Here's a background for Cleaver, although for reasons which should become apparent, I've changed the name to Slake.
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SLAKE
Slake was growing thirsty again. He waited patiently, staring as the sunrise burnt away the night, a smile playing over his face as the relentless heat soaked into the day. Soon his tongue would taste of sawdust. Soon the air would grow solid. Soon his throat would turn to thistles. Soon he would be one with the Dry once more.
The Dry was liberation and freedom and exhilaration beyond compare. No man could resist the Dry. The Dry was Helen of Troy and the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. Men would do anything for her. She crept around your body, into the pores of your skin, into the corners of your heart, into all those dark places in your mind you hid your secret thoughts. During the day, the Dry made a man bold beyond measure, at night she whispered new nightmares to visit upon her sacrifices.
Slake fondly recalled the first time the Dry had fallen upon him. Perhaps the man who rescued him didn’t deserve that kind of treatment, but he got it anyway. She was seventeen, and twice as young and sweet as the song had promised. He was particularly proud of using the glass from the man’s spectacles to cut out his eyes. Who would have thought that an old lady knew so many swear words, let alone how long she could carry on cursing with a lit paraffin rag down her throat. Slake felt sad that his first victim would never know the Dry.
You had to be careful though. A man who went too far into the Dry could do some pretty scary . .. .. .. .. Slake knew of men who buried themselves in metal barrels in the desert, just to satiate her lusts. Others poured battery acid in the river, so that soon all would know her honour. Then there were those who in their devotion, cut gashes into their victims. Those that bled would be cut once again, until they had learnt the way of the Dry. Slake knew you had to be master of the Dry or she would control you.
As the final rays broke over the horizon, Slake turned to face the settlement. Illuminated on the skyline, Slake steadied his heart at the thought of spending another day in her company. The last few drops trickled from the hole in the bottom of his water canteen, like blood on the plough.
*****
Yep, a delusional psychotic with a God complex and an addiction to dehydration. You've got various options with this one.
Slake could be a wandering hero whose condition is that you must be at war with someone. He could have a bloodlust rating using the Fuel mechanism. If he doesn't kill someone on your turn he gets a Bloodlust promotion. At first these give him bonuses in combat, but each one he gets gives him an increased chance of going rogue and killing your own troops in his quasi-religious fervour! To remove the Bloodlust he has to kill, which keeps you at war.
Another option is that Slake is a Great Prophet / Visionary. In fact, the Great Prophet mechanism could be replaced with one which generates Heroes.
A third option is that Slake is the king of the barbarians. His temprement would certainly fit the barbarians.
If you want to go down the FfH route of Heroes for every nation, Slake could be the Unique Hero for the Viktor - he certainly fits a survivalist cult with sun allusions.
The final (and least fitting) option is that Slake is the leader of a new Civ. This is somewhat unlikely as he's frankly too unstable to found a civilisation.