Last Name: Rihat
Age: 764
Gender: Male
Peoples: Evil Guide
Weaponry: Steel Pike, mostly for show. When it comes to a fight, claws and tail are his weapons of choice.
Myth: In Babylonian mythology the Scorpion Men, or Girtablilu, were originally forged as an army by Tiamat in her battles with other Gods. After she was destroyed and her body became the land and sea, the Girtablilu became guardians of the gates to the underworld, granting safe passage only to the Sun God each day. As natural guards, the scorpion men are unerring in their protective ability, fighting to the death without a second thought, but are still believed to be wise; dispensing advice to travellers who stray close enough to their post.
Appearance: Coated in a dull, silver armour that seems to merge with the natural, thick, sandy-coloured plates of bone-like casing covering his bottom half, Nuram's six-and-a-half foot figure is a fearful sight to any who do not expect to see him. Seemingly human from the waist up, save for the serrated pincers protruding from his hips, most of the visible bulk is caused by the metal armour worn during the course of duty. Beneath this is the torso and arms of a healthy man, not a muscled behemoth but rather a surprisingly slender, ebony body marked with scars of battle from youth. When he removes his helmet it reveals a slim, handsome and delicate face; high cheekbones, smooth skin and full, dark lips. Yet from this face peers eyes filled with mischief and hate. Orbs of deep violet that seem to shimmer and radiate ill fortune stare out, ready to captivate any weak enough to succumb to the desire to do evil.
From the waist down, Nuram has the body of a desert-dweller; solid slabs of natural armour cover a long body that thins as it reaches back, eventually curling into a tail made of segments which rounds back on itself to hang lazily between his shoulderblades. Supporting all this is only a single pair of legs which end in claws that resemble human hands. The precarious nature of this set-up is counteracted by a graceful balance between tail and heavy claws, the latter of which can be used as an extra set of legs should the time call for it.
Personality: Although quiet and regarding at times, Nuram is far from shy. He will speak his mind more often than not but will also ocassionally shift his words to try to warp and twist the views of those around him, to attempt to turn people against each other and cause mayhem in a group. He enjoys time to himself and people entering the grounds is something he does not agree with, however he would never go against the wishes of Thomas Thatcher. Despite all this, truth is a major part of his personality and when asked for advice it is his nature to oblige with information but this may be grudgingly. A fierce warrior when called for and fond lover of chaos, he was an unusual choice for a guardian but his nature ultimately makes him a valued watchman.
Back story: Born in the deserts outside of Iraq, Nuram was the only born child of his parents, both of whom were Girtablilu themselves. As a dying breed living in the ruined Babylonian temples, they lay there undisturbed underground. It was sometime at the beginning of the 15th century that they were almost discovered and forced to flee. They travelled across the Middle-East and across Asia to reach the coast where his parents, in belief that the ocean was infinite, ordered Nuram to go North with them, despite a weakness to the cold and the danger of discovery. He refused. A proud Father and a strong warrior, if not aged more than he would admit, Nuram's Father struck him to the ground and ordered him once more to join them. He refused.
It was a long battle between Father and Son and in the end there was no winner. Nuram may have killed his opponent but there was no victory cry. Nor were there tears, there was only a silence as his Mother gathered up the body of her love and walked with him into the sea and below the waves. The Girtablilu, in his prime, stood and watched until the sun set but did not see his Mother resurface. Until that day he had known only relative peace. True, he had learnt to fight but only to defend. He had learned to forge weapons and armour but only to protect. He had learned to kill but only if he must. It was with this final thought in his mind that he started work on a raft, taking inspiration from deadwood floating on the waves. It was a simple case of cutting trees; grabbing and twisting with his claws was simple enough.
By the time the century was midway through Nuram had stumbled upon, and grown to enjoy living in, Hatfield Forest. After spending the best part of three decades wandering, the Terran Ruins revealed themselves to him. It was a sight he could not have resisted had he even wanted to. The gate allowed him entry and he took the place up as his home. However the border between this world and the other let thoughts seep through; truths and history, facts and views on life and death, ideas of mercy and malice, and these thoughts held him there. They replaced the rift caused in his mind by the fight so long before between his Father and himself. They gave him a purpose and a sense of living, rather than merely surviving. In short, it made him more human than he once was. And this in turn gave him the chance to make choices. And he chose chaos.