Taiji

Earran

A black veil before the eyes.
Blurred images emerge one by one from the depths of consciousness. Night. A thicket. A child and two adults — a man and a woman hurriedly pushing through fallen trees and brush.
— Move, move, damn you! — the mother nearly rips her son's arm from his shoulder.
— If we don't move, we really will be damned, — the father jokes clumsily, looking back anxiously.
Consciousness is once again clouded by a black veil.
The same night. The same thicket. The same people. The sound of a terrifying roar almost right in the ear. Something new.
The child catches on a snag and falls. The mother tries to lift him up.
— Leave him, — the father's voice sounds unexpectedly foreign and hollow. The mother looks at him with empty eyes that refuse to understand.
— Leave him, or we all perish!
The mother leaves her son and runs on with the father. The child rises from a muddy puddle and looks at his reflection. A scratched face. Fair hair. Blue eyes.
He does not know what to do. He does not know why everyone abandoned him. Or perhaps not everyone? The intelligent eyes of a raven, who did not leave its young master, gaze from a branch.
A monstrous roar sounds again...
The images disperse once more, but the black veil does not return. Before his eyes is the sky, and the sun blinds him.
— Carrr! Carr! — Bran screams in his master's ear.
Earran rises with difficulty; his whole body aches from the beatings he received. He had been lying on a dirty bank of an even dirtier river near the highway.
— Carr!
— Yes, I know, I know! I shouldn't have approached them closer than an arrow's flight! You are always right, and I am — always stupid!
— Carrr!
— And what do you suggest I do when my belly is twisting from hunger? Eat worms alone?
— Carrrr! — the raven looks at the river.
— Oh, damn it! — Earran curses, seeing a small fish in the river. He springs up, grabs his bow, and shoots blindly. He hits, but an arrow is not a harpoon; he still has to chase the wounded fish. Bran takes flight and dives at the fish, grabbing it with his claws.
— Truly, I am stupid, and you are wise! — Earran laughed, unexpectedly even to himself. Bruises all over the body, lying in the mud, and strange visions cannot make a day bad if the sun is shining and you have something to eat. Earran leaned over the river to scoop some water and suddenly remembered the recent vision. Who was that boy abandoned to be torn apart?
— Ah, well, I remember now, of course! — the Melhorian smiled, looking at his fair-haired, blue-eyed, and beaten reflection in the murky water of the river.
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Earran sits by the road, skinning a snake, carefully extracting precious venom from the glands. The silence and concentration are broken by the cry of a raven. Prey is entering the nets.
A man, a woman, a child. Heavy bags, something valuable. The man has a sword, the woman has a gun. Easy prey, but the Melhorian hesitates. Thoughtfulness, memories, doubt, bitterness, and finally, silent determination reflect sequentially on his face.
The whistle of arrows pierces the air. The first arrow hits the woman in the head; two more cut short the man's life path. Another fraction of a second of hesitation — and death overtakes the boy.
Having taken food and valuables from the travelers, Earran moved further along the road. Bran caught up with him an hour later, the raven's beak smeared with blood.
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Without knowing why, Earran never shared such meals with his friend, which caused food supplies to dwindle quickly; catching anything was rare, and sometimes he had to visit a place that always frightened the Melhorian: a forest of stone blocks inhabited by a vast number of people. These wretched creatures stared at him, pointed fingers, and whispered behind his back. Their presence was unbearable for Earran, but they could exchange shiny stones and other things for food or clothing.
Before Earran could find those willing to trade food for shinies, he was surrounded by five men in armor.
— You are under arrest. You have the right...
— Hey, what are you doing? I came to trade shinies, why are you interfering?
— Tell me, — the speaker smelled foully of tobacco and own-breath, — where did you get this? You are wanted for robbery and murder; you've been sentenced to death. Better not resist.
Suddenly a black stone flew from the heavens and clamped onto the lawman's face; Earran himself drew a knife and tried to break free, but he was neutralized and tied up. However, it was worth the gamble — when the Melhorian looked up at the commander of the order-keepers, he saw black hollows where eyes should be, while the raven was already perched safely on the roof.
— Tomorrow I will personally execute this bastard! — the blind man howled in powerless rage. — To the cell with him!
Earran was knocked out by a blow from a club and thrown into the dungeon.
A black veil before the eyes.
Consciousness was swept away by a whirlwind of chaotic images. A raven flies. A boy runs after it. Shelter. A terrifying roar. Growing. Fading. Vanishing. The raven brings game in its claws. The boy carves a bow and arrows from wood with a knife. The boy kills game with the bow. A fair-haired youth keeps watch with a bow by the road, waiting for the raven. A memory within a memory. A man resembling the youth keeps watch by the road. A woman and a fair-haired boy of about six years old observe his work. A terrifying roar. From where?..
— Hey you, tattoos! An important big shot wants to see you.
A man enters.
— Well, hello Earran. Tell me, what did you do to get this?
— I don't know. I was just going to trade shinies.
— Fine, I'm not here to interrogate you. Tell me, have you heard of the Order of the Great Limit? Obviously not. I was told you are quite skilled with a bow. We could use people like you. I am ready to promise you a pardon if you join us. Does that suit you?
— It suits me.
— Do you understand what obligations this places upon you?
— I do.
— Then let's go. Your things will be returned to you, of course, except for the stones and money.
The Agent of the Order and Earran left the prison. For the second time in his life, the Melhorian miraculously escaped death. The blinded ex-captain of the guard tore at his hair in frustration in the middle of the street; a bright sun shone, and a raven flew from the roof of one of the houses and perched on Earran's shoulder.
Origin: Melhoria (+80% accuracy for bow shooting, critical attacks deal 100% more damage (from base value). +4 to movement speed and +20 to initiative)
Characteristics:
Strength 10
Constitution 15
Dexterity 20
Perception 30
Speed 8
Intelligence 20
Will 12
Wisdom 15
Charisma 0
Skills:
Bow Shooting

1. Character is trained to use bows.
2. Additional shot.
Aimed Shot

A. Character's attacks have a chance to disarm the opponent (25%) or kill them instantly (10%). Does not work against opponents using heavy armor. With more than one shot per turn, the probability of the skill triggering decreases.
Assassin's Craft

1. +1.5 to stealth for each unit of dexterity.
2. Undetected attacks always deal critical damage.
A. Critical attacks ignore opponent's armor.
Companion

The player can assign themselves a certain animal that will accompany its master on his travels.
Equipment:
Melhorian bow, arrows (including poisoned ones), knife, green clothing (type of bonus for camouflage in the forest), warm cloak, traveling junk
Companion:
Bran (a raven from Pikchi)
A fairly ordinary raven about fifteen years old. Intelligent, well-trained, can serve as a scout, can steal something and bring it to its master. Can peck out an enemy's eyes

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I feel myself like a real criminal scum now...

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If it hasn't been decided yet whether to include the hardcore mode with trials or not, I would speak out against this idea, because generating a character for five hours and losing them in ten minutes is not very fun.