Player: Joe Pierce
Born to Helga And Braun Wolfspliter. Life with them was short, and ended tragically. During a Late night raid victims lost to slaughter in this cold night of resolution. This village had been fighting off the undead hoards productively for years . Many proud and famous warriors sprung from the loins of this settlement carving their way, writing their stories of valor and glory in pools of enemies blood. But not this night . This night there would be no stories to tell , no glory to behold. This night, there is only darkness, an end of this village.
As the screams of the first victims alerted the others, Helga took her son and hid him in the food storage locker. Sleeping softly nestled in a basket of bread loaves and honey rolls, Too young to understand what was happening around him. As the undead slashed stabbed ,and then chewed their way from one end of the village to the other, till all were processed into an unrecognizable version of their former selves. When the dawn broke and light shined in Var ran from his hiding place.
The next few years where not much more than a blur for Var. Work small jobs earning coin and always moving, running. In his fleeing he found himself on this new continent. He still worked and moved restlessly but with less fear in his movements. Working for a few weeks at a time instead of days. Even staying a few months in places. But still always packing up and leaving when that restless feeling would rear it’s head. It was on one such of these moves, when Var was 25, that it happened. His party was raided.
Var’s group had stumbled near enough to a Mordok settlement where the occupants were none too pleased. The group had been either killed or ran off, only Var remained. He had been slashed, beaten, battered, and bruised within an inch of his life but the Mordok seemed to have a use for him in this state. A commanding figure walked forth and looked at Var. It seemed to bark some guttural orders to those around and they dragged Var into a wooden cage and locked him inside.
Var passed out soon after.
Var has no real account of how long they kept him locked up. They kept him in a weakened state. They barely fed and watered him. It seemed it was only enough that he wouldn’t die. Many would come and stab at him or scream at him. Once in a while the same commanding figure would come to look at him. It would seem to mumble to itself and cast some bones then shake its head and leave. It appeared to be a shaman. One of these visits the shaman seemed excited by the casting and there was a large uproar with the others.
After however long of living in wretched filth, for only the gods know, the Mordok seemed to have their use for Var. He was weak, his head spun, but he knew this could not be good for him. In their hasty preparations they had finally left Var without a guard. He worked as hard and fast as his sickened body would allow. He finally got the lashings free and slipped out of the cage that held him for so long. He ran away from the camp as fast as his feet would carry him. He was a good distance away when he heard their shouts of rage. He knew they would catch him and quickly. He came to a small stream and tried to wade through but it was much deeper than he expected. He started trying to swim but was easily swept away.
Var barely held on to his thought. He was fading fast. He drifted for what felt like days but was in reality only an hour. He felt something lift him out of the water and he slipped into an unconscious state. He awoke in what appeared to be a long house surrounded by people. It had been so long since he had seen any one else. He was shocked he did not know what to do. The eldest male stepped forward “What is your name?” He asked. It had been so long, Var had lost so much of himself there. He could not speak. His throat hurt. The man saw that it was a struggle for Var and said “I Brom” pointing at himself. Var was able to force out “I Var.”
“Ivar it is.” Said Brom with a smile.
In his new home , now Ivar, had relearned how to be human. How to talk and how to write how to hunt and how to farm. All the skills he had lost in captivity. Finding his place in this tribal warrior community, his ferocity got him far amongst his peers. The simple fact of the matter is his old family on the happiest holiday of the year was rougher than this races worst day ever. This gave him an edge in the warrior department. All the time trying to fit in , trying to be the best warrior , hunter, provider. But it was only a matter of time before Ivar’s restless nature grab hold again and he moved on from his temporary home.