When the jungle tears itself down, and builds itself into something new, guys like you and me, we end up dead. It doesn't really mean anything. Or we happen to live through, and well, that doesn't mean anything either.
Social Rank: 8
Concept: Medic For Hire
Marital Status: single
Religion: Pantheon (Death)
Hair Color: light brown
Eye Color: brown
Description: When one gets the image of a healer or medic, Soren is not likely what comes into their mind. Muscular, tall, and brutish looking, he appears more like a person who would shatter your kneecaps in a dark ally rather than someone you'd want to trust to mend a broken bone or get stitches from. With a light beard and not quite compltely shaved head, he has hard features, with a square jaw and eyes that look like their two steps away from being violent. However, for having hands that look like they've spent a lifetime punching sides of beef for a living, knuckles oddly rounded down, his fingers belay their manual dexterity to an almost jarring degree. There's particular placid expression on his face most times, like someone waiting for a carriage or practicing for a card game.
Personality: Ask most people about Soren, and they'd say the man either unnerves them or that he saved their life while bleeding out on some gods-forsaken battlefield. Or both. Doesn't bother Soren any, but there's not a lot that truly bothers him. Some would classify the medic as a sociopath, but that wouldn't be entirely true. Numb would be a better descriptor. Seeing so much, having gone through so much, the only option was to disconnect his feelings from his brain. He still feels them but doesnt process or recognize them. So perhaps 'well-intentioned' sociopath would work.
Altruism isn't lost on him, if he finds someone who he views as 'good', there are times where they become his moral compass, that he wants to do good, he wants to help people, but there are times he no longer knows what that means anymore. And even though he wants to help, there are times where helping is best done by saving a life. Or ending one's pain cleanly. Or killing someone that's become a threat and having the benefit of not having to wring his hands after the fact. Things 'that just need to be done'. It's not personal, it's just what has to happen. At the same people who he sees as a moral compass are the ones he's highly dedicated to the most. Loyalty is never a question when it's come to these select few that understand the way his mind works.
Background: The way Soren tells it, he's from a little island out in Lycene that never really amounted to much beyond the fact that it makes a mean tuna steak, before he spent the majority of his teen years in Setarco. Whatever he did there, it sounds like he was the type of man who spent his time breaking kneecaps or putting them back together, depending on who paid him more. He says he learned the trade from an old healer in the poorer parts of Setarco, at first working as hired muscle for the man's clinic before learning the trade for himself. And then to realize he could make more income by healing people rather than breaking bones. Doesn't mean he didn't do both when occasion called for it.
When the healer passed on, there was little reason for Soren to stick around Setarco, only to take a look at the internal warring that Lycene states were notorious for, and deciding that a good way to survive was hire himself out as a medic-for-hire. Which is more or less what he's been doing since that point. Whoever was fighting who never really bothered him, and the reasons he never cared to remember. There were people hurt and he had the ability to help them. Granted, that help sometimes came in the form of a death for the ones beyond his or anyone's help. Death shouldn't be something that lingers for hours, possibly days, especially when a patient is unable to be saved.
Working from house to house, from mercenary company to mercenary company, Soren bounced around Arvum for years. For over a decade he got to be first-hand witness to the kind of cruelty and depravity that humans were capable of, eventually to the point where things stopped surprising him. He'd stay with a house or band for a time, until he eventually moved on for one reason or another, never really giving a reason why, only stating that his time there was finished. But he always had work, there was never a short supply of it. Inner house conflicts, shav attacks, mercenary contracts, didn't matter. So long as people wanted to kill each other, he'd have an income, which meant he'd never be broke. Which worked for him.
Eventually, a few years ago, he had found himself in Arx. He was between jobs when he came across Violet Marjawn, a woman with a spear wound, was a Lieutenant with the Crimson Blades at the time. In an act of charity, he patched her up free-of-charge, after which he was offered a job with the mercenary company as a medic. He agreed. He hadn't worked often in Arx anyways, and better that than passing through to the next battlefield without pay.