Ramin was born among the Achaemidu, the tribe known for strong stonework, shisha smoke curling through the night, and their peculiar “truths that are not lies.” His father was a stonemason, his mother a trader who haggled at the markets of Isfahan. From boyhood, Ramin was restless, eager to wander outside the ruined walls where the tribe held council. He was taken on hunts and tombraids not as a warrior, but as a runner — someone who could move quickly between groups, find hidden paths, and warn of danger.

The Achaemidu prize long-term vision: “This house will be a mansion, one day.” Ramin carries that spirit but applies it to people instead of buildings. Where his kin dream of aqueducts, he dreams of tribes united, free from the endless shadow of undead.

During a guiding trek through an old Rukanidard shrine, Ramin discovered something strange: when he whispered a prayer at a broken statue, a flame appeared in his hand. His companions swore it was a trick, but he knew it was more — the Horn itself answering him. Since then, he has blended his monk’s training with the natural magic of a Guide. To the Achaemidu, he is both scout and protector, a man whose fists strike like falcons, and whose words call forth sparks of the sun.