Zakar

zakar

Full Name: Zakar
Alias: 'Lizal', 'Darky'
Age: 17
Birthday: He doesn't know
Race: (Dark) Lizalfos
Occupation: Farmer/hunter
Pronouns: He/him
School of Magic: Demise
Beast Form: Minor changes to a four-legged form


Blunt, straight to the point, not terribly clever (though he may occasionally have his moments). As it stands, Zakar is effectively stuck in a world he has no actual understanding of, and to say he's doing well would be... patently false. He has, at least, learned to speak (at a rudimentary level), but concepts of etiquette largely escape him; perhaps all the better, then, that he lives somewhere fairly quiet and peaceful otherwise. A far cry from what he's known up to now, but yet he remains rather strong-willed in his own way, and if something seems to pose a danger in the area -- even if it's monsters that he might previously have called ally -- he is no less savage in handling it than he used to be.

He is, however, just as painfully aware that he's going to make a lot of mistakes and do a lot of things wrong... and quickly enough became quite vulnerable to scolding and a faint bit of panic, as he tries to at least make a good place for himself as he is now.


Born a warrior and hunter, and so he would die. No different, perhaps, than any other lizalfos. He was, ultimately, just one nameless part of a whole; a sacrifice waiting to happen for their grander purpose, if necessary.

So when a call to arms eventually came, it was no surprise that he would be amongst the monstrous army. Hylians, Gorons, Zora; all were, in effect, his enemy. His targets. No need for finesse, no need for thought; all he needed do was follow their shared master, and die if needed. Much of his kin that he grew up with, indeed, did just that in the process of the attack... and he too, nearly so. A damaged, but still seeing, eye. A deep cut in his tail. Several other cuts and a nearly cracked bone besides. Long had he thought he was prepared for death, prepared for anything, but, as it turned out, it wasn't so. Faced with his life on the line, he found an opening as soon as he could and fled, as fast as his feet would still take him. An act punishable on its own by death, so he'd been told growing up... and were it not for pure and simple luck of his lizalfos pursuer being caught before him, that fate plainly would have come to pass.

Like that, though it pained him to turn his back to what he'd been taught, though he could barely communicate... he chose, at least, to live. Only barely managing to convince some traveling Hylians, some ways off from the incident, to at least spare his life and fix him up a little, in exchange for what little he could give. Which, primarily, was the pure and simple ability to hunt, and fight... and, when it came to it, a fair deal of physical strength, though he lacked the rocky gauntlet he once wielded due to his desperate flight from battle. Being that he was plenty willing to follow orders -- at least for now, in exchange for his recovery -- they set him to simple work at a farm in a quiet little area, letting him earn his keep and start to learn things somewhere he wouldn't likely get into trouble.