Thromr isn’t a sneaky assassin who’s parents died as a baby. He isn’t a hero, he isn’t a warrior, nor is he a master craftsman. The only thing he has really accomplished has been becoming the favorite child of his parents, a small feat considering the fact that he has no siblings. He had grew up with a normal childhood and had made normal friends, although he was still wasn’t content with life. He has so far lived in the safety of his mountain home of Kal’Varoth and had often heard local chatter of the great treasures of distant lands. Recently the urge to venture out and find these riches has become too great to ignore. He had brought the matter up with his ordinary parents who had sheltered and fed him his entire life. Although they had always supported their only son they would much rather have him live a simple and honest life in the mountains and not the life of a trouble making adventurer. Outraged, Thromr would pack up his things, saying a quick prayer to Yemekar as he walked out the door. The only thing he would leave behind would be a note promising his eventual return. Leaving home was bittersweet for Thromr, but he knows that he’s ready for greater things. Who knows where the road will take him?
*In a thick dwarven accent “Who are ye to ask? And just who are ye anyway?” *he would stab a finger at his chest “By the Brathmordakin, you should be the one telling ME who you are!”
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