Name: Arem
Age: 14
Occupation: goatherd
Genre: post-apocalyptic
Rough description: Dark skin, black hair, dark eyes, 5'5"; thin, wiry and tough

More:
Born during a meteor shower, Arem has always been considered by his village a child of omen -- good or bad nobody knows yet. Despite nothing of portent occurring since, several people have made up their minds about him and chosen to make his life just that little bit more difficult. He and his family (middle child of 10 siblings, both parents living) raise goats in the barren, rocky region they call home, and they make a decent living at it. Between goat-wrangling and escaping his tormentors, he's gotten fairly agile and quick on his feet, and he can maneuver the steep slopes of the hill country as well as anyone in his family. What they don't know is how well he can maneuver the badlands, where lie the broken ruins of ancient cities and relics.

Sample:
Sand stung his skin as the wind whipped past him, and the structure he was scaling swayed lazily. He clung to it, eyes squeezing shut, until it felt stable enough to move on. It wasn't, of course, and this was the highest he'd ever managed to climb, barring the steep slope back to his village.

The earth and rock of the hill were a far cry from this spindly tower, however, and there was less to catch should he happen to slip and fall.

He stopped again and glanced toward the earth, feeling a wash of giddiness at how far away it was. Small shapes milled around at the base of the structure -- the goats, looking for food and not likely to find it. He grinned and kept climbing. Tasha would throw a fit, mostly because he hadn't brought her along again, and that was most of why he was going to tell her.

The tower bent into a platform maybe fifteen feet above him -- his goal for this expedition -- and there looked to be only one tricky part in getting on top of it. Most of the structure was formed of criss-crossed bars of metal, some in better shape than others, creating an elongated pyramid as they narrowed upward.

The trick was the few snapped supports that barred his way to it, and his grip tightened again as the wind gusted. When it had calmed, he stretched for the next solid bar of metal, managing to wrap the tips of his fingers around it before slipping off again.

He chewed his lip, glancing over his shoulder, then focused on the bar above and lunged for it.

His fingers wrapped firmly around it just as a wall of air struck him, and for a wild moment, he felt his feet kick the sky. The wind wasn't long in slamming him back against the tower, one of the broken supports digging into his ribs, and he managed to wrap his other hand around the bar with its partner while his feet found purchase somewhere below.

He laughed, sagging weakly against the tower, and once he was sure his legs weren't shaking, he pulled himself over the top.

His legs wrapped tightly around the narrow platform, and he pumped an arm in silent victory. He never shouted in the badlands -- father said there were ghosts in the old city. They had never bothered him, but it didn't hurt to be polite.

He sucked in a deep breath brisk air and waved at his village, adding a rude gesture at the end for the benefit of Palsam and his friends. He might be cursed, but at least he could take a seat in the sky.

Looking up again, he tilted his head with a small frown. A small, dark shape had materialized in the thin clouds, hurtling across the atmosphere faster than any bird he'd seen. Another joined it, and then another, the next larger and -- from what he could tell -- moving faster.

There was a shriek and a sound like thunder, and the world rocked around him. He flattened himself against the platform, eyes closing as wind -- was it wind? -- battered his precarious support, but moments later he forced himself to open at least one.

Streaks of fire tore through the clouds, some in the distance and some perilously near his village, but none near enough to shake his perch. He shimmied backward until he felt his feet touch the tower, then started the long climb down.

Whatever had just happened, he was likely to be blamed for it.

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