From across the sprawling mountains and valleys, over the running waters of the Serpent River comes,

Sanjuro

T'skrang of Legend, Swordmaster of Renown and occasional Poet of Epics

Sanjuro was born in 1477, in a small village under the rule of House Syrtis. An accident separated him from his family at age nine. Through his own guile and force of will, he found his way to the Cliff City and, eventually, gained training as a swordmaster adept. Sanjuro is a dark green color, with black eyes and a double-finned head. What sets him apart from most of his race is his massive size. The average t'skrang is six feet, two-hundred pounds (forty in tail), with nothing exceptional about their strength. Sanjuro is six feet, two inches, with power bordering on obsidiman level. His massive strength is supported by a tall, solid frame. Every inch of his body expands outward with muscular definition, giving him a bulk very uncommon among others of his race. Years of labor and independence have trained his body and his mind. It was no mistake that Sanjuro chose the swordmaster discipline. His pride as a t'skrang and the natural gifts of his own physical development demanded an appropriate outlet.

Throughout his years of travel prior to meeting his present companions (1494 - 1505), Sanjuro saw every corner of Barsaive. However, he was most influenced by the year he spent in Thera. There, he was enraptured by the goods and stories of lands far beyond the borders of Barsaive. Since his time there, Sanjuro has further stood himself out in a crowd through his choice of clothing - flowing robes from beyond the Selestrian Sea. A unique sword, long with one side sharp and curved at the top, is tucked into his belt, revealing only a hilt shaped like a dragon head.

Sanjuro always fancied himself a troubador waiting to happen. Poetry and history were his passions. In the past few months, though, the countless acts of heroism and sacrifice by his companions have caused him to rethink what he believes. Where laughter and jest once drove him, only the discipline of battle and taste of success at an accomplished mission provide him with any comfort. A gaiety for life has been replaced by an awful foreboding and a sense that every minute counts. Sometimes, when the night is quiet and the stars shine clear and bright in the sky, Sanjuro is able to realize the sudden, drastic changes he has undergone. Only the assurance that he is doing good things for Barsaive and the company of his friends keep the pain tolerable. Sanjuro knows that he has lost the innocent dreams of his youth and sees the hard person that he has become. Despite the specter of Iopos and Thera, his greatest struggle is the one within.

Excerpts from the biography of Sanjuro

Commentary on the works of Sanjuro

The Sermon on the Mast

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Last Updated 05/19/98 by John/Paul

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