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Part 2 of 3. Continued. Those of you know me know that I play D&D. One of the things that I’ve been doing lately is tinkering with character backgrounds. I’ve found it to be a good experience in developing the little writing ability I have and helps conveying my sense of imagination. The next few posts are of back stories I have written and one I just barely finished. Hope you like.

The story of one Grimlocke Axethrower

Some would say I was born under a bad sign. I would say I was cursed. There were days growing up that it certainly felt like it. From the beginning, I was a frail child. I was smitten with a wasting sickness as young child that racked my body and left horrible scars. There were days that I felt like was being singled out by an evil, unknown presence. Only if knew what I know back then.
My parents did all they could for me during those days, but soon gave up hope. Thinking that my disease didn’t have an end, they abandoned me at an orphanage, hoping that “the evil eye” that was upon me wouldn’t spread to the rest of the family. If they only knew how true that was. After a time, my brother Murts, the second oldest of my family, secretly found were my so called Loving Parents had cloistered me.
Upon finding me, and without the knowledge of my family, Murts helped me finally recover. I grew up loving my brother, and following his lead whenever I could, because no one knew I was still alive outside of the orphanage. But since I was so weak growing up, the martial path Murts had grown to love wasn’t to be mine as well. For I had more of a mind for books, and the arcane arts.
The day that Murts left to go leave his salty trail on the world was a hard day for me. I tried begging him to stay, but new deep down that he wouldn’t be around forever. I remember going back to the orphanage in a blind rage, for I felt I was being abandoned once again by those that should have loved me. I fell asleep crying in one of the many dark corners of run down orphanage.
I only retained vague and clouded parts of my dreams that night. I didn’t want to ever remember that much, for they were filled with red sulfuric mists and the howling of infernal beasts. But there was one thing that was etched upon my young soul: a demonic voice that slithered through the mist and rang with the might of 10,000 brass bells. I felt my mind would shatter before I would awake.
“Grimlocke; young one” it said, its hot breathe breathing down my neck. “I’ve been observing you for awhile now.” The stench of its breathe rolled over me like flies over a battlefield. “So weak you have been, without any relief. Abandoned by family and clan alike.” It continued with a low bestial laugh that echoed into the distance. “Let me guide you now, for you have been discarded by all. Let me lead you, for I have power to give to those who are faithful and true.” My mind was in a haze, and I couldn’t resist the urge to follow.
I saw things that mortals that were not meant to see. An immense citadel that sat within horrible twisted landscapes. Multitudes of cruel and laughing demons that were covered in disease and patches of fur and ruled by a demon of overwhelming stature that my mind couldn’t fathom, from whence the horrible voice emanated.
As I looked upon this hellish scene, the voice came again, saying “Part of this power could be yours, young one. For a price…” it said, as he trailed into another bout of demonic laughter. “Promise me your soul, and it shall be yours.” With my willpower drained from the loss of Murts earlier that day and the visions I had looked upon, I consented.
The rest of the dream faded into horrific nightmares and dreams thankfully unremembered. When I finally woke, the orphanage had burned down around me with the smell of sulfur thick in the air. Scared, I did what any young person would have done. I ran like the very hounds of hell were after me. And not for the last time in my life.
Over the next year, I roamed the country side, learning the limits of my new found powers. My body also underwent a transformation during this time of wandering. No longer was I the frail child I was. My body grew thick with youthful energy and demonic vitality. But alas! During this time, my wanderings became the notice of the settlements that were splattered amongst the countryside I had been roaming in. A cry had gone out to cure the ‘witch’ that had taken up residence amongst the hillside. Once again, I barely escaped with my life.
The following few years of my life I’m not proud of. I stole, cheated, murdered and did other unforgivable acts just to stay alive. After one alcohol soaked night of depravity, I woke curled up next to a shrine to Morradin. As I gazed upon the holy sight, I had a reckoning of my actions. I realized what I had become. The tool of a Devil. I thought just because I had a childhood that made Monsters, didn’t mean I had to become one myself. And also, what would Murts make of me then? I shuddered to think of the answer.
After casting out what I was, I became a warrior of fire. No longer was I powered by the power of a demonic whim, but the power of my own wrath. I hunted down evil where ever I could find it. Secret cults, wrong doers, even a few bars (to my heavy heart) didn’t escape the fury of my fiery touch. All these things I tried to do to make up for what I had done. Until the night I heard the barking laughter of the Hounds from Hell. I once again heard the Voice creep into my dreams, saying with a forbidding voice “The day of your existence is up, young one. Your soul is now rendered mine!”
I responded with my own righteous wrath, knowing my next words could be my last “For too long thou hast stood above all life in thy arrogance! And I spit upon you and your unholy judgment!” In a terrifying voice, the demon responded “In your blind arrogance you have dared to pit your strengths against me you weak mortal? Prepare to pay for your criminal effrontery!” I felt a scratching, demonic hand start to tugging at my soul. I woke with start. If I did not flee, then I surely would have perished.
I was on the run for awhile. Catching a few notes of slumber when I could, always fearing to dream, for it always seemed that hideous laughter was always right around the corner, waiting. In this weary state, I found myself limping my way into Hammerfall. As I entered upon the main path, I passed the most gloomy bear I’d ever seen. I my exhausted state, I didn’t give it much head.
I took refuge in first tavern I stumbled upon. Having little money, I just sat and listened to the tales that were being told as I tried to rest. At first, I could not believe my ears. Murts, dead? Sacrificed to the gnoll demon Yeenoghu?! Then it clicked with the faint chilling laughter I knew all too well. “I am not spurned so easily foolish mortal…” I heard in my thoughts. I felt my blood go Icy cold and my face go pale white. What had I done? Murts, dead by my actions.
Now I have a new mission. I will not rest until I had my brother out of that hell hole and out of the grips of the demon Yeenoghu. As I write this, I’m on my way to find this band that last saw my brother, this “Daring 6”. For its my curse to bare. Murts will never be forgotten.