Current Notes: 25/32 HP, 4/10 Rage Rounds used
1: Elder's Son
2: Antelope slain en-route to Kalabuto after exile
3: Half-Orc killed in pit brawl
4: Mugger in Kalabuto backstreet
5: Red lipped Mwangi leader who assaulted the wagon en-route to Freehold - jagged line from right nipple to right shoulder
N Medium humanoid
Skills: (4 +Int)
Languages: Common, Polyglot
2 x Belt Pouch: 1lb
1 x Lesser Restoration Potion
1 x Partially cured lion's pelt - quality TBC
Cash at Hand: 12 gp +350 = 362 gp
Qhude is an open book, though the pages to date are mostly filled with dark words and deeds. Growing up among the tribes he lacks the subtlety of city folk and tends to be blunt and direct. While he drinks deeply of the draught that is life, his outlook is currently bitter due to his life experiences. He enjoys wide open spaces and gets uneasy when in a city or the jungle.
He has cast off the shamanistic roots of his tribe, and is currently not in worship of any single god.
When raised to anger or during combat his demeanour changes. His eyes take on an analytical hardness and he fights ruthlessly to win – deriding his opponent with words and assaulting common decency with his actions.
Qhude is a muscular yet wiry man of five feet and nine inches. His skin is darkened to almost black due to long hours spent in the sun. Hair is cropped short, cut remains in tight curls against his head. A jagged scar across his cheek is the key feature of his face, but when turned to anger his eyes also take on a noticeable hardness. He is garbed in a pair of shorts in the colonial style, but his upper body is left uncovered bar a simple amulet hanging round his neck. The right side of his chest also sports three jagged scars. His feet are bare, as his years of walking the plains has built up impressive callouses.
When garbed for combat, he cuts a different figure. Dropping into fighting stance his left hand is held forward and upward, palm facing the enemy. Though the hand is free, his arm bears leather armor along its length culminating in a pauldron that is secured by a leather strap across his chest. A wide leather belt studded with rivets offers some gut protection.
His right hand is held drawn and ready to punch, making a fist while wrapped tightly in rope covered cloth. His left leg is wrapped is also wrapped in knotted rope, and he occasionally raises it before him as though a shield. His right leg is uncovered and held back, used as a pivot.
Qhude was born into the Bas’o tribe to a mother who died in childbirth, leaving him as his father’s only child. His father was a butcher, low in the caste structure of the tribe due to his handling of dead flesh. Growing up among the tribe the children held no prejudice and he has happy memories of his early wanderings along the plains of Sargava. His youth spent wrestling, running and sparring helped him grow into a muscular yet wiry frame of five foot nine.
It was in his early adulthood that his caste began to make a difference. When hunting parties were sent, he was not selected and was held from claiming his first scar (Bas’o ritually scar when they kill an antelope or worthy enemy). Qhude would spend the time during the hunt sparring with his father, before being put to work butchering the antelope carcasses during the evening when the hunters returned. Despite being overlooked due to his caste, Qhude was still comfortable in tribal life and enjoyed the days spent with his father.
At the age of twenty, Qhude first competed in his tribes’ annual combat tournament. Fighters were paired off in elimination bouts of wrestling and striking with hand and foot. Bouts were settled through submission or unconsciousness. His first tournament saw him survive only one bout before he was knocked out by the son of an elder with a kick to the head. He let out a womanly cry of pain as he collapsed, which is where he gained the derisive nickname Qhude (or rooster) due to his sign of weakness.
Shame grew from that experience and each day he endured the taunts of those returning from the hunt. Growing bitter as he was repeatedly kept from any opportunity for glory, his thoughts became darker. He spent all his spare time over the year training for the event. Honing his body and fighting style as much as he could to put in a better showing.
When the event arrived he went well through the first few rounds and had to luck to be drawn against the same opponent as the year before. As they faced each other, Qhude settled into his fighting stance while the other man mocked him and insulted his family. In action born out of pure rage, Qhude crippled his opponent with a kick to the groin before launching an uppercut into the other’s chin snapping his head back with a sickening crack. The opponent crumpled to the ground silently as Qhude lived up to his namesake and crowed in victory.
As his foe failed to rise, a medicine man came to his side and tried to rouse him. As Qhude continued to cock and crow, the shaman declared the elder’s son dead. In the aftermath that followed, much was made of the dishonour shown by Qhude in combat and in victory. The bitter elder successfully lobbied to have Qhude and his father banished from the tribe as penance – an act that broke his father’s heart. An unrepentant Qhude took a knife and gave himself his first scar across his cheek at the same time that the elder delivered the tribe's judgement.
As they were nearby Katabuto at the time, Qhude gravitated there to attempt to find safe harbour. However the prejudice against Mwangi weighed against him, and he could only find work at a slaughterhouse in the slums of the city. His father, spirit broken by the exile, became ill soon after their arrival. Unable to raise enough money to pay for his father’s care from butchery, Qhude turned back onto his fists and began fighting in shady taverns and rinks set up in dark corners. His practiced hand and killer instinct brought him some measure of success, but despite the additional care it bought – his father still passed on.
Qhude continued to fight in the alleys after his father’s death. Without the guidance his father offered his outlook on life has become even more bitter and twisted. He fights without rules and without honor, but three more scars have been added to his tally.