Rotex

Class
 Level
 Diety
 From

Important figures

* Rurik Fireforge
* Davaros Garkin
* Travok Ungart
* Kathra Ungart

Desires

* Restore honor by finding DiamondHead, Fargrim Ungart's ebony axe.

Fears

* Leaving no lasting effect on the world

Backstory

I was an only
child.  My parents were good to me.  They kept me feed and loved me very much.
When I was 10 years old my dad started training me to use weapons.  He was one of the guards to our mountain and
he was training me to do the same when I came of age.  I trained hard but not to become a
guard.  My intention was to become a
fighter in the arenas and bring great pride to my clan.

After I turned 17 I
was able to join into some of the smaller arenas near my home.  I was terrible at first losing every
fight.  I lost part of my left ear and
have scars across my body.  It wasn't
until my 13 match that I finally won.
Slowly improving I started winning more and more and soon I was fighting
in great arenas with hundreds if not thousands people cheering.  The crowds cheering and the rush of the fight
was everything I wanted.

23 years old I was
schedule to fight Rurik Fireforge from a rival dwarf clan.  It was a draining fight that took minutes but
felt like days.  I was barely able to win
and the fans started cheering my name and I felt get pride to beating him, but
that was just the beginning of the sadness.
The referee claimed I had poisoned my weapon and disqualified me.  Soon the crowd was booing me and throwing
trash at me.

I was banned from
ever fighting in that arena again and because of the ruling it brought great
shame to my clan.  To distant themsleves
from me the clan exiled me from the mountain and forbade from ever returning.  Even my parents abandoned me in my time of
need. I was hurt, but I angry at them all.
Didn't they see I had fought fair.
It was a setup agaisnt me.  I
would never stoop as low as a cowards weapon of poison.

I travled from town
to town as a mercenary for money.  I felt
alone knowing no one.  This work was
draining on my soul.  It was boring and with
no glory.  There was no fun in fighting
in large groups of 10-15 to protect girly merchants who wanted nothing to do
with manuel labor.

I swore revenge on
that referee and Rurik who caused this pain on me.  I want to go back home.  I miss the cheering of the crowd and the rush
of the fighting in the arena.  I will
kill them both for their crimes.  But
this wont let me go to my home, I will need to find something of great value to
prove my honor.  I intead to find Fargrim
Ungart's ebony waraxe.  He was a great
hero of our clan but was killed by drow elves who I believe still have his axe.

Prologue update:

Fair and square. You
know you won. You remember that night every single day. Why can you not just
forget about it and move on? That was 4 years ago today. Four years above land
wasting time, wasting honor. You request another beer from the barmaid, Faisa.
She is a nice lass. Long auburn hair, elf woman. Tall and slender, maybe a
little too much so as her cheeks are sunk in a little bit. But she has always
been friendly to you. You had spent 2 years as a hired guard for different
merchants. Never having to handle more than a few rabid dogs that could smell
the food from the traveling party. Never working with other guards that are
worth a damn. You ended up in a bar in Stanmore getting drunk every night for a
few months after that before you somehow ended up in Dimwood.

Ganeus took you in
after that. He was kind of the town elder. An ancient, tiny Gnome, with white
hair going to his shoulders where he had hair. The entire top of his head was
bald. He had very thick glasses, an off white shirt w/ a dark green vest over it
and brown pants. You noticed this was just about what he wore every day, you
wondered if he even had another set of clothing after a while. He helped you
though, he was nice and gave you a steady job and a purpose. It wasn’t the
glory of fighting, but you helped in the fields and made a difference for these
people. If anyone had told you four years ago today that you would be a
farmhand, you would have hacked their arms off and made them eat every bite of
them. You were a warrior, a true gladiator of the highest honor. Four years
ago. Now you are getting a little fat and day drinking. You down the beer and
request another. The tavern door opens.