Ghana Busch (The Red Dwarf)
Ghana Busch is a native of Gilgamesh. His clan does not necessarily have a name or a race as expected from "Xiana" like yourselves. Ghana's people, the Sombra-Monta, had been on the planet's core, heart and skin eons before Beifong came with her strange monstrosity and the idea of W.A.R.
Ghana had spent his child hood inside the mountains his name came from. It wasn't until Beifong had claimed the land for herself that it became polluted with magitech and other monstrosities against the Natives. He could not stand for this. As an original member of the Crystal Corps that fought against Toff Beifong, he was also one of the first to fall. His soul began to slip away until he heard the voice of Aavar, the Goddess of Light, of Peace of . . . . . .
Upon her beckoning and his love of his homeland, he became a Guardian. Ghana has held within his spirit a hatred for the industrialization of Gilgamesh.
"Whatever's in that stupid book she used to tote around is the product of EVIL and chaos! It is nothing but our undoing!!"
Yet, the folks of this physical plane have only just been entranced by the wonders of technology. The wonders of the Noein bible are enough to make even the most proficient wizard question their Elder God. Such is the influence of Beifong; and that she cannot escape is a testament to its toxicity.
From facing the original Blood Moon War as a young man, Ghana held within him a distaste for anything related to that Wytch and her unholy abominations. There was nothing but pain as he could only wish for death. And to the Gods Ghana prayed, where there were no longer. The Blood Moon War had already been finished. There was nothing to look forward to. Like the rest of his homeland, he was Naught but a novelty. If he could only wake from this nightmare.. . . and as such, beautiful light fluttered around him. As the world was gone and he held his breath, the only thing that held him here were the Rukh of light.
This Rukh took form for him to embody and such he has changed into what most would call a "Dwarf". However, his skin and hair are of the utmost Red. Cinnabar, glistening like a gem; or Crimson like the blood of his enemies; or even a fiery tangerine like that passion that embodies his soul. The only thing the few who've gazed upon this new form can agree on: those eyes are of the utmost vivacious viridian. As if he was one from the land.
A loneliness came from this taking of the Rukh. As life and death, love or hate do not necessarily disappear but take different forms, so did Ghana. The souls and lives of his people were the Rukh, or so he'd like to believe. As a child, the only thing this young creature could hope for was escaping that mountain. Yet, now, he was bound to it more than ever. Not just due to the myriad of souls and voices bound to his wrist and body, but his own soul craved the only cavern he could call home. Sleepless nights were spent warding off various spirits of the night, or fools bold enough to brave the mountain. Soon, it had lost its name and taken his: Ghana. While honored and insulted and shamed, Ghana could not possibly tell these mere mortals the truth. Either fear overcame them or the skepticism of Xiana muted his message. Aye, this limited immortality of being a guardian let's you win battles but lose your own fights.
All this time, as innocents and beasts of burden came to seek his mountain as refuge, his thoughts were built like bricks. The blood that called, or the "Sahn Gray Yama", never told anybody who came here to quit . . . . so long as their blood and body belonged to Gilgamesh. It was within this sort of darkness that the Rukh he embodied shined brightest. So long as Ghana could preserve the natives of this land, could he see through the shade that the Xiana brought with them unto this land. "Yes, I was born to break these chains. I will attract these forgotten moths, as if I am the original flame. I can light a fire in their souls."
And so, Ghana now seeks out retribution against these mere mortals. His bones ache as the wild life crawls and creeps closer to him as if their savior. They simply speak over and over again "Fire, fire, fire. Fire, fire, fire. We want to watch you light a fire in the night. Do not let them chain us against the light." And so, he is passive for now. As these interlopers approach and his blood boils, as his memories of the first Blood Moon War rage, Ghana can only give warnings. . . . hopefully these poor, unfortunate souls will listen.