Gorax the Legend of the Battlefield, Vacuous Penitent

Skill List

Role

Chapter 5

The events surrounding my birth, I was told, were only to occur once every
hundred centuries within the foretold month of the sun and under the
of the pattern of five stars. The royal family, who ruled over the
was due an heir to their throne and they had been given a daughter on this
my day, the day of my birth and the day of my curse. As legend spoke, this
would grow to become a ruler beyond all comprehension. A ruler whose
could only be surpassed by their passion for the kingdom and that they
be celebrated and revered across the land. Furthermore the prophecy
of he who was born upon this day would become the champion, beyond
champions, of the storm kingdom. He would be the greatest defense and
as the striking hand to usher in the rule of the heir. It was on this day, and
myth that my life was laid before me, it had already been told...

Realization of the truth in something that is foretold isn't a hard thing to
My family being from a strong line of warriors and paladins with pure
blood flowing back before written record gave birth to me on that day not
long ago. It wasn't long before I was being heralded as the boy genius. My
as a child was frightening and my abilities in combat were almost
nature, from what I was told. I could best the guards before I was a teen
by the time I reached my twentieth birthday I had become all that my family
wished. It didn't take long before I took my place as high guard to her
and was well on my way to fulfilling the prophecy.... but fate doesn't
every occurrence... only those until they have come to fruition.

I was celebrating my one hundred and first birthday when my entire world
to crumble and fall apart. It was like this gigantic flash of insight almost
if a damn had broken within my mind and all my memories came rushing
I could see everything.... For the first time my eyes were truly open to
had been happening to me my entire life and I was overwhelmed. I
the physicians feeding me enchanted herbs and sparkling elixirs for
as I trained as a child, hired magi performing incantation after
in my direction so that my body would not falter in the midst of battle
training, and powerful prayers along with deeply focused incantations
from the pages of mystic books within the royal library to help control
thoughts. My entire life had been a forgery, it was very much my body but
my mind that had been controlling my actions and in that moment the strain
too much for me to bare causing my utter collapse.

When I awoke..... No one acted as if anything had happened. They just kept
about their lives as usual but I would not have it. I made plans then
and it wasn't long before I decided to take my leave of this
excuse of a home. I couldn't live around the betrayers any longer...
anger and rage toward them burst through on several occasions as I would
my aggressions out on any passerby, especially those who used magic. It
on one of these occasions that I severed my ties to my family and my duty.
struck down a pair of wondering spiders that had gotten a bit too close to the
and let my sword fly in a flourish around me striking something. That
turned out to be a someone who had been invisible to my eyes and I
just enough luck to strike them. Unfortunately for me t

Role

Chapter 4

Arriving in a new city is somewhat of an experience. From the time one
arrives till the time one leaves, almost every moment is filled with new
experiences. It wasn't long after I arrived that I was dragged to the temple to
resurrect my current form. Now, recovered physically, I was able to move
about without much trouble and began to explore and for the first time in my
life, saw what the real world was like.

Wild screams in the air fill my ears and the rancid smell of panhandling
beggars and staggering drunks was seemingly intoxication to my senses. For
the first time in my life I was with the common folk of the land. It didn't take me
long before I came across a small bar with a stout looking warrior out front and
a smile came across my face. Having forgot myself I simply strolled up and
decided to throw a bit of my weight around and just as quickly got my rear
handed back to me with a swift boot up side it. Afterward I limped into the bar
and had some shoddy ale, what was passing for ale, which tasted about what I
would imagine warm felar piss would taste like. While choking down the rest of
my mug of piss water I thought this is my new home.

The guild was divided up into two separate quarters with a bar to the east
and the guildmaster's room to the west. Knowing it was common courtesy, I
walked over and introduced myself to him. At first it was a bit strange as this
was my first instructor whom was not of dwarven decent but I didn't rightly care
as long as I could receive some training from him. It wasn't long before we
squared off and began sparing maneuvers when I realized... "this was
BLEEDIN hard work..." After only minutes my breath was completely gone and
my legs and arms felt like soft mud. The guildmaster gave me a final thump to
the temple, flooring me, and said "lets take a rest."

Sitting tight to the wall completely out of breath was a new experience for
me but believing all was well and just raising my head to speak the
guildmaster exclaimed "Why did YOU picked up a sword!?!" Shocked... nay...
floored by his expression and I demanded to know what he was referring to.
While he spoke I just sat and listened. He picked apart my fighting style, my
countless flaws, and my utter lack of giant strength or stamina. Listening to all
he said and yet holding no idea of how poor my fighting skills truly were,
without the aid of those enchantments, just served as fuel for my motivation
and the more I thought the more my motivation grew.

By weeks end the Gorax of old was no longer in existence. Matching the
guildmaster pace for pace and blow for blow every chance that was available
changed me. Things passed like this for some time and to tell the truth I don't
truly recall how long it was but strength in combat was my goal and failing was
not an option. One day as we both lay exhausted in the corners of the guild we
began speaking as usual... about tactics and fighting styles and I don't recall if
it just happened or it had been happening but I was telling my story to this man.
It wasn't long before as usual he interrupted saying "You need to speak to a
villager." Perplexed by his saying yet intrigued my mind got the better of me
and the questions just beg

Role

Chapter 3

It wasn't long after first speaking to Tahren that my goal of entering both as an
applicant and then taking my place within the village came to fruition. Only
days after my long fight with the two dark fiends I found myself in battle with a
strange felar who was able to change to the form of a beetle, although it did
little to save his life, and promptly thereafter as I felt more confidant, I
acknowledged Tahren and pledged to him my restlessness until magi are
nothing but smolders. The following week I came in contact with a wizened
giant of the village, the Veteran Fjarn, who was the last of my kin I spoke with
before my indoctrination chat with the Drillmaster. These two conversations
both left a lasting mark in my mind as Fjarn posed questions concerning more
than one way to win a battle and some ways to win without fighting yet some
that can't be avoided. The drillmaster however provided me with more in the
way of his actions than words and gained a great deal of respect with his
fighting. After completing these landmarks I felt it was rather fulfilling and acted
as a bellows to my fire, bringing my flame white hot, and unearthing more
memories.

With a stronger burning flame happens to accompany a greater desire to move
on from my past although I seem to be bringing a great deal of my teachers
essence with me. His name was Landor Hammertoe but mostly I just called
him "feller" or "Hammertoe" as it seemed to get him riled up a bit. I was told it
isn't every day a dwarf clumsy with a forging hammer comes along and when
he was young and managed to drop one on his foot a time or ten, the name
just seemed to stick... or so my guardsmen had told me. As one may imagine
being named so aptly tends to leave a bitter taste in the mouth of he who bares
it and as such he trained himself till he was strong enough to wallop all the rest
of them who would slight him. This among others were just some of his
lessons that I have adopted as my own.

I try not to assume where or why I would do something as it tends to get me into
trouble but from time to time I think back and remember... now that I can
remember... what I truly enjoyed about him. Being a stout man at just under
five feet is impressive but to be called this when surrounded by men whom
stand better than ten on average is another story. He managed this task
because of his large barrel chest and battle-hardened arms, which he so aptly
used to whack me up side my head whenever I did wrong. It was his wit and
determination that first got me to hold a sword and our fierce fights before I was
even five that helped to toughen me up. Even his appearance that I seem to
mimic, even though I think my beard is a bit thinner... As I look at myself and
the lessons learned I try to think back of our time together, both his stories and
actions, and picture what my life would have been without him.

To be born in one form or another does not determine the type of person you
will be. This is likely the largest lesson I have taken from ol'Hammertoe. As my
giant body is wrought with the blood and heritage of a long line of guards and
noble house servants my mind has allowed me to glean the lessons of
Hammertoe for myself. I k

Role

Chapter 2

If one could imagine rolling together the most forward, outspoken, flamboyant,
buxom, and overly wise people into one they still wouldn't compare to the lady
Ysaloerye. Speaking and interacting with a dwarf is a bit like being in a room
full of people where everyone is loud and abrasive, jeering at each other, and
trying to get the attention of the person who is the furtherest away from them.
This to Gorax was a bit like a homecoming and reminded him of days almost
long forgotten. His talk with the dwarven goddess was enlightening, colorful
and humorous.

The telling of stories is a pastime that spreads from all generations of nearly
any race but is especially prevalent amongst dwarven kind. It was during one
of these sessions that he first met his lady. Ysaloerye was telling a tale to
Chorachno while sitting before the hearth when he first met the lady. As he
listened to her dialect it caused him to recall some memories of his past with
Ol'Hammertoe and his stories of dwarves putting the boot to giant asses.

As no other race in Thera can possibly be, dwarves are the most forthcoming
and do not hold any of their thoughts back. As Gorax was somewhat unsure of
the path he wished to follow, the lady made him the apprentice to the buxom
barmaid and left him to ponder on which path he wished to follow. Which path
should he follow he thought, as one after another his friends poked at him for
being apprentice to the barmaid as they were learned as apprentice
stonemasons or higher. It was his memories that lady Ysaloerye had reminded
him of that struck him, much as dropping a hammer on his own toe, he realized
that he wished to be a smith. With their next conference he would not hesitate
and let his lady know his desire.

When someone that is close to you dies it is as if a part of you died with them
and a feeling as if something isn't right is left in the void. When the village
commander died this is how Gorax felt. As if someone he looked up to as a
mentor is gone from his life forever. It didn't take him long, though, to think and
understand that it wasn't a time to feel sadness but a time to become stronger
and forge ahead. The fall of his comrade would not be a sad time but one of
renewed strength and desire as though a new log was tossed to the fire. Now
he will try to stand up stronger and help to shape himself and his village, side
by side with his kin, to strike even harder against their enemies.

Role

Chapter 1

If one can imagine having everything that they have worked for their entire life
ripped from their fighting grasp just as it seemed they had reached it then they
may know what Gorax experienced. Having been booted from his chosen
hut, Gorax didn't know what to think... He had lived the majority of his life
uncaring for the touch of noble paladins. His thoughts up until now had
always been that their healing was a natural process similar to the healing
provided by bandages of a village defender. As he sat in the Biddy's inn, day
after day, he thought long and hard over many flasks and tankards while he
finally began to understand. He had been breaking his own creed for over a
century...

Although not a as one may consider a smart man, Gorax as he should,
shunned all prayers and would often leave those who made the mistake of
presenting him with their blessing more than once. However he didn't take
the time to truly understand the workings behind what is a priest. As he
thought and began to know is what he should have realized long ago. The
power of the gods flows through their servants and it is not his to use as they
have not given it to him. He though in his drunken stupor that for him to ask
their help for any of their blessings upon him would be as if asking for magic
from the lords themselves. This of course would not do as his purpose is to
send it all back to the lords anyway.

Even since his removal from his hut, Gorax has continued to wage war on the
magi and this by his thoughts and feelings will never change.

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