Place of Origin: Serana, Tarabon
Appearance: Five foot eleven, his body is weathered, solid and covered with scars both old and new. Usually keeping his jet black hair short enough that it never need brushing, it does little to hide the blows that he has taken over the years or the missing the top tip of his left ear. Not something most would notice compared to the inkvine scar that runs from where his lips meet on the left side of his face to where his jaw meets his skull.
Usually wears faded grey and brown baggy pants that he tucks into his black boots and shirts to match his breeches. His scimitar and long knives usually hanging from his side, he can occasionally also be seen with a spear or bow in hand that are native to his land. Having said that, he is not one to wear the veil that his countrymen favour after so many years of travel abroad.
Born in Serana, Fakhir Aswasim's childhood was a quick and for the most part uneventful childhood in a large family. The only noteworthy aspect of it for the purposes of those who were interested in Fakhir's past was that it left him knowing that there was little future for him in Sarena if he wanted something better. A tailor's son, he knew that his future was planned out for him already unless he dared to do something different, to take a chance.
The chance came in the form of a merchant train he snuck on when he was fourteen. It wasn't even twenty miles out of Serana when it was attacked by bandits and Fakhir killed his first man, a small dagger stuck in the bandit's back as he attacked one of the guards. Scavenging from the fallen after the battle, he had already decided what his new future was going to be. A guard's life was dangerous, but it was the only way he had to make his way and the tools of the trade were strewn about the site of the melee and there were horses to spare.
It was from there that his life began anew. Quickly giving over the life of the merchant guard for that of a mercanery and freesword, Fakhir soon traveled beyond the borders of Tarabon in search of work. Wherever there was a battle to be fought or a mercanery company in need of an extra sword, Fakhir was to be found with steel in hand. Yet the problem with such work was that after one earned their fortune, it was spent in celebration for surviving the latest mission. The coin spilled quickly from his fingertips, so he would work once more until he had enough money to celebrate again.
A cycle that repeated itself without interruption, nothing would have changed if he had not heeded the call for mercenaries in Illian after the ascension of Sofia Stepaneos. Traveling there and paid to do nothing but be there, things were well until a battle was waged within the middle of the city, the Queen he had been hired to serve revealed to be a pretender and the true Sofia Stepaneos claiming her throne.
One of her first acts being the dismissal of mercenaries from service, it was time to find more work, wherever it could be found. Some of those who had fought in the battle, the Band of the Red Hand, had taken losses and were more than willing to take whoever would sign with them. If it meant traveling to a place they had called Manetheren and wearing a red arm band, then that was more than fine with him.
When the time came for the Band of the Red Hand to leave Illian, Fakhir was amongst those who left with them with the red borne upon his left arm.