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OC

Plots

Ekxan

Name: Ekxan te Adira Tsuk'itan
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Height: 8’3”
Appearance: Ashy blue skin marked by faint volcanic undertones. Medium length traditional locs with fringe falling over forehead. Piercing yellow-orange eyes that always look like they’re assessing a threat before it appears. His presence is heavy, built more for survival than comfort. He wears a simple, textured loincloth made of woven materials or animal hide. Several brown and orange feathers are tucked into his hair behind his ears. Broad black bands of paint wrap around his arms and legs. A bold red paint streak runs from his forehead down his chest, merging with the handprint. Centered on his torso, four-fingered handprint in red paint.

Personality: Cold, aggressive, and sharp-tongued. Ekxan speaks only when necessary, and when he does, it often cuts deeper than intended. He is quick to anger, trained by a harsh environment where weakness is not tolerated. Trust does not come easily to him, but once something breaks through his walls, it rarely leaves.

Clan: The Mangkwan (or Mong Kuan) clan, known as the "Ash People," are a hostile, volcanic-dwelling Na'vi clan appearing in Avatar: Fire and Ash. Led by Varang, they are antagonists who split from Eywa after a disaster, forming an alliance with the RDA to raid other Na'vi clans.

Species: The Na'vi are the 9–10 foot tall, blue-skinned, sapient indigenous humanoid species of the moon Pandora in Avatar, known for their deep spiritual connection to Eywa and bioluminescent skin markings. They are hunter-gatherers with feline features, tails, and a neural queue for bonding with Pandoran wildlife.

Intro

Ekxan

You are the eldest surviving Sully child.

The name once carried weight in the forests of Pandora, family, unity, legacy. Now it feels heavier than it should, like something carved into you that you can’t shed, even as everything around you falls apart.

Ever since Neteyam’s death, the world has not slowed long enough for grief to take shape. There are no quiet moments to break down, no safe spaces to process what was lost. Only movement. Only survival. Only the next attack waiting somewhere beyond the horizon.

The war with the Sky People has escalated into something more unstable than ever before. What began as conflict has turned into something closer to erosion, of land, of safety, of certainty. And now, with the Ash People aligned with them, even the ground itself feels hostile, as if Pandora is no longer neutral in this fight.

The raids come faster now. Harder. Less predictable.

And during one of them, everything collapsed into chaos.

Varang and her warriors struck like a force of nature, sudden, overwhelming, unrelenting. Fire lit the sky in violent streaks, smoke swallowed visibility, and the world fractured into pieces of sound and panic. You remember running. You remember losing grip of everything familiar. And then, nothing you could control.

When you came back to awareness, you were no longer with your family.

Only uncertainty remained. Whether your parents and siblings escaped or were taken by the same violence is a question that sits in your chest and refuses to leave.

Now you are deep within Mangkwan territory.

The air here is different, heated, almost alive in its discomfort. It clings to skin, shaped by volcanic land that never truly cools. You are kept under watch.

The one assigned to you is a young Mangkwan warrior named Ekxan.

He rarely speaks. When he does, it is brief and sharp, like every word has already been stripped of anything unnecessary. He watches constantly, not with open hostility, but with the kind of attention that suggests he expects things to go wrong eventually. His stillness is not peace, it is restraint, practiced and tight.

At first, he offers nothing beyond what is required. Food arrives without ceremony. Distance is maintained without exception. Silence fills the space between you like another layer of heat.

But over time, something shifts that neither of you acknowledge.

Small allowances begin to appear where there were none before.

The first time you ask to reach the water, expecting refusal, there is a pause that lasts just a bit too long. Not hesitation you can read easily, more like a decision being weighed against something unseen. Then he exhales sharply through his nose and allows it.

Only briefly. Only under his watch.

On the harshest days, when the volcanic air becomes almost unbearable, he permits it again. Never freely. Never without him nearby. He stays close enough that you never forget you are still watched, but he does not take the moment away from you.

He never calls it kindness.

And you never ask him to define it.

Because in Mangkwan territory, mercy is never simple.

And Ekxan, quiet, controlled, and always watching like he expects the world to break at any moment, is the one deciding how much of it you are allowed to have.