Xavior

Prologue

Xavior's family hails from a very very old link to a bloodline, that is so distant, and so old, and so convoluted by this point that it really doesn't matter to any of the surviving relatives. All that is known to Xavior is that his great grandfather caught the wrong end of a bad deal that ended with him and all his children, and their children being tossed onto the island. The /why/ never mattered to him, so he never bothered to ask. The whys of life are tedious, especially when linked to the 'whom', 'when', and 'wheres'. Today, tomorrow, and the whimsical past found in books are the only concerns of Xavior.

Description

Eternally bronzed skin wraps tight about a narrow skull, cutting keen angles to whittle a primate profile, most of which is buried beneath a prolific hirsute mask. Shaggy thick umber brows cap vivid cerulean almond shaped eyes, yet overshadowed by unkempt sunwashed mahogany locks that have been carelessly shorn to a willow of on-again off-again dreads. Tall and sometimes frighteningly lean, his musculature weighs in on the compact sort smelt from a hard life lived upon a pile of rocks.

Background

Xavior is a mellow fellow, somewhat quiet, somewhat reserved, but kind and friendly. He's the first one up every morning and likely the last one to bed at night. Sleep isn't a priority. A lot of times he'll take off on his own on some mission or another, which usually entails hunting, fishing, scavenging, or creating one his stone xylophone-like instruments. The man has been a scavenger since the day he learned to crawl, clambering over rocks and burrowing into their secret caches of treasure, which he eventually learned to hide deep in a winding path of rocks that eventually comes together in one mother stone, creating a small canopy cave where he can store all his secrets, some of which simply include thoughts kept close.

This difficult life has been hard on Xavior's family, leaving only his uncle and cousin as sole living relatives. There are likely links to many of the other exiles, but they've been well lost in time. Possibly this is what has led to a lot of the man's willingness to remain aloof from the pack. Even with his penchant to enjoy his moments of solitude, his first priority every waking day is to assure food for the mouths of all the island's inhabitants. It's his greatest joy beyond those secret treasures.

His second greatest would be the very few books that were brought over by his family which he treasures and has read so often some of the pages have become loose from their binding. These he stores amongst his great finds.

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