Role

Chapter 2

In the weeks following Hamashor's induction as a berserker, he made
many enemies. Others within the village were even perturbed at times,
angered by his ability to bring them to grievous harm through
unthinking action. Scouts, mostly, though the giant quickly found he
didn't much care for most of them, either. The scouts were all far
smarter than him, and flaunted it shamelessly, using "tactics" and
"strategy" as if they were anything but words. Could he be blamed for
blundering into a fight none were prepared for? For flying into a
rage and bearing his opponents into the ground while one of his
brethren quailed in a corner, bleeding profusely? At first, some
tried patiently explaining things to Hamashor, but as his wide,
frightened eyes began to dart, seeking escape, they'd throw their
hands up in exasperation. He took quickly to new combat skills, but
these concepts were far beyond him.

Hamashor did not despise them, naturally; his mind is too small to
hold spite for very long. When others harbor a grudge against him, it
only serves to confuse him. He does his best to mend perilously
strained friendships, because even Hamashor knows the importance of
cohesion. Though he thinks of it as "stickin' close."

Even given the occasional pitfall, Hamashor has made great personal
strides since joining the village. His guildmaster noted his talent
with axes had reached a peak, and offered to teach him a new weapon's
intricacies. The giant hadn't even considered anything other than
axes, so he cautiously asked what sort of skills he'd need to master.
The learned warrior thrust a polearm at him and put him in the center
of the training grounds with a lean half-elf, telling them to spar.
After much cursing and battering of fingers at the hands of the cruel,
cruel halfbreed, Hamashor had reached a certain compromise with his
weapon. He wielded it like an extremely long sword, swatting blows
aside and lunging in to attack with his free hand, finding the
weapon's length too unwieldy for precise strikes. The benefits of
this very length were, predictably, lost on him, and eventually the
dismayed guildmaster plucked the polearm away from Hamashor, telling
him they'd concentrate on unarmed fighting for a time. Hamashor
beamed, thinking he'd passed a test of some sort. What sort, he
wasn't certain, but he beamed anyway, rubbing his swelling knuckles.

Whether because of a series of blows to his head or particular weather
conditions, Hamashor has also had some of his memories resurface
recently. Fuzzily at first, due to one of the aforementioned blows
to the head ("Bloody Hamsah gates bloody closin' all de bloody time"),
the giant's senses were awash with colors and sounds which coalesced
and became a vision of glorious green-and-white ice-capped mountains.
He was running, tripping, falling, laughing, chasing... who? He
couldn't tell, but it brought him great joy. No matter, then.