The children of fallen Sarkoris are seldom welcome in Kenabres -- refugees from the demons, often tainted by them, twisted and suspect, subject to the crusaders of Mendev, as much a subject population as fellow warriors against the demonic hordes.
Balek was born among them, and a tough childhood hardened him, leaving him one finger short. Tall, dark-haired, with a longbow slung over his shoulder, and a long spear in his hand, many would take him for another soldier, earning his wage as cannon fodder in the midst of war. His face is hard, his words few and cutting; he does not love the overlords of Mendev, or the way they trample over the people they claim to rule and guard. His clothes are old village style, his garb rough Sarkoran cloth.
But appearances may deceive, and though Balek follows the old ways of his father's people, he knows that the demons must be fought, and he will do everything he can in that war. For so the old god tells him, in dreams, in tales around the fire. There is no food in the demon-hunt, no trophies, no honor -- but there is desperate need. And Sarkorans and Mendevians and crusaders from a dozen lands must stand together, must fight together, must work together.
Erastil taught men to hunt for food, and respect their prey. But he taught them, too, to hunt the shadow in the night, the foe beyond the world, and against that threat all men are brothers.
Getting them to practice it -- well, that might be more difficult.
