and composed. Some find his often lack of expression and the difficulty it takes to elicit any emotion from him disconcerting, especially when trying to discuss matters of importance or in argument, but at the same time he always seemed to radiate an aura of coolness, always portraying an even tempered and patient demeanor on the outside and mentally enforcing a strict restraint and serene mindset, never letting weakness, distraction, and unnecessary feelings and emotions cloud his view or impair his thinking or actions. There is a time and a place for such things, perhaps, but he has little time for them and with-holds his own sentiments and passions when in company or on business.

It would almost be easy from an outside perspective to believe he is even without them from the extreme degree at which he is successful at concealing and controlling them. It would probably make little difference to most if it were true or not, but to those few he is most fiercely loyal to or closest in relations to—be it family or lovers—he is open with, showing himself to be a very self-less person with a tender heart for the care of those he feels responsible for. Even then he may have trouble showing or letting emotions through—a lifetime of training holding the strongest ones back and dampening even those simpler ones—but it is a fault he acknowledges and tries to fix in himself.

[attr="class","rostercatsub2"]PERSONALITY

[attr="class","rostercat2"]Hyaska found life in a small rugged town, he was born an older brother to a sibling years to come, to a respectable traditional family who practiced the life of an older age. One of hunting, one of chivalry, one of respect and ritual. One that took to a more humble spartan way and tried to cut back from the gross over abundance of the current day and age where technology put everything at the touch of a button and all the conveniences of survival straight to the door. One that put meaning again in every day actions, one that treasured what was given as granted, one that hardened and strengthened the soul, the body, the person. 

The Sinamaru's were indeed a sturdy and hearty family, wilderness people who put great stock in the spirits of things, respecting the land, every plant, every pokemon, as beings of spiritual force and strength, each to be respected, each with an important role in the world. Living even outside the reaches of Elara, they had little contact with other people, and what they did was polite but brief, often merely making trips for the most meager of supplies, trading foodstuffs they hunted and prepared for treats such as milk and bread they could not get themselves. But much of what they needed they could provide for themselves.

It could not be said that others looked... kindly upon them and their practices, but from even a young age Hyaska was taught to find strength in himself and his own spirit. To be self-sufficient, to know how to hunt and survive on one's own, it bred a different mindset, a different sort of person, then the modern civilization would find. That's not to say he was uncultured or unlearned, if anything Hyaska was home schooled quite strictly, he learned the use of a variety of plants, the ways to set traps and hunt large game, as well as how to read, write, calculate figures in his head, and conduct himself. He was shaped by discipline, honed by honor and respect, sharpened by civility. Nothing was ever taken lightly in his world, and thus Hyaska grew to be serious, venerating and hunting pokemon, holding fast and true to the cycles of nature, the push and pull of the earth, while still able to conduct himself among the modern people with ease enough. He was not very social, spending precious little time among others and not making friends, but he learned how to live, how to survive, how to fight, how to speak and act, and all things necessary to go out into the world an adult.

If only the same perhaps could be said of his brother. Born 17 years after him, Hyaska had never expected to have a sibling, and Ren's birth was a surprise to all, his parents on the brink of the point where having children would be impossible now. And from the start Hyaska wanted little to do with his brother, though responsibility bade him to care for his sibling, his parents still fit and able even in their age but still growing weaker none the less. Even when Ren began getting into his childhood though, he was rebellious, wild. He liked visiting the cities, he was noisy and often startled the pokemon in the forests, he spent time getting into the wrong crowds, flirting, and living as flamboyantly as possible, often completely blowing off any pretenses of studies or lessons. It was rare he wasn't sneaking off into town, and often Hyaska had to drag him back, time and time again.

Eventually it came to the point where Hyaska was convinced there was no hope for Ren, the boy gone entirely to rebelling. Setting out on his own, Hyaska left, disgusted with Ren and a grown adult to seek his own life now. He took with him what he needed, supplies enough to carry with ease and his tools of trade, knives, arrows, his prized bow, and he set out on foot, alone. He would find the routes through the caves of route 6, and the bitter cold mountain paths of route 7, the latter to become his place of dwelling for some time as he roamed it, nomadic, always traveling, though he frequented Borealis, a ghost who drifted through the wintry town, mostly making his way hunting camerupt, snaring bunnelby, and bringing down hippowdon. He needed no comforts of the technology the town people clung to for their every need in the snowy city, cloaking himself in furs and sheltering in temporary digouts and shelters he built for himself. As the years passed he would eventually move on, roaming out through route 8 and to the bay, then back, circuiting the mainland slowly, never one to settle too long. He was restless, never finding anything to bind him. No real goal. He lived, he hunted, he traded, he traveled.

Perhaps he might have lived his whole life that way until he was too weak to continue, until age and feebleness took him and the hunter became prey. He was in the snows of route 7 again, his forty-second year yet upon him, the decades grizzling him, scars hardening him, experience training him, when something would change. It started with a message, that Ren had been shot and killed, dealing with criminals and drugs. Retreating to the snowy route he knew so well in cold grief, he secluded himself away from all but the wilderness. A cold night in fall. A lycanroc fought and slain, its blood red upon the snow, breath billowing white and dagger bloody, when a she-wolf padded close, snow falling around them. Eyes locked, the she-wolf watching his steadily. More appeared, a pack surrounding him as he watched. But a moon prior he had killed another of their kind near this very spot, the pelt now treated and donned upon his head and shoulders like a mantle. It was familiar to them, one of their pack as well. Food was scarce, the predators were clashing over what little there was, even the skinniest of bunnelby attracting hungry carnivores hungry enough to fight and die over a meal.

Hyaska would merely be the next prey to a starving pack, vengeance for a lost wolf when they needed their numbers most. Yet they did not attack. The she-wolf drew closer, the midday form wolf padding on four legs till she was before him. Then, she lifted up, placing her paws on him and brushing her muzzle against him in affection, nuzzling his cheek and then the cheek of the pelt upon his head. Falling back to all fours, she curled around the fallen body and laid her muzzle upon the flank of the fallen midnight lycanroc. Hyaska followed, lying down beside her, and the rest of the pack followed, a warm bundle of fur, resting around their fallen companion.

When morning came, Hyaska arose with the morning sun to find the pack gone, their fallen kin dragged away with them. His mind was clear, a goal in place as he turned his steps to a part of the land he had only visited in brief passing before where summers were warm and the winds brought promises of new growth and adventures yet untold. He knew where the ranger station was, close to where he was and closer still to his hometown.... it would not be hard to find it and begin a quest anew.

[attr="class","rostercatsub2"]HISTORY