Description: Tall and thin, with that Neo-European look about him. Slightly pale skin and dark hair mistake him for some Englishman until one takes a second, better look at him. Glasses sit on his nose, shielding his dark eyes from harsh light. He always seems to wear a plain white shirt tucked in and dark slacks, and always seems to be carrying an overnight bag with him. Ethnicity: Hindu/English Apparent Age: 34 True Age: 84 Died: 1919 Birthplace: Amritsar, India Height: 5'7" Weight: 160 Hair: Brown Eyes: Brown

Dorian Vasana Game: MOD Nature: Pedagogue Demeanor: Judge P'o Nature: The Legalist Dharma: Resplindent Crane - 2 Balance: Yin Direction: South Wu: Sapphire Talons Attributes Str: 2, Dex: 3, Sta: 3 Cha: 1, Man: 3, App: 2 Per: 4 (Discerning), Int: 3, Wit: 4 (Changes in Strategy) Abilities Alertness: 3, Brawl: 2, Dodge: 3, Intimidation: 3, Streetwise: 2, Subterfuge: 3 Etiquette: 2, Firearms: 4 (Quick Draw), Meditation: 2, Stealth: 4 (Hiding), Survival: 1 Investigation: 1, Law: 2, Linguistics: 1 (Hindi - native, English), Medicine: 1, Politics: 2 Backgrounds Horoscope: 3 (1, 7), Magic Artifact: 2 (Joss Strips), Resources: 2 Disciplines Bone Shintai: 1, Cultivation: 1, Iron Mountain: 1, Yin Prana: 1 Yin Chi: 4, Yang Chi: 2, Hun: 3, P'o: 3, Willpower: 5 Merits/Flaws Bad Sight -1 Hunted (Shih) -4 Intolerance

Background:
     There was a time before he was a gunman, but he only reflects upon those times when it's raining out and to walk about in that weather looks suspicious. It was a time when he was just a common laborer, a servant. During the years of the British Raj in India, many self-styled Lords ruled entire districts of India at their whims and always for their own benefit. The one that ruled his life was no different.

     His mother was native Indian, taken into service as one of several seamstresses that serves the ladies of the household. His father was not Indian. It was not altogether uncommon for the English to take lovers from among the stock here in their new residency. Dorian was born an outcast, not accepted by his countrymen for his pale skin, and not accepted by those that sired him simply because he wasn't English, not entirely.

     Many years working in the fields did much to tan his skin to that more similar to his mother�s people. The fieldworkers gradually accepted him into their "brotherhood." It seemed that finally he wasn't an outsider.

     Then they decided to promote him. It was hardly a promotion, he still had to be in the fields, but more commonly it was serving the Raj and his visitors during their inspections. The English thought him an amusing toy; a man of over twenty years was toddled as if her were a child just learning to walk. Suffering under their doting, he continued on.

     His "brothers" then came to him, proclaiming the teachings of Gandhi. Dorian put no stock in these things, surviving under the Raj with promises of wealth if he should do well. As the year turned, Dorian saw that nothing had changed; he was still a plaything of the ladies and men alike.

     He went to the next meeting with his fieldworker brothers, where one of Gandhi�s chief students was speaking. The words moved something in his soul, something that had lain dormant while living and working in that household. That something sent his soul into a rage as the police had converged on the square, killing all those who were in attendance. The year was 1919.

     The biting winds of Kakuri flayed his once again pale flesh from his tissues. He wandered for an untold time, never seeing anyone other than himself in the eternal winter land. Soul tired and bodily stripped, he finally fell to his knees. A figure appeared from the white walls of snow-like stuff that met him on all sides. It wielded a prod and was ready to strike the blow that would urge Dorian to his withered feet again.

     Mind swimming with thoughts of the other times the taskmasters on the fields had laid him bare, he caught the prod as it moved to cave in his skull. A bellow of murderous intent escaped the lumbering monster's jowls before it was silenced. Only long after the mass had ceased struggling did he turn his attention away from the shell of a creature. Tool in hand, Dorian began using the prod to shovel through the whiteness, digging deeper and deeper until air once again filled his lungs.

     He dug out of the mass grave that housed all the bodies slaughtered on that day. Dirt still fresh under his fingernails he stood and thought clearly. The trainers came for him shortly after.

     This second life was full of rules to learn, texts to study. These things sated his attentions for only a time, but the change he sought in his India wasn't in these ancient scripts and procedures. He began under his own initiative to learn the arts of warfare. These were the tools to instigate these changes to return back to the India of old.

     For decades, he focused purely on reforming his homeland, giving little thought to Dharma and enlightenment. It was during one of these reforming missions that his life was radically changed yet again.

     Something went wrong. He and a group of his fellows were to meet up with one of the other groups of shen in the area - the shape changers - the hengeyokai as they called themselves. Dorian's quick temper assured that he would be waiting on standby while cooler heads talked things through. Shots echoed through the doorway he stood next to and without thinking, he was in action. Backtracking through the hallway, gun drawn, he fired at the approaching furred beast. Radioing in that trouble was ensuing, the others with him moved to evacuate themselves out of the small village they had designated as a meeting place with these shen. There was a contingency if something like this happened: get rid of the place. Darting out into the night, the beast couldn't follow something it couldn't perceive. Untold hundreds died that night in effort to erase the smudge they caused.

     Dorian was the only one to return to the court to report in the disaster. Either the others ended up dead or fled the country. The burden of failure was put on his shoulders alone.

     Twenty years later, the ancestor of the court through the means of his many lesser officials bade him leave the court, the city, and the country. Not all had perished in the blaze, it seemed that a girl-child lived, that she had grown into a killer of shen, a shih. Revenge hung heavy on her heart, it was said, and to keep both the girl and the man employed, they suggested he follow the Great Leap Outward for their court, to keep tabs on the goings-on.

     He understood that he was being hidden away. Without complaint, he gathered his small amount of belongings and left for the States. Again, burning the last tracings of his living there in India.

     It now has been in upwards of two years since his arrival in Kansas City. All has returned to its normality. Yet, he doesn't know that he girl hunter followed him here, that she knows he lives somewhere within the Little Asia quarter district of Kansas City.