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No one really knows where he came from when he returned, one day he stepped off a boat, handed a report to an officer, strolled into town and left the next day on another boat. If you were to ask around the ports of Ischian you would hear similar stories though no one could illustrate him, tell you his name, or much of anything else. The one thing that any commander could tell you for sure is he is a hell of a shot, a reliable scout, and not much else. If you asked the man himself, there is no telling what he might say to you as he relishes in telling a tall tale. One thing that is known is his father was an excellent ship commander and his mother a notable trader. The son was schooled in both trade machinations, fighting, and sailing. A natural when it came to the bow and quick with the short blades he wears at his waist, he leaned toward life at sea. The lessons of his mother were not lost on him and when she died in a surprising turn of events it affected him in a way he was unprepared for. Two years later his father died while in battle at sea. The son walked away from the family trade business he was running, approached Braiga Fortress and the next day boarded a boat. Everything after that should be taken with a grain of salt as the man himself would have had a hand in its origination. Now that he has returned with some regularity, those who knew his parents well may say the son looks a bit different, but not to him, and certainly not out loud.

Starra is a dusky skinned Ischian scout and corsair. Tall and lean, he is well muscled even though no one would ever say he is bulky. Long dark hair would normally flow down to his shoulders were it not always pulled up to keep it out of his face. His features are well defined and grey-blue almond eyes that make you think of a misty morning, are sharp and roaming, though they are quick to twinkle with amusement, oft at the expense of others, is something that stands out. Bristly black hair covers his strong jaw line in an adequate beard. His arms are tattooed with other less obvious ones on his chest, back, and abdomen amongst the various scars earned from his hard living. Everything combines to make the man handsome in a dangerous sort of way. The type of man father's do not want their daughters dancing with.

An archetypal rogue whom could easily be considered wild and roaming, he is a free spirit who enjoys laughing, flirting, drinking, and the occasional fight. Many people may miss the fact that his easy charisma hides a cleverness. A man equally at home drinking and fighting with sailors or attending a noble ball, though he would prefer the company of other scoundrels and less reputable sorts.