At a very young age, I was traveling in a caravan. My mother and father
did this trip many times without me. This time, I was allowed to come. I
was to young to know why we traveled, but I knew we where heading east. As
we traveled one afternoon. I remember we stumbled across an orc encampment.
They moved so fast, the orcs slaughtered us, all but one. I was spared
death only to become a slave or a toy to them. Many years passed, and I
learned the evils of flesh. Beaten every day and night, I became friends
with the pain. One fatefully day, right as I was about to end my life, with
a stone knife I made, A dwarf merged from the west. The look on his face
showed no emotion, no fear, no anger, only focus. He leaped into battle
with such determination. The battle did not last long. One by one, the
orcs fell. He bested all but one. That orc stood in shock and horror, as
he helped me up with a smirk on his face. Handing me a long sword, he
nodded at that lone orc. Years of hate and pain flowed though my veins. I
gripped that sword's handle with all my might. As I engaged in battle with
the orc. I could hear Gradible voice, guiding me though combat. Dodge,
strike, block, is what was said. I listened. As I purified myself with the
blood of my enemy, I felt the anger and pain release from my body. I was
reborn in the fire of combat, with the forged steel in my hand. Gradible
was pleased with me. I asked if could follow him and learn from him. He
agreed to teach me and guide my hand.
Description:
A dwarven warrior stands here. Her jet black hair is long and braided
down the left side of her head. Down the right side of her head it's long
and flowing. Dark tan skin covers her body. Enormous emerald eyes stare
off into the distance. A single scar crosses her right cheek. Pale lips
are thin and cracked from the weather. Her shoulders are wide and look
sturdy enough to pull a wagon with.