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BlaktoofBonekrakka

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  • Character Name
    Krieghelm Valdor
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    Human

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  1. “I believe with perfect faith that there will be eternal splendor at the time when it shall please the Creator, Blessed be His name, and His mention shall be exalted for ever and ever.” – Final stanza of the Principles of Faith. The life of half-breeds, no matter their parentage is bound to be wrought with strife and hardship not faced by either of their parent kind. Existing in a social and cultural limbo, destined to exist forever never truly apart of either, or ANY culture. Brought upon two curses, neither curse dulled by the other’s presence. A penchant for greed, violence, the evils of the world. But through will and strength of faith these aspects can be drowned in holy fire within oneself. The true purpose of their bodily and spiritual destiny known only by the creator, they must walk the path set before them with purity of heart. This, is what was taught to Demetria from the time she could speak. Born to an orcish woman and a human fisher, far from any form of settlement in the empire of Oren. The mother dying in child-birth, the duty fell to a sole father or raising a child who, ostensibly would not be accepted into most communities. He had to make her strong, strong willed, strong bodied, strong of faith. His stout believe in GOD was passed onto his daughter, who took the belief and ran with it. Learning everything she could from travelers who passed by her father’s sole house and from her own father’s collection of stories on the faith. Father dearest, being a fisherman, could not actually read. Thus he kept no real books, but with a mind like a steel-trap he remembered the prayers, catechisms, and beliefs of his faith. She prayed morning and night, seeking guidance for her destiny. But she was never answered. In 1715 when she was only twelve, her father was conscripted for the War of the Two Emperors. He told her he would return, he was not sure when but that he would. The duties of the household, of survival, fell to her. She took all she knew, fishing, cleaning, hunting, and utilized what her father had left behind. Her lack of skill with a bow was evident, after years of training she still couldn’t consistently hit a target. So she relied on fishing, relied on trading with the travelers and merchants who came by. Slowly selling everything dear to her just to survive, she soon lived in an empty home, save for the clothes on her back and a crude charcoal portrait of her father an adventurer had made years back and a small set of money she had saved for true emergencies. But her father would never return.He had volunteered for the advance vanguard for the triple pay, hoping to return to his daughter and improve her life with the money earned. Though, when the Renatian cavalry slammed into the flank of the formation he had held, the turning point in the battle, he was lanced through the stomach. Laying dying on the battlefield, his final thoughts drifted to his daughter. In his final moments he left a single prayer for her well-being to GOD. She received the news the war had ended about half a year after it actually had, when travelers and merchants walked the roads once more. She was seventeen, having grown up on her own. Experienced the hardships on her own. Survived on her own. Though she didn’t blame her father, she knew the duty both her and herself had to GOD and the Empire. They had to be citizens. They had to be loyal. One year after she got the news of the war ending and her father hadn’t returned. So, she set out. Grabbing what little she could from her home and what little money was left and heading out. She would find her father, one way or another.
  2. The burning smell of pitch and flesh, the screams of wounded men and the groaning roars of siege engines and their hulking physiques towering far above the battlefield. These memories line the psyche of the aged warrior Krieghelm Valdor. Krieghelm’s life as a soldier began early, around the age of seventeen or eighteen. Mercenary work with the Empire of Man, patrol routes and guard duty. It wasn’t until the age of twenty two when the first battles of the Third Atlas Coalition War began that he truly got a taste for what war was. Majesty, beauty, the opulence of royalty and nobility didn’t know what went on. Men cleaved in two, cavalry’s pounding hoof-falls like thunder rolling over a hill. In the siege of Nordengrad he took the triple pay and fought in the advance vanguard, the first ones over the wall after Muhammad Ibn Qasim. They fought their way into the city, the unit moving like a pack of feral wolves tearing apart anything that got in their way. Krieghelm and his sizable group of men tore into the capital with a booming fury, fighting their way to the keep. Only to find that the King had escaped. Krieghelm refused ceremony or pomp for the Sieges success, he took his honors and his pay and continued to fight. Battle after battle and siege after siege he slowly accumulated a great wealth of experience and skill. He fought till the end, and when the fighting was done? He left. Conflicts never ended, men never stopped fighting one another. So he kept fighting too. Pay and accolade accumulating. After one too many arrows to the chest, and one too many blades to the gut he decided that retirement was at hand. In a matter of six short years he blew everything, all the money he had saved, all the renown he had gathered, all the connections he had cultivated. They were all gone. A drunk, lonely old man rambling about war-tales and how he “used to be a hero”. He spends his days in the tavern, drinking and consistently being thrown out by the staff for general rowdiness.
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