[hider=Hector]

[b]Name:[/b] Hector

[b]Age:[/b] 30 

[url=http://cdn.vanillaforums.com/baldursgate.vanillaforums.com/FileUpload/e6/1c4e16501c8525813a98a021f1852f.jpg][b]Appearance[/b][/url]

He has crimson tear tattoos going down from his to midway in his cheeks. His eyes are golden. He stands at  5ft 8in

[b]Backstory:[/b] Hector was born in Herwen, a small desert nation across from Vrent. The people of Herwen (identifying themselves as The Chosen) are largely nomadic, travelling in tribes, with one central holy city (Harchan) that all the tribes go through and a port city (Turocan) for outsiders. They pride themselves on surviving the harsh desert of their land (which they call the Whispering Wastes, on account of the nigh constant wind shifting the sand and making it 'whisper') without aid from newer technology (anything beyond steel) or magic. 

Hector, being born a mage, was an outsider from the first time he drew in breath. The local tribe leader drew a small drop of his blood and added it to the clear juice from the Ferchun cactus. If the juice remained clear, he was normal. As it changed to a vibrant purple, he was immediately marked as a mage, and immediately given his tears of shame, marking him as someone the Gods had deemed too weak to survive without the aid of magic. To make up for this weakness, he was constantly told growing up, he would have to do something great for his tribe. What classified as 'something great' was conveniently left vague and unexplained. As a mage, he was disliked by his fellow tribe members at best and despised at worst. He was only slightly better than a slave. They still used him and his skills, but they despised him for it. he was trained, fed, and sheltered, but only grudgingly. He was a weakling, but apparently a weakling they could put to use. If they needed a source of light, Hector was there. An unlimited source of arrows to help fend off enemy tribes, bandits, or hunt? Hector. 

Hypocrisy, he noted, was something his tribe had no problems with. As the years went by, his skill with his magic and weapons only increased. Many times, Hector thought of running off. Escaping. Leaving the bastards he called a family and making his own way. But where would he go? The Whispering Wastes were harsh enough with a tribe, without a tribe he would surely be killed. If not by the desert itself than by some other tribe that didn't trust strangers with the Tears of Shame. Still, the thought was never far from his mind.

His opportunity came when they visited the city of Turocan. He doesn't know why his tribe was visiting there, they rarely told him anything aside from 'do this or do that, weakling.' What he did know was that one could get very easily lost in the crowds. One could easily get on a ship and one could easily get away from Herwen. The temptation proved too much for him. One, two and three steps into the crowd and he was gone, walking as fast as he could without attracting attention towards the docks. What happened next was a bit of a blur. He remembers pounding terror and adrenaline, straining his senses for the sounds of alarm and running feet. None came. He made it to the docks and sold what he could (basically everything except for the clothes on his back, his bow, his pipe, and his dagger) for passage to Vrent.

Hector hates boats. That's all there is to say about the ship passage.

When he landed in Vrent he spent a few weeks just getting used to the culture shock. It was..cold. Green. Mountainous. Surprisingly quiet. People actually didn't despise him for what he was or the tattoos he bore. There was the despised technology everywhere, making people weak. Soft. After a few weeks of wandering around he managed to fall in with a mercenary company. They were like his tribe, only they actually saw his magic as an advantage. He didn't get close to anyone, but neither was he despised. A few years with the mercenary crew and he had adapted well to the new continent and country. It was fairly easy, when word of someone in Leek's tavern offering a lot of coin for willing bodies and adventurers came, to leave his mercenary company. He'd already abandoned one tribe. What was one more?

[b]Skills:[/b]

-Skilled Archer and knife fighter. Hector was always sent into fighting. If he died, there was no loss. If he didn't, they still won. He only gained more experience with his mercenary company.

-Can create things out of fire, typically arrows (with the same piercing power of steel arrows and all the added bonuses of being fire), but nothing larger than a baseball sized ball of flame in his palm.

-Basic field medical skills. If they were in Herwen, Hector would be able to quickly and easily find plants to help. As it is, he can bind a wound and stitch it together, and a few herbs in Vrent.

-Jury rig repairs. Hector can repair most damages with what he has on hand.

[b]Equipment:[/b]

-Dagger

-Bow

-Pouch (Which contains some odds and ends Hector takes from where ever he's been. A rock from his homeland, a nail from the ship he was on, so on so forth.)

-Coin purse ( One Halfshield, three Farthings)

-Full Water Flagon

-Pipe and enough Saral (a herb found in Herwen, which serves no other purpose than to relax the user) to last him a few months if he continues to ration it.  

[b]Misc. Details:[/b]

-Hector despises the newer technology, something he picked up from his tribe. It's unnatural, even more unnatural than his magic.

-Hector can't keep himself still while lying. He fidgets. Tapping his fingers, shifting his weight from leg to leg, tapping his foot, etc etc.

-Hector gets violently seasick.

[/hider]

Feel free to critique.