Born into a nomadic Farfolk tribe recently decimated from a succession crisis and seeking refuge in a local town, Rama was the son of a nomadic drunkard and a local prostitute. His mother died while trying to birth him, the meager 10 members of the tribe, knowing they’d be banished quartered the woman and fled to the plains. Left in the care of his father and a surrogate mother who had lost her own son in the aforementioned succession crisis. His early childhood was a brutal experience, his tribe attempted to build a small village on some agricultural land. However this was not their forte and by age five disease swept through and decimated the population, leaving only the boys father and the Chief. Realizing the slim chance at survival the chief murdered the drunk so they wouldn’t starve until they could reach the nearest town. Too old to procreate, he saw the boy as his tribes last hope. He was determined to give the boy the best chance at life, he submitted the boy to brutal training starting at age six. Forcing him to fight wild animals, and abusing his body to build resistance to paid. This included smashing his dead into rocks, taking lashings 200 strong on his back, chest, arms, shoulders, etc. Rama, often barely surviving his trials has overcome his fear of pain and challenge by age 10. The chief to increase the rigor of his training collected and sharpened random pieces of scrap metal, tying them into Ramas hair to slice up his skin on his torso until the light brush of the blade can no longer puncture the heavy scarring. He also drilled the boy heavily on the architecture and culture of his people. Completely abandoning any outside cultures or methods. Once the boy reached age 15 he had surpassed his master, and killed him in his sleep for the horrors he’d forced him to endure, symbolically he shaved his head to rid himself of his pain.
He fled into the surrounding dunes to avoid persecution and found shelter amidst several great stones, small caves that he hoped held game snaked through the rocky sand coated landscape around him. He spent his first several days searching endlessly for a source of fresh water, finding nothing he instead lived on the meager water stored in the bodies of the small rodents he managed to catch each night. By his fourth night he stopped his frantic search and instead tried relaxing and taking in his surroundings. To the east he could just make out a small rabbit chewing eagerly on the side of a cacti. Inspired, he ran rapidly over to that same cacti, the rabbit moved away but remained within 2 meters. He used his blade to remove the massive thorns and rapidly devoured both the flesh and water found within, as he was looking around wishing he could thank the rabbit he saw the little guy munching rapidly on another cacti nearby. He continued devouring the cacti before him only to look over and see the rabbit lying on it’s back, legs limp at his side breathing rapidly. Worrying he was under attack he brandished his thin blade at his inky surroundings. As he spun around looking for an opponent, a faint grid began to appear over his eyes. Rabbit ears appeared on one of the massive surrounding stones and he fell onto his back. Overcome with terror he pulled his twitching body into a tight fetal position, clenching his eyes shut. His form an echo of the childish fear he never was able to experience, the faint light of the moon caused stars dancing behind his eyes, from between the stars emerges a faintly humanoid cacti, upright, a wry grin made of spikes, and slightly larger spikes for arms. As he took in it’s full form he noticed eerily realistic rabbit legs attached to it’s base. The legs being torn by the sharp thorns with each step, similar to how his body had been scarred over the past decade. He flung his eyes open and threw his hands up in defense only to see the image fade as it reached him, replaced by thousands of screaming faces covering the dunes. He buries his head in the sand and withers in terror at the images and thoughts flung through his mind. He opens his mouth and tries to end his torment by screaming into the suffocating sand, only to fling his head out of the sand too terrified of the emptiness of death. And so he laid quivering, and alone. Overcome by his vivid hallucinations.
The next morning he awoke, remembering the events from the night before. Despite his previous terror his mind now felt cleared. He had managed to come to terms with much of his torment, and felt at peace with himself. He headed to the remains of the cacti he’d eaten last night, knelt and said a short prayer, thanking it for not only helping him see himself in a new light, but for quenching his thirst as well. He spent the next several months living off the land in the desert, and eating cacti. He would meditate and hallucinate each day between training and hunting. He grew back his dreads, twisting in shattered daggers as a reminder of the pain he endured although usually kept them wrapped in cloth, as he did much of his body. By his 16th birthday he decided to leave the desert, having consumed much of the cacti, and travel beyond the borders of what he’s known.
Unbeknownst to him, his 23rd birthday was yesterday. He spent the night meditating in a cave high in the hills, having consumed some hallucinogenic fungi the shadows from his fire danced in both delight and remorse as he reached within himself yet again. Having made a career of defending caravans he’d managed to purchase a set of armor, a light sword, and a bow. He’d also taken an interest in the architectural motifs of the elves. Respecting the bond they have with nature he began dabbling in it himself and created himself a modest house amidst several massive trees.
