Khulut Tashmul

Khulut Tashmul, the hunchbacked monk, is a 83 year old blind hexillian monk who dwells in Bordzh Gorigikos in Kylorne. He was previously member of the Tashmuli Tribe of hexillians, but was captured by slavers. After fleeing from his capturers, he integrated into the rest of society, but knew he could never tell anyone of his origins.

Appearance
Khulut is an elderly man, with a long grey goatee beard. His eyes are completely white as a result of torture methods used on him. He is typically seen wearing a brown leather coat, leather sandals, a tan hood and white cape. A very notable feature of Khulut is what appears to be his hugely over hunched back. However this is actually a method of concealing his hexillian race. The persecution of hexillians in Kylorne has meant Khulut had to hide his race, and he did so by tying 4 of his arms behind his back, so only 2 are visible.

Of course on the occasion that this disguise is removed, Khulut can be seen with 6 arms each stemming from an overly large torso. His extended torso also gives him a great height of 6ft 5 (1.95m). But because he usually is bent forwards he walks around at 5ft 11 (1.8m). When unclothed he can also be seen to have runic red markings all over his body from the neck down, these are symbols of allegiance to his tribe, the Tashmulis.

Personality
Hexillians are naturally ferocious individuals who revel in violence and bloodshed, and Khulut is no different. But after witnessing his loved ones torn away from him at the hands of his capturers, he gained new purpose in battle. Khulut brings a relentless rage with him when he faces those who hurt his family, and does not stop until he can raise the trophy of their severed heads. However, with Khulut's blindness, he is not as brave as his younger self was, he fears being slain and leaving his family to die, so he frequently avoids violence. Khulut knows that if by some miracle he could fight once again, he would not hesitate to wreak hell on all his enemies in the vengeance for his wife and son.

Family
Khulut was born into the Tashmuli clan as the son of Amirut (his father) and Qadira (his mother). By the time he was 24 both had died, leaving to him the honoured name of Tashmul. He fought to uphold its reputation, and his ability in battle would not go unnoticed. Aisha, a wealthy daughter of the leaders of another hexillian clan, would be married to him in an arranged marriage. Together they had one son, whom Khulut trained to be a strong fighter. In a raid on their village on one day by human slavers, Khulut would defend his family and let them escape, but he himself was captured. It became Khulut's goal to find his family once again.

Freedom
Over the towering dunes and sweltering heat of the desert, the horses strode onwards, exhausted. And on their backs were wealthy traders who looked out at the horizon and the sweltering waves of heat that shimmered on it. The caravan carried onwards in what seemed to be an endless plain of sand and deadly heat.

Within the valuable inventory of items the caravan had to trade was a cage containing one person. Four slaves carried it by wooden poles on their shoulders, each stumbling over the dunes under its weight. They were matted with sweat and seemed to only stay standing by sheer will. Inside sat a man, whose eyes were plain white and who wore only a loincloth. His grey beard came down to his chest and his whole body was covered in runic red markings from the neck down. But what was most conspicuous about this man was that he had six arms, all of which were shackled together.

To them he had no name. But to his people, he was among the most honoured in all of Kylorne. A feared warrior of the Tashmuli Clan, a proud and violent group of hexilians. Known for how they slaughtered any who opposed them in gruesome brawls. But the hexilian clans all grew arrogant and overly confident of the combat abilities gifted to them by their six arms, and as the number of interracial battles grew, other species began strategically picking their times to strike and nullify the dominating forces of the hexilians. Soon enough the hexilians were nearing extinction, and those left were captured and executed or forced to fight the rest of their lives in gladiator games. So it would appear that the noble Khulut Tashmul’s fate had already been sealed, as he was dragged through the desert alone in his cage.

Some hours later, when the sun had lowered down in the sky and hovered just on the horizon in an orange glow, the traders slowed down to set up camp. Horses were tied up, campfires lit and bedouin tents propped up in the sand. By the time camp was up, the moon was rising up over the dunes. The air was cool without the sun’s glare, and the sand appeared white in the moonlight. Soon the traders had entered their tents for the night’s rest, and the camp turned to silence. Khulut set his plan into action, slowly shuffled up to the door of his cage, pushing on it with his six hands, but it would need a lot more force to open.

Knowing he had no choice, he moved back to the other side of his cage, planting his feet in position. He ran forwards in a sudden burst of power and slammed into the wooden cage door with his left shoulders. He broke through the door and his momentum threw him into the sand. He skidded across it on his two feet, creating a sand cloud. At the sound of splintering wood, some of the traders rushed out with bows and swords. Khulut turned and made a run over the dunes.

He made quick ground with powerful strides. Arrows began flying as traders released their bows and they scattered around Khulut in the sand. One hit Khulut in one of his shoulders, but he continued sprinting up over the mountain of sand. As he descended down the other side, letting gravity aid him in sliding down, only the blasphemous shouts of defeated traders could be heard echoing from the camp.

Life before
Khulut’s last moment of freedom was within a small Tashmuli tribal village in the desert. There he and his family- his wife and son- were staying. He stayed up at dusk, teaching his son how to throw swords at a target dummy, something which Khulut was skilled at doing. They say that the Tashmuli tribe had won many of their wars because of Khulut’s deadly precision. They continued practising as the other tribes folk slept. And among the piercing sound of the sword into the target dummy, Khulut and his son heard other sounds. A rumbling growing in volume just over the dunes. As it grew louder and clearer Khulut heard what must be a cacophony of footsteps and horses racing up the sand. Hurrying, he grabbed a second sword from the weapons rack and turned just in time to see the horde breaking over the dune…

Black silhouettes on horses raced down the slopes in the light of the red sunset, with their scimitars and spears raised high above their heads. Khulut pushed his son away to flee with his mother.

“Go… Go now. Get your mother, head to the mesa, Ihred. GO!”

Khulut stood staring down the descending raiders. As they stampeded ever closer, he raised up his swords in position to hold them back. The first horseman charged with his sabre swooping down to slice through Khulut, but he parried the powerful blow, with flying sparks, and stabbed into the rider’s back as he rode past. Straight after came a horseman with a long spear charging straight onwards into Khulut’s head, he quickly crouched and grabbed the horses legs, throwing it upwards and sending the horse and its rider flying through the air momentarily before both crashed into the sand behind him. Quickly, Khulut rose to his feet to throw one of his swords at the head of another attack, landing it perfectly. He turned around to see his wife and son already saddling a horse, they could almost get away. One more he told himself. He spun around again, hurling his sword at the neck of the nearest raider. It whirled through the air before slicing its target’s head clean off. The last remaining attackers closed down on the now empty-handed Khulut.

Khulut dropped to his knees, closing his eyes, knowing he had done his duty.

But then the horse before him reared up, skidding to a halt inches in front of Khulut’s face.