Kramoris’ life has always been one spent in transit. He would collect oddities and trinkets from towns all across the land and sell to them in the cities and villages he would wander through. If he was lucky, he could stay at local inns with the money he’d made, if a little less so, he could rely on the kindliness of the people to give him shelter. If a little less still, he’d find a barn or a shed.
He grew up in the Kardasi Caliphate. His mother passed during childbirth, and his father was rarely home, off working, drinking, or sleeping in whatever hole he fell into on his sorry attempt at walking home.
At the age of 16 Kramoris grew tired of the city and it’s stench, his father and his odour, and so he left, travelling along whatever path ended up lying beneath his feet.
Kramoris is timid, shy, cautious but extremely friendly, perhaps even to a fault. He is in search of real meaning in life, he’s aimless, lost.
