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Description Edit

Age: 18
Place of Origin: Cairhein
Physical description: Beil stands 6'1" and weighs 210 lbs. He's solid muscle. He has wavy brown hair that reaches just below his collar, and brown eyes. A large scar crosses his left cheek just below his eye. He has many other scars crisscrossing his body from numerous alley fights and being a mercenary for hire. The distinguishing thing about his nose is that it has no bone left to break. His nose has been broken so many times, it can be laid flat on his face.
Rank: Private
Weapon of choice: Sword
Secondary weapon: Knives, thrown and melee.
Division: Infantry

History Edit

Beil has led a hard lonely life. The son of a farmer living about two hours walk East of Cairhein, his early years were full of hard work and very little else. Though he wished many times he could return to that life, a life that he feels was stolen from him at the age of ten. He can still remember that fateful night as though it had happened yesterday, like the memory had been etched into his head with a blacksmith's hot iron.

It had been a cold hard winter that year, and food was getting scarce, so he and his father Jardean had been setting traps and hunting. His mother Daria had died the year before from fever, and his older sister Estel had been trampled by a spooked horse two years before that. It was just he and his father now trying to survive as best they could.

It had been a good day so far with two rabbits gathered from their traps when they spotted a lone buck on the far side of a clearing. That buck would feed them for a month or better. Jardean tested the air with a wet finger then motioned for the two of them to move silently around the clearing so as to be downwind from the creature. They were about 50 paces out from the buck, and Jardean had his bow stretched taught when it suddenly bolted from it's position and started running strait toward us. "That's odd." I remember my father saying, before they realized the reason. "Bloody ashes", came a loud curse from beyond the buck, just as my fathers arrow was loosed, finding it's home in the breast of the charging animal. The beast came to a crashing halt just 20 paces in front of us. Three men came rushing out of a thicket of brush beyond where the buck had been standing, cursing. One man drew his sword, and shouted, "THEIF!, you stole our kill, you'll pay for that with your hide." Jardean tried to say "Run Beil", but the words were garbled. Looking up to my father, I could see the end of a crossbow bolt protruding out the back of his neck. He slumped to his knees and grabbed my coat, then pushed me away as if to throw me to safety. The next few moments were a complete blur. I only remember waking, laying there in the woods with a splitting headache, my fathers body laid next to me motionless. The buck was gone, the men were gone, I was alone in the cold. Blood was running down my forehead and clouding my vision, as the sun was setting and a chill wind blew through the trees.

Having no one, Beil spent the next few years in and around Cairhein begging for handouts and trying to survive as best he could. It was a hard life, sleeping wherever he could find a dry spot, and always on the watch for others less fortunate than even he that would slit his throat to steal his coat. More than once he had to defend himself and nearly died several times from the beatings he had received.

By the time he was eighteen he had filled out, and was capable of defending himself against all but the most ruthless cut-throat. Living in back alleys mostly, he had become an expert with knives, but also wielded a sword, and knew how to use it. He had become a man for hire with a good reputation. He would take any job that paid good, mostly escorting merchants and occasionally lending a hand in minor skirmishes between two houses.

Beil couldn't help but feel there was more for him out there; adventure, glory, and wars to fight that could use a good strong arm. Rumors had been going through Cairhein about a group that called themselves the Band of the Red Hand. The word was they were a great force to contend with and had aligned themselves to fight the Dark One. Now this sounded like Beil's kind of action. Word came that the band was in a place called the Citadel near the Two Rivers, quite a journey, he thought to himself, but it will be worth it if these fellows were as good as the rumors reported. Beil packed all of his belongings, and mounted his rusty colored Mare "Ruby" for the long trip.

Two months later:

Beil woke early, the sun was just starting to glow on the horizon, and a frost covered the ground making a crunching sound with every footfall. He had to be close now according to the bits of information he gathered along the way. He broke camp, mounted Ruby and started making his way East through the tree's when a lone man stepped out of the shadows holding up a hand signaling him to stop; A Scout, perhaps from the looks of him. Beil brought Ruby up to within 30 paces of the man and stopped; "Hello, my name is Biel Ormsman and I have come seeking the ˜Band of the Red Hand."

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