Bhaldannar Ironhide

Bhaldannar's first, and most difficult kill, was his mother. His sheer unnatural size won that battle.

The Gnolls that found the babe, hours from the womb choking on fluids, yet somehow clinging to life, wasted no time. The village shaman declared the babe a demon, and heir to great thrones of the savage races. He lived his childhood worshiped by the beasts. They nurtured him and prayed to him for strength. He grew. Gods how he grew.

At 12 years of age he crested 9 feet and over 600 pounds. Even for Trolls his size was baffling. His muscles encased him like twisted knots of ironcord. His arms, legs, and neck were long and agile. His eyes dark and knowing. When the village was attacked, he fought hard to save his Gnoll brothers. He almost won. His tribe was slaughtered. He was taken by the men of the dark army.

They toted him across the landscape in a cage of iron. When the bars broke, they bound him in thick ropes. When the ropes broke, they cut off his arms and legs and bound him in chains. They would grow back. When they arrived at their destination, Bhaldannar saw his first city.

The dark walls that surrounded the huge town hid the corrupt inhabitants from the rest of the world. Crime, sin, and extravagance ruled here. Slaves danced and toiled for rich masters. Sellswords protected mansions filled with art and illegal substances. And then there were the pits. The pits were loved by all.

Bhaldannar was given a sword and killed many. His raw savage power was unmatched by the other warrior slaves. He would fight two, three, ten men at a time. He would suffer wounds that nearly killed him, yet always arose the next day healed. Ready to fight again.

Four years passed before he cut his way free. Four years of constant battle, against man and monster. He fled the city, and was not chased.

The Brothers of the Laughing Moon were a feared and ruthless tribe or Orcs that ruled the wilderness beyond the city. They ambushed Bhaldannar. He slaughtered many. They swore to follow him, and so he lead. They ransacked small towns. They overturned caravans. They gained followers, and were soon an army. When their forces were strong enough, Bhaldannar bade them attack the dark city where he had been enslaved. It was the human's mages that turned the tides of battle. Their spells laid waste to Bhaldannar's forces. Again, he fled the city, his battle lost.

Alone and near broken, he made his way to the coast. With might and muster, he found passage on a ship to the new land. Magic had killed his army. He needed to find a way to battle this.

Two years in the green wild, he cut a swath across the landscape. He sought out challenges to best him, and many came close. Yet always he stood ready the next day to fight again. He traveled further north with each day, until he met a force of dark clad warriors. He knew their colors. There banners. He charged with a white hot rage. Again, he killed near all, yet was defeated by sheer numbers. A dozen warriors still stood to fight while Bhaldannar lay bleeding and broken. It was finally his time to die, it seemed.

A cold and rapid darkness filled the air as the warriors moved forward to finish the kill. Bhaldannar looked on in confusion and terror. A dark shape had manifested before him. It was as if time stood still. He craned his neck to look up into the cold dead eyes of this being. A twisted voice plundered his mind. He was told what he needed to do. He was told of the Black Robed Elf. His will was broken and remolded, and he swore to do his task. With that his wounds folded shut, and his weapon was back in hand. Slaughter ensued. And his new journey began. Onward North he ran, to find the Black Robed Elf, and serve his will with uncompromising loyalty.