Jacques is from some small village in the middle of nowhere. No one really knew the region he came from but all that is known is that it was a village in the middle of fields and plains beyond what their eyes could see. What is known about his region however is that it mostly consists of Highlanders. In his village no one cared what gender, race, skin tone, or species you were. Everyone was accepted and hence a very close bond was created within their tiny village. Being in the middle of nowhere with no reason to be attacked or to militarize prevented them from having any form of militia. When Jacques was around 11 years old he was sleeping as one does when it is pitch black at night. The cool night summer breeze blowing through his window stirred him, preventing him from drifting into a deep and restful sleep. There was a loud crash and what sounded like a farm animal being slaughtered before screams. He jolted awake and looked outside his window, rubbing his eyes. He peered watching as some tall men pulled out the women, children, and men from their homes and butchered them, taking their food, tasting it and throwing it to the ground. They talked and yelled in a language Jacques knew not. He made eye contact with one of the men and the mountain of a man gave him a wolfish grin before walking towards his house. His parents were already awake and trying to grab what they could that would constitute as a weapon. They were armed with pitchforks and a big stick. He watched in horror as his door was kicked down with ease and his parents cut down so quickly it almost looked like on swift stroke. The man looked about the house for Jacques, food, really anything. Why they were here, who they were, and what they were looking for was unbeknownst to Jacques. They made eye contact and the man rushed towards him. He scrambled and made it out of the window in the nick of time. The man, too big to fit through the window, had to go back through the front entrance and Jacques took this opportunity to escape. He ran around the village trying to find anything to help with, think of anything he could do to help, anything. He evaded the men for a short time before they eventually left his village chortling and yelling like a bunch of lunatics. He stood, gazed about the village he once called home. Dead bodies littered the grass, dead livestock everywhere, the once green grass was now red with chunks of meat from mysterious sources spread out. It was clear his life was over. He scoured the village for anything he could muster up. He ended up with a sack, some cheese, and some very, very stale bread. Jacques threw the sack over his shoulder and walked in the opposite direction of the men. Surviving off the land and wandering for years whilst hopping on random sailing boats, hiding and hopping off wherever they landed. He eventually made it to a freezing realm the locals called Skjoldier. He was not used to such cold and was not prepared for such. He wandered, fitting himself some winter clothing from killing and fighting off competing nomads. He made it to one of the port cities and stowed himself away on another boat, which at this point he was particularly good at. After they landed he hopped off. He arrived at another port city, this time less cold. Asking a native where he was informed him that he was in some city known as Suitca.
