Early on Staxa loved everything war, as did everyone from Krugmar. The constant fighting is something herself, her siblings, as well as her parents took place in. They almost always would work in the back lines shooting arrows from afar or watching in awe as others made explosives, anything to win and defend in the constant fighting. Staxa found that she loved it. Staxa started to grow up more, being raised in this war-torn area not too atypical of a goblin. In a past battle she saw a shimmer of an arcane shield from afar, and she never saw something like this before, so she set out to learn about it, she set her focus on that of magic. While not knowing any, she has been scouring first San'Strok, then the Rexdom of Krugmar when she got the chance ever since, wanting to know anything about it, how to make it and do it, how to wield it almost too recklessly, getting her sometimes into trouble. She has not learned anything about it though, the content of such being inaccessible or simply does not exist. When she was 17, she was beckoned by one of her brothers, Wruvur, to see this camp they just took. Staxa was looking around, with a smile on her face, quite content at the sight. When Wruvur and her found a secret hatch in a burning house, they went down to be the first to steal what they found. They happened upon an empty basement with some barrels, they opened them and as she opened the lid, a straggler popped out, managing to slash her arm in self defense, severing it from the base. A small group of stragglers jumped out, swords drawn and Staxa left on the floor. Looking at her stature and not wanting to perish themselves from the army, the man with blood on his sword looking down at a scared Wruvur, age 19, and Staxa bleeding out and fearful, age 17. They were told they would take the other arm if they didn’t stay quiet and let them fix the wound, having pity and self preservation. They bandaged it up and during that, the group had hospitality and kindness extending to not getting themselves caught. They left after getting a bandage on it, lying to their parents and hiding the hatch to the basement promptly after. Staxa went back to town with her brother, watching the arm and her relatives, and finally family questioning what has happened, but to only a brutish strength. They applauded her for being strong and taking a hit, but not that she didn’t gloriously die during battle. The praise quickly went away as they didn’t know what to do with her as she healed. But this incident started to change how she thought, looking upon what she has done and the hospitality that she faced, it was foreign and made her reexamine what she valued, war, fighting, tinkering, it started to seem... Less intriguing, her focus being turned to the arcane and something to fix her arm. She wanted to make something to replace it, or find someone to replace her arm as she finds it a disgrace of her person, having an inability to do something about it. Since recovering, she has had to face rigorous strength standards faced by Krugmar, passing most of them at first but it ended in her getting kicked out and shunned. Age 18, she is still wandering, searching for a town that contains a lead of knowledge of magic or anything of the sort, currently attempting to settle in Haelun'or despite facing racism and not being an elf, but settling there to possibly become a student to learn.
She has developed an inner struggle with herself, not wanting to fight others, but doing it because that is what keeps her alive. She is able to articulate her speech well, knowing Blah but practiced in common speech aside from the common slip, hiding that part of herself around people she talks to. She seeks for power, magic that she does not know of but will recklessly, insatiably, and follow such endeavors, unknowing of the hypocrisy of wielding such power and being able to hurt others with such. She resents being of orcish decent and has lost touch with being a goblin itself out of personal disdain towards them. She struggles with others touching where her arm used to be or asking about it, reminding her of her inabilities and orcish decent. She seeks a way out, an opportunity to get into learning artifice, magic, something, and not be part of such a system, using her knowledge for good.
