Hailing from Baccum is never a good sign for modesty, and if the image of Baccum was almost nude men covered in tattoos flexing and eating each other, Cical would be their flag icon.

Standing six feet, two inches and weighing a little under two hundred pounds at 196, Cical could compete with a weak man from Kothar in terms of musculature. However it was doubtful the Kothar man was anywhere near as defined as Cical. Ever inch of his rather lithe figure twitches with underlying muscle. Skinny and thin, he has built up the muscles beneath to such a degree they could more than likely compete with marble statues. Both in figure and in hardness. Toting rigid pecks, arms and legs that looked to be in the verge of splitting open and the aforementioned "carved from stone" six pack, there was little doubt the man exercised.

Messy, strung about blond - almost white - hair fell down from his head, almost concealing sharp sapphire eyes. These orbs seemed to pierce through whatever they were looking at, almost as if they examine everything about a person and beyond. Regardless, his gaze was almost warming and tranquil. His face was angular, sharp jaw and cheekbones complemented with small whitish scars in a handful of places. His lips, always seemingly turned upwards in a cheeky smile, held a single scar near the right corner only rising a half inch upwards. All this and a stout masculine nose show precisely why he was nicknamed "The Prince of War" in his teens.

Across his entire body, is both an innumerable amount of light scars, and incredible designs of tattoos. From his feet to his collarbone, intricate tribal markings coat his entire figure in varying levels of intricacy. Across his right pectoral, a large swoosh overtakes most of his skin in black. In fact, at least one third of his body was inked. In some places, it even went into his groin area which lead to thoughts of awkward moments between him and the woman handling his tattoo work.

For clothing, there was a rather distinct lack of it. That wasn't to say he was nude, just that he was very very close to it. Covering his groin was a swatch of leather which did little more than conceal his families pride and most of his rear end. On the top of the article, were three silver rings embedded within the leather. These attached to straps that went up along the curve of his midriff and sinched down against him. There were three of these, with rather equal spacing between them. They served to add some aesthetic, as well as force his sides in to keep his back straight at all times. It probably assisted in keeping his loin cloth up as well, heaven knows what might happen in a fight if it were to get yanked on.

Tight around his neck, is a silver chain that seems to flex and move comfortably with his throat. Hanging off his left ear, is a gold earing. It's of incredibly intricate design, with gold filaments like paper thin butterflies suspended off minute near invisible strings. With each movement they seem to dance and flutter and even make paper wing-like sounds. Their durability is rather insane, and upon close inspection by anyone with magical attunement, one could see they were blessed. Or rather, they held a small fragment of one's soul, their spirit.

Being almost nude all the time, and being outside for most of that; Cical developed a well tanned complexion marred by a handful of freckles across his body. The parts of him that weren't tattooed black, were a nice caramel colour.

Zi, the short spear, is a rather brutal looking four foot long single tipped weapon with the blade composing a foot of that length alone. The blade is similar to an extremely stretched broadhead of an arrow, two large prongs come back behind where the head connects to the shaft before going towards the tip. If the blade were fully embedd it would not be easy to pull out, but would destroy a targets body if it were. Both the staff and head of the spear are enameled in a peculiar ivory. It is not paint, nor is it some sort of coating. The entire material is made of this foreign substance. When scratched or sharpened, like the edges of the blade, it takes on an eerie black coloration.

Kio, the six and a half foot long spear, is of contrasting design. Being as how it was made in Baccum by human hands. The staff is of a black material, with wrappings of sisal both halfway and towards the bottom of the weapon, similarly painted or burnt to be black. The blade is a much more streamlined design. Still near a foot long, it does not have the wicked barbs sticking out the sides, however it does have peculiar snake like embossment running all the length of the shaft. The spear tip is just as wide as the shaft, making it appear more to be a thrusting spear than a slashing one. Being so, it could do both jobs well in the right hands. The material of the spear tip is a bluish, purplish, pinkish gray. The myriad of colours which dance across it's surface in the light are rather intruiging to look at. Off the bottom end, hangs a small leather wrapping with feathers and small paws of animals. Most likely mementos or trophies of some sort.

Born to a rather poor impoverished family in Bacccum, Cical underwent a rough yet thankfully brief childhood at the hands of a living mother and abusive father. After beating his wife, he would take out the remaining rage on Cical. The boy never blamed him however, he only pitied the man that couldn't hold his anger in.
When sat in front of the Shaman with the other children, he was incredibly bored and neglected to pay attention to the craft most famous in their civilization. He focused more on the nearby regiment of training foot soldiers, marvelling at the use of peculiar weaponry and the training to both mind and body they all underwent. However he was curious as to why they didn't use two spears instead of one. Wouldn't double the spear mean twice the effective attack?

In his teens, Cical had thrown away any remnants of magical learning he held onto and replaced it with raw experience in sparring. The kid was unstoppable, taking blow after blow only to shakily get up and challenge the next soldier. He was standing in to fight training soldiers in a spar. He was being used as an "inexperienced civilian" who happened to fight back, and fight did he ever. Only after the thirtieth man had cracked him over the head with his staff did the boy not recover and that was simply because he was knocked into a small coma. He slept for a whole day, waking up to notice his first ever tattoo still stinging on his right arm. A looping chain of tribal curves and hooks.

The older he grew, the more refined and masculine he became. Due to the sheer amount of trauma and exercise he forced his young body through, he took on the appearance of a young adult man despite being only sixteen. Still he returned to the sparring ring with the trainees, still he was beaten senseless into a battered, bruised coma. However, he was overcoming some of the larger men now.

On his eighteenth winter, he asked to use two spears. Such a request was so foreign to the Arms Master it was accepted just out of curiosity to see what the boy would do. Rapidly, the boy - now man - learned that two long spears was too much weight and became a disadvantage. Chopping the new staff in half proved much more efficient, allowing the boy to parry and counter one weapon, while preparing his own retaliatory strike with the other. The first time he broke out this tactic, he won ten out of thirty four spars. It had been six more than he had ever done before. The next? Sixteen out of twenty nine. Again? Twenty four out of thirty nine. The more he learned his weapons of choice, the more he began decimating the competition.

On his nineteenth winter, he was permitted to join a hunting party as he was now a fully recognized man of Baccum. He would be expected to support a family, as well as the people of Baccum themselves. Should he not find a woman within two years, one would be chosen for him by his family. Cical did not mind, women had thrown themselves at him for years now. He could choose whichever one suited him most. Young love is fickle that way, you could love or not love on a dime. During his time hunting, the boy was creditied with saving the entire party from a band of ravenous gorrak by using himself as bait and distraction. He managed to kill a good handful before they ran off, leaving him to limp home severely wounded. The Shaman decided to award the young man with a spear collected in another hunting parties travels. The spear was too short for anyone else to use effectively, and happened to match Cical's style. It wasn't until he met the Shaman's daughter: Hipalia, that he found love. She was beautiful, and captured the spearman's heart instantly. He thought of her during hunts, during sparring, even in his dreams (which was more than enough for the spiritually devote of Baccum) and while alone... She was his infatuation.

Yet she was the Shaman's daughter. The Shaman's, daughter. The shaman, who was the equivalent to the pope, was nothing if not strict. His daughter was to be chaste, a virgin and innocent so that he may find a worthy suitor to give such unspoiled fruit to. (In exchange for a healthy dowry) And Cical, the poor boy who fought with two sticks was far from suitable. He had indeed asked and had been both laughed at and struck by the Shaman's staff. Later he would feel something deep within him hurt, however he brushed it off. Without knowing, the two mimicked Romeo and Juliet, longing for one another with the separation of their families. However, rather than an unfortunate ending; they both got what they desired. One night in an old cellar owned the Arms Master was all they had, and they certainly made the most of it.

Happy endings sometimes flip, or they were never truly endings at all. The Shaman had invaded Cical's dreams and discovered their plan, or so he told the people later. He stormed to the cellar and flung open the doors to the people crying out: "See for yourself! The Prince of War and my beloved daughter copulating in the shadows! Come, come and burn their bodies so we may save their souls!" He cried, assembling a mob of people who wanted them both to pay for the deeds. However, the more Cical thought about it in his older years, the less he believed the Shaman could see dreams and the now he believed that has are Arms Master had ratted him out.

Only by Cical's quick talking, threats of violence and good acting on Hipalia's part did he manage to stop them both from being burned alive. He claimed that he had lightly hypnotized the woman, who suddenly acted as if she had no idea where she was. After much arguing and mumbling on part of the people, it was decided that as punishment, Cical would be banished from Baccum permanently and if he ever returned, both him and Hipalia would be executed. Without hesitation, he accepted. So long as Hipalia wasn't executed and livedin the safety of Baccum he was comfortable to having anything happen to himself.

Before leaving, Cical was given Deavich and his families spear. Their family having never before been a military family, the spear had been recently crafted for Cical specifically for him to pass down and use. There was no point in keeping it in Baccum. Hipalia also gave him something, one of her earrings. Through a brief kiss she explained that the earring was made during her birth, where her father asked her still-forming spirit to grant him a token of good luck for the child she was to be. It came in the form of two earrings. While the luck would only work on her, it would serve another purpose to Cical.

If she were alive, the earrings would exist in the world. If she died, so too would the earrings. It would be a reminder to him that she was still alive, and that they would be together again sometime in their lives. She had said it so quick, but every word she spoke had been committed to the strongest memory Cical had. As he clutched the earring in his hand, he became lost in thought before suddenly turning with his weapons on his back. He gave one last look at the place he had once called home before wandering away, destined to find a new place to settle down.

Not knowing of any maps or cartography skills, the man relied on his experience as a Hunter, he quickly found himself.... Absolutely goddamn lost. He had no idea where he was or where Baccum even was anymore. Maybe this was why he never lead hunting parties. Couldn't find game if you couldn't even find yourself. As time went on, stories and rumours of a twin-speared man saving men, women and children from vicious beasts started to spread through Baccum. Nobody dared mention the Prince of War, as some of the details on his appearance were off slightly. The spears were always generally the same. A short one in the left, a long one in the right. Typically the man left after he was done without saying the words, in some extravagant and incredibly far fetched stories, he brought the saved individuals into a massive castle in the Brimlands full of gold and lavish trinkets of all sorts. This is where the Twin-Spear Saviour was born.

If asked, Cical would claim every single story to be a fake. However... Some were indeed true. Not the far fetched ones mind you, but some of the simple ones perhaps. Over time in his wanderings, Cical came to learn how to survive, even how to ride a horse. While he knew the names of various areas and civilizations, he didn't know their location and definitely didn't know the kind of people. All he knew was that Baccum was not his home any longer, and no where else could be his home either. When alone, he takes off his earring and gazes at it longingly. Like doing so would summon his love into his arms.

But every hero needs his crux, or else nothing would drive them to be heroes at all.

Word has arisen of a new job that would interest the exiled Spearman. A small backwater town if farmers or something, was gathering heroes under a champion to defeat some grand evil. The usual story, but this time, the grand evil held some sort of wish granting device. Something that could both bring a man to power, and make the Cradle a brimming utopia... Or... Well, he would decide later. He travelled anyways. While he wouldn't consider himself a hero, it might be interesting to see who did and challenge them to a fight. After all, if the hero couldn't get past him, they wouldn't make it to whatever evil awaited.

Little is known about the Baccum. They are a private civilization that little have the desire to interact with. Among the other civilizations they present themselves nearly naked, covered in tattoos and with their wiry, animalistic muscles decorated with purposeful scarring. Often rumors appear about cannibalism and other barbaric acts in their often untouched lands, their representatives are uneager to dispel the rumors. From the outside they seem an unintelligent people of hunting and infighting, but others speculate it is simply a facade, a grand illusion to keep the others at bay, and if this is true, it has worked.

Those who do know the secrets of the Baccum know that it is indeed a farce. While outwardly the people seem dangerous and unattractive to be near, in truth it is simply to be left alone. Baccum people own a very rich and diverse culture based around spiritualism, shamanism and dreams, and are willing to do anything to protect it from the tampering of the outside, a dangerous mixture they had endured too many times by the hands of the Kothar.

The Baccumese are organized into separate tribes only linked together by a common culture, and these tribes are then separated into two categories, nomadic and settled. The settled Baccumese tribes tend to live in cliffside adobe homes stacked on top of each other in the arid badlands. This type of settlement in which the homes are only accessible by ladders make them perfect protection against invaders and the violent wildlife alike.

Some examples of the terrible beasts often found in the badlands include bizarre monsters that have escaped the brimlands, as well as native beasts such as the feared gorrak, a scaly pack animal that is best described as an reptilian emu bearing three snake like heads packed with deadly venom that causes a terrible sickness and ultimately death.

The nomadic Baccumese tribes focus on moving quickly to follow the prey that they hunt while avoiding the creatures that hunt them. They use quickly disassembled yurts made of wooden beams and the hides of their kills. To transport their supplies, the Baccumese have domesticated a local beast of burden, the Quallin. A Quallin is a large four legged mammal with bristle, almost hedgehog like fur and a long slim face, equipped with a tactile trunk the length and strength of a grown man’s arm. A grown quallin is about as tall as an adult human, and about two and a half meters long, not including their spiny tail which runs about another half meter. The Baccumese sattle the animal by putting tanned hides on their back and sides, as to pat down the bristled defenses of the beast. Quallin are remarked as tough, strong animals and require very little upkeep due to their natural adaptation to the badlands and survive on grains and fruit.

All Baccumese tribes are united by their culture, which is a rich heritage of shamanism, as well as isolationism from other cultures. They regularly tattoo and scar themselves to give their warriors a grotesque appearance as to cause discomfort among outsiders, and emphasize fear of the unknown as their greatest weapon on intruders.

Their tribes are small, and tend to be governed by the elders of each family, as well as the dedicated spiritual leader, the Shaman. The shaman’s role is to ensure every member of the tribe is healthy, both physically, mentally and spiritually. To do this the Shaman utilizes herbs for both medicine and hallucinogenic drugs.

Drugs are often used by the shaman to bring patients into a dream state, or to consult the dream gods. The reasoning behind this is the fundamental belief in the significance of dreams and the subconscious. Dreams are listened to with great care by the shaman, who is often found hearing the dreams of the tribe as well as their own. Often dreams are used as means of decision among the tribal leaders or are consulted in times of trouble.

The shaman has learned through the stories of those before them the meanings of different objects in each dream, and is the sole authority on deciphering them and the words of the dream gods.

Each tribe has their own rendition of the dream gods, with some even being remarkable ancestors of the tribe long ago, but almost all of them appear as the animals or object that represents them in dreams. Some notable figures are Teccum, the desert snake, figure of misfortune and trickery, Kalpii, the secretary-bird, enemy of Teccum and figure of protection and wellbeing, Lymnu the Hippo, figure of harvest and famine, and Uiyo, the white Scorpion, the figure of death and the afterlife.

In regards to death, the Baccumese treat it with great respect and perform massive rituals and ceremonies for their deceased, in hopes that Uiyo will find the deceased suitable enough to bring the dead’s dream soul back to the dreamlands to rest and wait for rebirth.

Recently, a cult of blood magic users have attempted to infiltrate the deep set spirituality of the Baccumese, and with mixed results. While some more desperate tribes bend to the idea of the Cult of Mara, others find it grotesque and disrespectful, some even going so far to describe it as a terrible evil akin to what is birthed under the Brimlands. The emergence has caused intense conflict among the very traditional people that are the Baccumese.