Gorrnar Hacken the Legend of the Battlefield

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Chapter 1

Illegal name, try another.
Name: a warrior ?
His urges to destroy magic ? Or the ways he chooses to do so ?
The paths of war are many, but the warrior never chooses them.
They are thrust upon him, either by family, or lineage or circumstances or fate.

But sometimes men and giants forget that they are not beasts but like beasts.
They differ from beasts in the fact taht they have intellect an reason.
They have animal instincts that lead them into war but they are not animals.
They charge like the bear at their enemies.
They do not however, wait by streams to catch fish.
It was amusing how the village had taken up the liberty to assault
lightwalkers and their likes, just to get through to mage.
True that mages should have no shelter, but it is also true that war has its principles and rules.
Honor in was is utmost, and those who walk with mages do not necessarily
need to be involved, for it would only lead the village farther from its goal.

Magic was indeed the enemy of the village. But the thought of a day when
the war strayed from its path was a greater one.

Role

Chapter 2

Gorrnar learnt, through all his trials and turmoil.

The passing of commander Kaisse was indeed a miserable change for him to handle,
for he was much inspired from the commander and his actions and words.

His performance in the rites boosted his confidance and his will
and he was honoured to take charge of the villagers
who followed the berserker path in the village, upon the
instructions of the new commander, Ysaloerye.

Now he stood, like before, in midst of the battlefield, axxe in hand
and eyes narrowed in concentration, the only lasting change was
he hacked with a sense of pride, that reflected in his grit laden smile.

Role

Chapter 3

Slowly Gorrnar walked down his chosen path.
Sometimes eating a steak of his own fallen corpse. Sometimes that of the enemy he felled and sometimes remaining hungry in the frenzy of battle.
At first every death had something to teach to him and soon enough it was death that was learning from him.
For taste of victory is often an addiction, though not a compulsion.
He marched into battles, sometimes with a lot of prior thought and sometimes tempted by the horns of battle and the thumping of war drums

Role

Chapter 4

A child was abandoned on the vast plains by his parents so that his elder
might live. The child survived because of the kindness of a fire giant, a
villager, who perhaps saw in him potential and not only does he survive but
he thrives adding to his hatred for the magi who were responsible for the
circumstances thrust upon his family culminating in his being abandoned and
pouring into his constitution an iron forged conviction that nature had for
the survival of the mortals everything on offer and to reach beyond such was
blasphemy.

He learnt the arts from the wandering gypsies who ocassionaly put up fights
in the cities and he excelled in them such that with a simple twist of the
arm he had opponents from fabled guilds prostate upon the ground staring up
at him. And when he tired of such sport he forayed into the open to stalk the
hapless magi within his grasp and such was it that he had already earned the
nickname of Hacken in those parts for his immense brutality when he set foot
in the rebuilt city of Voralion, its history charred by the taint.

He sought the village because he owed his existence to it, because he shared
the same convictions, because he believed the words of the dwarf Thror,
because he was as good as the best of them, because a hundred dead magi were
better than ten and because he WAS a villager.

Only, he would have to prove himself.

It was the same sunbaked vast plains only the nauseating acrid smell of blood
wafting into his nostrils (and through his daze he finds that he has never
noticed this smell before} surrounded by a hundred tainted souls. He swings
his blade and again and again, careful not to let the taint creep into him
though he stands close to it and he swings again and again and yet again
until the ground turns soggy with blood and its thirst quenched a river of
blood flows. He turns his bloodshot eyes to the horizon wiping away the gore
and in the distance he sees a peak glimmering with the promise of redemption
at its consecrated ground. He beams a joyful smile, a smile which fades as he
sees a hundred more tainted souls ever more powerful awaiting to imped his
lone progress upon the flanks of the peak. He rises to his feet
bearing his polearm and charging ahead, stumbling and falling
occassionaly but rising again for he has survived in the past and he knows he
will survive yet again, though he must struggle all over again, though he
must tread twice the path the others tread for he knows he is chosen to
annihilate the taint from all spheres under his influence and though the
spirit of the village is not his to own and though the courage from the time
of boltthrower flowing in his veins flickers it shall extinguish only in the
death of Gorrnar Hacken.

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