Nabor has messy, brown hair and an unkempt beard he only shaves every few months. He has a few scars on his face from close brushes with death and is never seen without his bow. He is always looking around, vigilant about unseen threats and has a permanent scowl on his face, but the man can be charming when the situation calls. And those few he calls friends would know that he's a very agreeable and more caring that he'd ever admit.
Born in Cassomir about forty years ago, Nabor never was one for city life. His parents had a deep love for the wide world that really rubbed on him, growing up. He wanted to see it all -- The quiet towns in the river's edge, the mountains few dared to cross and the creatures some believe to be fictional. And it was for this and no particular tragic event that he took to the road. It was a good life. One of self reliance with very minimal trips to towns to do the occasional restock of arrows or a new bow. And of course, there’s ale — can’t get that in the wilderness!
It was during one of these stops for ale and company that changed Nabor’s life forever. A few cute looks from a bargirl and that thirst and desire for companionship is all it took. He didn’t stay, of course, but next time he came back, he learned that he was a father.
He couldn’t raise his daughter, no way. Maybe in a different life. He wasn’t the right kind of man for that. Would his daughter ever understand that? Little Delia's life heavily tugged at his heart, his conscience wouldn’t leave him alone…and so, every few months, he’d come to town with a sack of gold to Lana, the bargirl. It's the least he could for her.
How he made his money depended on what was available— maybe he’d serve as a guide for people trying to cross a dangerous place, maybe he’d hunt and sell the pelt, and occasionally, he’d work as a courier.
It is the latter which brought him to Belhaim — an urgent missive for a local wizard from one organization or another — he didn’t care, really, never was one for magic.
