Name: Rémix.
Age: 38.
Sex: Male.
Nationality/Homeland: Gaul.
Appearance.A big man with a thick chest and wide shoulders. Toned, very muscled upper body. Grimy chestnut hair, disheveled. Usually sports thick stubble. Dark brown eyes. Thick brow. Pockmarked skin, a couple not-very-noticeable scars. Weary appearance.
Equipment:Spade. Shovel. Pickaxe. Woodcutter's axe.
Carving knife. Whetstone. Oil lantern. Bottle of oil. Mortar and pestle. Rope. Satchels and sacks. Torches.
Scissors. Razors. Comb. Brush. Mallet. Soap. Strop. Forceps and clamps. Needle and thread. Various cauterizing irons. Fleam. Retractor. Trepan. Various knives. Bonesaw. Tourniquet. Trocar. Scalpel and director. Nail-clippers.
Tinderbox. Canteen. Pan. Skillet. Tripod. Spatula. Fork.
Journal. Inkwell and pen. Sealing wax. Seal. Compass. The other kind of compass.
Clothes. Cloak. Belt.
Donkey.
Skills:Surgeon.* Setting bones, removing projectiles, replacing skull fragments.
First Aid. It tends to help knowing how to sew someone back together after one cuts them open.
Barber. Cutting hair and beards, shaving, y'know.
Cooking. He's learned how to make something both nutritious and mildly tasty for the men.
Sentry. Somebody's gotta look out for danger.
Scouting. Somebody's gotta go looking for danger.
Manual labour. He is not one to shirk his duties to a camp, taking the basic tasks of digging and cutting wood that others may find tiresome.
Literacy. Though no scholar, he can read, write, and perform basic arithmetic.
Unarmed brawling. Drunk or otherwise, he can hold his own in a fight, be it from a well-placed, powerful punch, or just being able to take more himself.
Armed combat; polearms. Though no master, he can use the spades and picks of his work to defend himself when necessary.
Personality:Rémix is a resentful man, obedient but distrustful of authority. He holds grudges, he gets pissed, and he's just overall not a very excitable guy. Still, he's not out there with the intent of ruining a persons day, and can make a couple gruff jokes from time to time in the right atmosphere. He does care for human life, and will protect his comrades, though his own skin may mean more in the long run.
History:Raised in a Gaulish tribe, Rémix was the third son of their leader. The first son was raised to lead. The second son was raised to fight. And the third son was raised to whatever else needed doing. Trained in battlefield medicine, he rarely participated in the actual fights between the tribes, but was always on the front lines fixing the people he could and giving mercy to those he couldn't. Never was he given much recognition for his constant toil and undying loyalty to his brethren. He was treated as a tool, to be used and ignored at whim. Always to be relied on, never needing to be maintained. His brothers, especially, refused to acknowledge him.
Eventually, the day came where his father was slain in battle. Rémix tried his best to save him, but a broken rib had punctured his heart, and he soon bled out. After the battle was finished, when his brothers saw him kneeling at his father's corpse, they blamed him for the death and swore revenge.
Without resistance, Rémix was dragged into the village and thrown to the Druids for final verdict. Due to the powerful influence of his two brothers and their general popularity for their prowess in battle and love of war, the Druids were easily swayed. Bound and gagged, Rémix was made part of a traditional sacrifice of traitors and criminals. He was attached to a large Wicker Man, to be set ablaze.
Lucky, for him, however, as the ceremony was being prepared, a rival tribe raided his, slaying many of his fellows and chasing most of the rest away. In the fray, Rémix was hit by a stray arrow in the chest, which luckily avoided vital organs, but still caused significant pain and wounding.
It was only a while after the battle had ended that his "saviours" found him, released him, and set him right with their healer. With nowhere else to go, he joined this new tribe and aided their raiding efforts against other tribes. He felt no loyalty to his new companions, but saw no reason to betray them or leave them for many years.
It came that under the leadership of Vercingetorix, Rémix's new tribe was amongst those that banded together as a unified Gaulish horde. Their sights intent on Albany, Rémix was ready for war, though not yet certain where to place his final loyalty. The fickle nature of the Gauls had wronged him once, and they might wrong him once more.