Grunur was born to his parents as the only surviving member of triplets. His new home was a remote dwedmar settlement located to the east of the Cloud Temple in a mountain pass. His parents were part of a group of settlers that had been sent from Kal’Varoth to set up a mining settlement on the eastern mountain. His parents faced many hardships and many times they went hungry just to be able to put food in his belly for the night. At the age of 6, Grunur watched from his mothers side as his father donned his iron plate and slung his war axe over his shoulder. As his father made his way towards the ranks of soldiers marching past their home, Grunur broke from his mothers side and squeezed his fathers leg. He didn’t know what was going on, just that he knew he didn’t want his father to leave. His father looked down at his young son and smiled, told him not to worry and that he’d be back before the weeks end. That was the last time that either him or his mother saw of him.
7 years had passed and Grunur was out in the woods at the base of the mountains training with the other boys in the art of the hunt. While stalking a wild pig through the underbrush the instructor he was accompanied by came to a sudden stop. Grunur followed his lead, eyes scanning the trees around him when he heard a twig snap. He spun himself around and brought his crossbow to bear when a figure stumbled into view. Blood was caked so heavily on what was left of the plate this newcomer was wearing that any identifying marks were impossible to see. The man managed to get out a few garbled words before collapsing to the ground. Now at the mans side, Grunur noticed fresh blood leaking down the side of the mans leg... and an arrow in his gut. He looked at the mans face and a wave of terror washed over him. The wounded and clearly dying man had his fathers face. Even though it was scarred and bruised and bloody, it was without a doubt his fathers face. He knelt down beside him and told the man who he was. His father replied with a smile, the same smile he had given him 7 years ago, and apologized for being late. Grunur hugged his father one last time and felt his father draw his last breath.
The next few weeks were little more than a blur for Grunur. He had finally gotten his father back only for him to be sent off to the Auction of the Dead a short while later. He had learned that the arrow that had caused the fatal wound was of elven make. An elf had murdered his father. The seed of hatred had been planted and Grunur began to look at all elves with anger and hatred.
For the next 8 years Grunur spent his days hunting game for the settlement and spending his coin at the local alehouse until he either passed out or was thrown out for causing trouble with elven traders that were passing through. His mother had passed 3 years ago from a pox that none of the villages medicine could cure. He was alone and still full of hatred. One morning, Grunur awoke to a note on his table “I have information on the whereabouts of the person responsible for your fathers death. Come to Sutica and meet me in the tavern there. In exchange for some coin, you can have a chance at revenge,” the note read. With a new purpose he donned his hunting attire, packed a rucksack with supplies, slung his crossbow on his back and walked out the door. After one last ale for the road he began the long journey to Sutica and the even longer journey toward vengeance.
