Wanderer, Yexuhl Refugee

Background

They sat around the campfire, staring across the flickering lights at the man that sat across from them, lingering at the edge of the light. "You see that man?" the first said, gesturing with a over-cooked sliver of meat, part of their meager rations for the day. "They say he's Yexuhl."

The second man gave him an astonished look. "You shouldn't talk like that, Jervis. Words like them's what gets a bloke killed."

"I ain't kidding!" Jervis replied in a fierce whisper. "Look at his skin, for cryin' out loud. Not sayin' as he's a bad sort, but that's where he comes from. Some little village in Yexuhl, they say."

The second man snorted in disbelief. "An' I bet they say he's like to slit all our throats in our sleep, too."

"Some do," Jervis admitted. "But I don't think so. That boy, he's fought by us plenty of times, yeah? Don't mean he ain't Yexuhl, though."

"Yeah? Then what's he doing on our side, eh? Killing his countrymen. Makes no sense."

"Sure it does, Quinn. You just gotta know the history behind him."

There was a moment of silence around the crackling fire while the two men ate bites of meat and stale biscuits. Across the fire, the man they talked about watched the woods around them, apparently oblivious to the conversation. "So tell me this history," Quinn finally said, shifting on the fallen tree trunk he sat on. "Bound to be entertaining, at least."

Jervis grinned, launching into his tail with obvious eagerness, shifting forward on his log to lean closer, conspiratorially, to Quinn. "They say he grew up in some little 'berg at the edge of Yexuhl. Some little desert backwater. This was many years back, you see, back when all them Yexuhl bastards weren't quite ramming their weapons down our throats, back when they was still gettin' mixed up at home."

"A decade ago?"

Jervis shrugged. "Maybe a little more, who c'n really say for sure, right? Back then he weren't much more'n a kid, I hear, an' he was just livin', goin' about his life like the old Yexuhl did. Not so different from us. Just quaint little life along the desert."

Quinn made a 'hurry up' motion. "Go on."

"Right. So this was one of those little 'bergs that didn't cough up soldiers for the army like the general demanded. Thought maybe they'd be overlooked, being so small, maybe. Who knows? But they was wrong. The General, mean old bastard, he decides to make an example out of 'em."

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, I heard about a couple of those. That whole 'Disobedience is Treachery' speech."

"That's the one! So he marches the whole damn army over there and takes the whole place out. Women, children, animals, houses - 't ain't nothing but a wasteland, now. And I tell you, boy, weren't no little villages holding back soliders after that!"

"But what about the..." He jerked a head over at the dark-skinned man across the fire.

Jervis blinked, refocusing. "Well, that's where it gets interesting. See, some of the villagers thought the general'd react that way. They tried ot save their families. Mostly it didn't help - the army just scouted the area, rounded up survivors, and marched 'em off to... well, you know where. Anyhow, not so for the Wanderer there. Maybe it was good rearin', or maybe he just got lucky. Hell, maybe both. But the kid made it into the desert, went way in deep where the army wouldn't follow, figurin' he'd die on his own."

Quinn scoffed. "He would! A kid, in the desert? Even without the beasties out there, the heat and lack of water would kill him."

"I just tells it like I hears it, Quinn. And that's what they all says."

He frowned. "Go on, then."

"So they kid survives out there for years on his own, yeah? Say some desert nomads helped him out of somethin' if you want, it don't matter. What matters is he lived, and eventually he wandered on out of the desert. Some stories say he wandered all the way to New Ravenshead and back, but others say he just went directly here to Tertia. But either way, he eventually wound up here, right in the thick of Yexuhl's attacks on us. Just appeared one day, out of the horizon, ready to fight." Jervis chuckled. "You seen 'im fight. He's a beast! Ain't no commander proud enough to turn down another body to throw in the thick of it, 'specially a willing one like that."

Quinn nodded. "And he just kept going from battle to battle, always turnin' up for the bloodiest, hardest fights. Keeps to himself, speaks to almost nobody, just takes orders and fights like a demon. And you're saying it's 'cause he's got a grudge against his own people? He wants to get some payback?

"Sure, why not?" Jervis shrugged. "It's as good a reason as any. Man's loyalty is to his family first, his country second. Hell, if our good king - powers bless him - turned crazy an' slaughtered my family, I'd be wantin' revenge, too!"

Quinn frowned and peered at the man again. He looked young - a little scarred and hardened, but still young. The kind of person that's had to age quickly. Maybe he really did age out in the desert, with noone to talk to but the vultures after his bones. "So if people know all this, do they know his name, too?"

Jervis blinked. "Name?"

"Yeah." He looked back at Jervis. "I mean, why go through the trouble without learning his name? Who was his father? What was the name of his village? Did he have a brother or sister?"

Jervis stared at him blankly for a moment, then broke out into laughter. "Quinn, man," he started, before breaking out into more laughter. "Who cares about all that? He's the Wanderer!"

------

Dorian grew up in the little town of Kali, in the distant reaches of Yexuhl in terrain that was mostly desert. The town was spared much of the turmoil surrounding Yexuhl's dramatic changes, until they tried to disobey certain edicts. The new leadership of Yexuhl made an example out of the town, burning it to the ground and massacreing everyone they could find.

Dorian, alone, survived. Through luck, cleverness, and good training, Dorian managed to survive in the desert for many long years before making his way out to wander the world. He refused to return to Kali, his decimated town, not wanting to see his beloved home in ruins.

When he heard about the war between Tertia and Yexuhl, he immediately went to the aid of Tertia. With the situation as dire as it was, nobody bothered to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that horse happened to make its way from Yexuhl. Many didn't figure the Yexuhl for planting traitors or spies - they were already winning, after all. Dorian fought, talking to few people, but making a lasting impression on several commanders and allies.

Perhaps that is why, when the matter of collecting the bones was brought up, Dorian, called Wanderer, was selected.

kinda confused as to what your goin for with the 1 level of ranger... the favored enemy?

lol ok so long as you have a reason, just seemed odd to me

This game'll be a sight to see. I like the names you picked out for your gear too.

Also, I like the rumour-told background. Who doesn't want their hero to be whispered about mythically?

Taking two levels of fighter. Gains 2d10+6 HP, 2 feats, +1 Ability, 10 skill points, +2 BAB, +3 Fort

[dice=10]
[dice=10]
19 HP

Takes Mobility and Spring Attack for Feats.

+1 added to Strength

Skill points distributed thusly:
6 points to Knowledge: Geography (cross-class), for 3 additional ranks.
2 points for Jump
2 points for Swim[rand=566156504649343730352181758482561844855797031802523509812402281166]