My first memories were of fire, and darkness. The darkness of nights wandering the face of Kirganthis, the darkness of days spent in caves. For fifteen years I hunted with a small band of fellow orcs and a few goblins. We enriched ourselves fairly well with plunder from hundreds of merchants. During this time I progessed from a lowly cook to one of the more feared warriors.

The thing that ended this group of friends was a common thing on Kirganthis, a band of guards from Stonegate caught us when we camped a little too close to their city. The ones who fought died, I was captured and taken to their dungeons. In the cell I was kept in was a human child. About my age. He was set free, but the evil orc was mutilated in punishment. My left ear was removed as they say.

Then I was set free. Free to never enter their beloved city again. Free to be an outcast and hated by all of human blood. No vows were made that day. No, but I know that I would kill them. That I would see their precious city in ruins. I would make them lament their precious civilization. And, with this goal in mind I pledged my body and soul to study the warrior arts. To surpass their pure warriors in power. To raise above my race, to be feared for my power.

And to further this end I joined the other castoffs of their society in the Splitrock clan. But not only a racial bond attracted me to them, but the empathy they could all give me and my goals. That they would help me to reach those heights. And I in turn would be theirs to command. Theirs to use in the purpose we are called to.

*The signature is signed in the same even script as the scroll*

Artyr