Name: Throngar Torvist
Played by: Michael Hannes
Skills: Two-handed, Rage, Pull arrow, Improved armor proficiency, true grit.
Appearance: Long brown hair kept back by a top braid, Piercing yellow eyes, 8 fangs, scars across his face and body.
Rumors: “He was put in the fight pits at Stormfang to die but has never stayed down for long.”
Beast, abomination, animal, monster. All of these labels and more have been used to describe Throngar Torvist. He has no memory of where he came from or who he is. Found 23 years ago as a baby in the deepest parts of the Great Forest by Vilkas Stormfang, Throngar Torvist was taken to live in the Stormfang outpost. Vilkas gave him the name Throngar out of respect of a childhood friend lost to Mordok raids. He also sensed a certain strength within the child, something that would separate him from other Ulven. This intrigued Vilkas, as well as made him wary.
As time went on, Throngar seemed to grow faster than the other children. His fangs grew in before the others and in greater number than normal. Where most Ulven have around 2-4 fangs Throngar has 8. His eyes were a piercing yellow color. He would fight with the other children unprovoked and cause serious injuries. This made Vilkas uneasy at the child’s blood-thirst at such a young age. He decided Throngar was more of a concern and threat than he was worth. Vilkas had Throngar thrown into the fight pit against a wolf that had been captured. With only a rusty dagger Throngar survived the ordeal, earning a new scar in the process. The boy’s tenacity was impressive, and drew a small crowd, which did not go unnoticed by Vilkas. As years went on Vilkas turned Throngar’s punishment into spectacle allowing wagers to be placed on any who wanted to face Throngar in combat but made sure to keep guards on hand to stop the fight before there were casualties. Two were always assigned to Throngar to keep him from continuing to attack defeated opponents.
Marked by countless scars, Throngar’s greatest strength was his ferocity. At times he was more animal than Ulven, it seemed. This made Vilkas begin to greatly fear the boy. As he grew larger, stronger, and tougher, Throngar’s reputation preceded him and he found fewer and fewer willing opponents in the pits. Something was abnormal about this Ulven. His brutality and savagery were like nothing seen before aside from Mordok. He threw himself into the fight with no concern for his well-being.
Vilkas would abuse and mistreat Throngar in hopes to break his will and follow Vilkas’ orders. It only made matters worse. Throngar’s rage and hate for Vilkas grew more and more with each victory in the pit. Vilkas could see the hate in Throngar’s gaze. He was an adult now and could not be controlled by anyone. Rather than continue fighting in the pits, growing stronger and more resentful, Vilkas summoned Throngar for what would become his final fight. Three veteran warriors in full armor were sent into the pit. They cut him down, blow after blow striking his flesh. Throngar fell on his face, on death’s door. It seemed to be over. Vilkas’ nightmare was over. Two of the veterans began to walk from the corpse laid before them. A shout from behind them turned their heads to see the third warrior, hand grasping at a sharp rock now embedded deep in his thigh. Quickly their gaze was drawn towards movement behind him: Throngar in a full sprint for the door to the pit. They gave chase but were no match for the speed of the younger and unencumbered Throngar. Throngar bolted through the door, sparing a single glance at his would-be executioner. His gaze meets Vilkas’, the sheer rage, hate, and anger searing into his mind.
Throngar knew he was no longer welcome in Pack Stormfang, so he let out a roar before turning and running. He grabbed an axe as he ran past the local smith, not giving himself time to plan nor time to feel the pain he knew was coming in his chest and arms. Though only skin deep, he wore a great number of open slashes that looked as though he had been adorned in red war paint, and the occasional town guard he passed would try to add their own mark to him as he ran. Past the village fence and into the woods, Throngar could see he was no longer being followed. As his anger subsided, he realized he had run further than he had travelled before and did not know where he was, but he did know one thing: it may not be revenge, but there was blood to be shed to the north. He began to walk, realizing suddenly how much blood he had lost in his escape. He would not die here; he would not give Vilkas that satisfaction. Through piss and vinegar, he put one foot in front of the other until he heard voices. Maybe he was saved. Maybe he could find a new home here. Maybe he had walked into a Mordok pack. Maybe he should just lay down for a bit; he was feeling pretty tired, after all…