[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 head is normally shaved bald or to a close buzz. 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] [hider=Herwen blurb] Geography: The actual range of the nation Herwen, across the sea from Vrent, is hard to define. Essentially a small nation in a large desert, Herwen has only two cities. Aside from these two cities (Harchan and Turocan), the Chosen are scattered about the Whispering Wastes (what they call their desert) moving in nomadic tribes from Oasis to Oasis. It is impossible to draw borders, as the Chosen have no reason to make any and wouldn't recognize them anyway, with their wandering. The holy city of Harchan (where it is claimed the Gods first placed The Chosen) and the port city of Turocan are the only known areas where one can consistently fine the Chosen in large numbers. However, outsiders aren't allowed into Harchan, making Turocan (named after the Tribe who serves as the face and 'government' of Herwen) the only place where some form of trade and diplomacy can take place. The Turocans decide what trade is allowed, what foreign expeditions are allowed, and so on so forth. Given Herwen's size, lack of unity, and desert wasteland status, it isn't any wonder why the Turocans deal with very few foreign nations. Harchan is ran by a Tribe of priests. They bring all the tribes in for peace and prayer, healing wounds, resupplying, and generally being a sanctuary against the Whispering Wastes. Since it is not magic or new technology, and even the strongest of men need sanctuary from time to time, it is accepted and well used. Culture: While traditions and practices vary from tribe to tribe, three basic things remain the same. All the tribes believe that the Gods (remaining nameless and featureless) saw how weak and soft the rest of the humans were and created the Whispering Wastes to challenge and make humanity strong. They Chose people from all over the world and put them in the Wastes. 'Without magics or creation's of man to aid you, you will survive and be strong. You will be ready for when we drown the world in sand and heat.' With that decree, the Gods disappeared. The Chosen have been surviving like that ever since. All tribes also despise magic and newer technologies. They see the former as the Gods deeming someone too weak to survive in the Whispering Wastes by themselves, and they see the latter as weak people trying to make their lives easier. How to deal with each of these varies from tribe to tribe. Some execute mages and technology users immediately. Other's mark them with the Tears of Shame so that all will know that they were too weak to survive in the Whispering Wastes without aid. If it is not immediately shown that a person is a mage, a drop of blood is drawn from the person in question and dropped in the juice of a Ferchun cactus. If it turns vibrant purple, they're a mage. If it does not, they're not a mage. The third thing is gender equality. If a woman can be as soft and weak as a man, thus the Gods have said, a woman can be as strong as a man. While there are certainly roles where men gravitate more naturally (and vice versa) and tribes where they ignore this rule (going both ways), most tribes seem to obey this rule. Even in Turocan. [/hider]