Hektor Reinhardt

***"**Th'world ain' in need o' no more 'eroes, bu' I guess I ain' ready to put down m'blade jus' yet..**"***

## ***History***

There was little to grant about Hektor's past aside from the fact that he just doesn't seem to talk about it much. However, if inclined, he'd have one not-too interesting.

### ***Early Life & The Blade***

Born to a commoner's blade and a farm-hand's work, Hektor was always apt at manual labor. When he could hold a cart, he could hold a sword, and training began. There wasn't much aside from his father teaching him the way of the blade, and simple as that, he was trained in the longsword at first, working his way up until a greatsword was in his hands, but he quite never enjoyed the experience of a standard blade under his own, something about the weight always felt off.

A man from an Eastern area seemed to bring wares here and there and the village, and Hektor was enamored with the things he wrought. It was hard save with what he had, and how he helped his family, but he made a deal with the man there to buy his first, and short-lived, Nodachi. That was the blade that gave him the most comfort in his life, and from then on, the paradigm shifts of training began.

From a ripened age of sixteen, he began training in a blade that was almost, if not as long as him, and strength was the first thing to train. Overhead strikes, left-to-right swathes, and many different forms of 'kata' that would culminate itself into how he fought. It took many years, and he didn't feel confident until he was at least twenty-two, but even with the tarnished blade, poorly kept (he was not instructed in blade health, woe) he continued to train until one day, the blade itself came loose from the hilt, flung over, and dug itself into the ground.

That never spelt the end of his training however, and that itself began anew in the terms of finding someone to reforge the piece of steel, folded a number of times until the hardness, while not as large or spaded as claymores and their ilk, managed hardness near-identical. He enjoyed the way these felt in his hands, and not for the flair of the East and the intrigue of culture, but it felt rightly lined across his callouses, delightfully placed upon his palms. Pure comfort of blade.

With a blacksmith to forge his blade, next was the gold to be found, less than a year sped by, taking jobs here and there, mostly adventuring things that brought themselves once more by his constant work on the farm and off, taking jobs only a few years after he could take up a sword, and while they were things that posed no threat to an adult, a child made small money by those steps of work, and a man now, he had interest in the more difficult jobs, once his blade was forged, at the turn of the year, such as a present to him. It was much-deserved.

### ***Adulthood & The Wheel***

Some time passed then, and a brief stint and life-changing movement to the styles of Riven Hourglass opened his eyes to a world of balance, but with balance, came jaded aptitude. The world was no longer black and white, but the various shades of grey only made it harder to trust those he interacted with, thus he let no man close, and no woman even closer. He seemed to keep an aura of distance about him, but when work was involved, there wasn't much there for soul-searching. The Lords of the Wheel opened his eyes to maintaining balance in their own way, but also his own to the way the world worked, and self-destructed, while not directly casting himself as an eidolon for change, if life could be changed by his actions to balance good, and it's counterparts, he would sorely seek it, even if his demeanor became a bit more involved.

Work continued itself year after year, nothing more than a few scars here and there, taking precautions for himself to not get too hurt, but come to the late of his twenties, almost the turn to the thirtieth, a wife wandered itself into his life, there was not much to say, but she left him shortly after, and that soured himself to the experience of those relationships past friendship, much so he wouldn't pursue any of those things in the future. Once was enough for him.

Post-that, supposed to say he could've encountered his "mid-life crisis". Not really into frivolous purchases, however, he granted himself means-to-an-end with quests and work that seemed to make the years blur by, extended by the sourness he held towards the life he held past. Jobs of killing monsters, maintaining balance, overall things that seemed to offset the evil that sprung up in the world. A tribulation and daily ritual of seeing the world for what it was, seeing a scale of each thing that swung gave more insight to truly how destructive the place he lived in was.

It wasn't much to go off of, but at least a change he could make in current was the one he held most dear. The life around him could change ,and he could make it so, through his own blade and work, so he decided that would be his own. Even months that passed still felt like accomplishments, thus his minor inclination towards staying in Falador. His scale wasn't macro, or global, it was mostly in his own reach that he could hopefully take notice of and change, for the better, and to keep all things in true balance.

Past that, life moved itself slowly, giving him a streak of grump and tough and rugged "old bastard" movements, never really seeing anything besides a chuckle, and perhaps a smirk here and there. They say old men don't grin, and Hektor never really seems to. That's just his composure. Or the Mutagens he'd been experimenting with. He however has seemed to make himself age just a bit better, or he was lucky. It was hard to tell.

As far as his parents, his mother and father are old and decrepit now, but he can often be seen going out to farmlands to visit them fairly often. It may be a memoir to their lives, or they could still be alive. Who knows? Whichever it is, the side of Hektor that loved his parents was still there, as jaded and angry as he was with the world.

### ***Present***

Hektor typically still kept to himself in these times, cold and grumpy, but it was more often that he bought a drink for someone, or extended a greeting and his name. From brooding old man to fatherly-figure, the most recent batch of adventurers seemed to give him a reason to shift just a bit, and smile a bit more. Still no grins to be found, but he did his best to make Falador a better place. He was no hero, but any fool with a sword and enough years could change someone's life.

They say smart adventurers never fight dragons. Hektor prided himself in being 'smart' to a degree. He didn't fight the dragon. He ran. After a happenstance revival of Xaxis, he came, he saw, and he turned right the fuck around and sprinted away. That was the most recent adventure, and it made him just a bit more sour to the whole experience of it. He gained a tome however, scribed in Necril, and his next endeavor would probably be deciphering that to see what exactly a Necrolich's secrets held..

## ***Personality***

Hektor was the definition of 'old bastard that had seen too much'. He lived a life and then some, in adventurer years, and that left more than a few impressions on how he realistically viewed and gave the world wealth, even with his time with the Lords of the Wheel. It still brought himself to grumpy status, and the general eye-roll that most spry adventurers held.

Cold and calculating, a sense of heavy self-preservation was always prevalent there, and when he made itself known to actually present his way, he'd either keep a head behind the line to the front, or a flanking position. While he'd make a good guild headmaster or a leader in a group, he'd rarely spring forth for the opportunity, meticulously making his own strides for furthering the quest they were granted.

## ***Appearance***

To most, Hektor aged rather well for a 38-year-old man. A scar across his face and a few wrinkles, but otherwise he retained something of a smooth look, signalling around late-twenties instead of moving into elderhood. Dozens of scars littered his form, but his constant dress meant the only things you might've seen aside from his face and neck were his hands, or maybe a bit of his ankle-and-calf. He dressed conservatively and functionally, and that didn't seem to change.

He didn't hold much of an intimidating stance, with a slight slouch that lended itself to his style of fighting, but most of the time he did sit with proper posture of a good upbringing, straight up, and attent in his posing, if he wasn't tipsy, that is. Then he drove his elbows into the table and slouched like an angry grade-schooler. That was his usual demeanor, though, in the Twin Dragon's tavern.

Speaking of the tavern, that is typically where Hektor made his appearances, accompanied by a tankard of mead, maybe two, or three, it usually depended on the day, but almost every day he had a tankard with him and a book to read, despite the loudness of the tavern there, it was always good to have a distraction. By his side was always a Nodachi, but now a newly forged, masterwork one, one to last him a good long while.

## ***Allies and Enemies***

### ***Allies***

**Isolde** - Hektor teases her for being young and spry, and even a little deadpan, but there's some sort of a fatherly desire to make sure she doesn't die. So long as he doesn't in the process.

**Gorthander** - Another member of the 'Old Bastards Club', a man of wheeling and dealing, and also mead, they get along just fine.

**Bolt** - A merchant and crafter. While not seen in combat often, he fears for how good he could be, compared to the other greenskins in Falador.

**Rotling** - A reliable greenskin, when in combat together, he plants himself behind him and they can clear a path very few others can.

**Lorelai** - A small little thing, the same fatherly desire of protection rises itself similar to Isolde. He bought her cider.

**Kasa** - One whom enjoys the point-system on people, he has no preference towards her, yet it's apparent that he would have her in a party over against being on her bad side.

### ***Enemies***

**Xaxis** - Hektor doesn't fight dragons. He had to once, and he didn't. He ran.