The name Soto-No-Maki has several sources. Soto, the name I prefer to be known as online originates from the symbol for "outside" in the Japanese language. Occasionally, I claim "outsider" as an extension to the meaning. This is simply my personal addition to the meaning.

        The -No-Maki extension comes from the days when Soto was simply my character in a role-playing game. It was his family name, and to the best of my knowledge has no more meaning than any other randomly strung together letters. The following is the story of Soto's life, as explained by the character. Several permutations of this story exist, as Soto originated as a Dungeons and Dragons character, but has been adapted to Cyberpunk, as well as several online chat and game rooms.
        Father, forgive me...

        I have killed three times in my father's name. They were evil men, the men who brought about my fathers death. For one hundred years I have walked the lands of Aber-Toril. For sixty years have I hunted. The shadows are my enemy, and my ally. Magic, my companion, for without it, the truth about me would be revealed.

        The truth. Sometimes I know not what it is. The truth about my father? The man who raised me for forty years was not my father. In spirit he was. The things he taught me, how to live, how to hunt, how to use every situation to my advantage, were as a father. His death is the one I avenge, but he is not my real father. I know that now...

        Let me start at the beginning. My name is Soto-No-Maki, son of the elven high sorcerer Kirsansil, but I do not know him. The man who raised me was of the Hiro-Maki clan. A noble family, whose purpose was to maintain the sovereign rule of the Tae-Jur house at any cost. The cost was high.

        The man I knew as my father was the only surviving member of a mission that was of ultimate importance to his clan. It put his family at war with another, and the advantage was not with the Hiro-Maki. My 'father' was forced into hiding, using his mastery of illusions and training in the shadow arts to evade capture. It was perfect.

        The Hiro-Maki was wiped out later that year. My real father noticed the excessive use of magic in an area that contained no wizard's tower, and investigated. He found the last member of the Hiro-Maki clan. When the elven nation was attacked, my father hid his son in the possesion of the Hiro-Maki. My father never returned.

        My elven heritage was not apparent to me at first. I never thought the growing stiffness in my 'father's back as he aged, and I didn't. I took over the hunting, the wood cutting. It was one of these expeditions that they came. The clan Musa-gami had a long memory, it seems.

        The smell of smoke was the first thing that indicated that something wasn't right. It is a smell I shall never forget. Somehow... they had found the last member of the Hiro-Maki. The man who was responsible for finding him is now dead. He was the first to be dealt vengance. But I digress...

        The cabin I had been raised in was on fire. Outside the cabin, my father's body, pierced with a dozen arrows, lay clutching the empty scabbard which had housed the family katana of the Tae-Jur house.

        From the rubble of my home, I found the spellbook my father studied his illusions from, his ninja-to and his tanto. In the sixty years since that day, I have learned of the names of those who ended the clan Hiro-Maki. My initial rage has been tempered by the priests of Ilmater. Their pacifistic way of life was my introduction to the world outside my haven. They welcomed me into their group... For a long time, it was the last time I was welcomed anywhere.

        The magic that Chi'en Hiro-Maki taught me saved my life on many occasions. On a daily basis, to be more precise. It seems that elves are not well liked by the humans, and, although the Weeping Monks took me into their own, the towns we travelled to did not. The illusions in my father's spellbook allowed me to conceal, at best, my appearance, but it was a ruse that worked to a limited extent.

        The tanto. Marked with the clan Hiro-Maki seal, revealed me. I have not drawn that weapon since the day it was planted in the back of a Musa-gami assassin. If the fates are kind, the dagger is still firmly held in it's bloody scabbard, a marker to his clan of the vengance of the heir to the Hiro-Maki name.

        For sixty years have I hunted. Three have I killed. Three remain.

        I am the last of the Hiro-Maki. I will find the Tae-Jur katana. I know little of my elven heritage, but it matters not. There is time for that after my human name has been avenged. I can hunt for longer than any member of the Musa-gami. I am Soto-No-Maki.