Galt
Posted: Fri Jan 25, 2013 2:24 pm
Player Name: Galt
Name: Galtharius Falthrum
Age: 16
Race: Human
Height: 6'1''
Weight: 187.39 lbs
Physical Description:
He's a young lad at his prime age. In fact you can see his youth glittering in his greyish-blue eyes. You could even take him for one of those stuck up nobles that have never seen the harshness of life. That's until you come up close. His otherwise pure skin hides several scars : one being a slight crescent like curve slightly aside from his left eye, the other scar is actually right under right side of his jaw running parallel to the jaw bone ending right before sleep artery. The second one is slightly harder to notice, since it might disappear in the shadow cast by his considerably broad jaw. Both scars seem to be made by quite deep cuts that have left a distinctive marks. Unless asked you wouldn't notice but the second scar also continues on his right arm, an inch below the wrist. Galt's has mid-length dark hair reaching mid-way over his ears. Front side of his hair, which might naturally get in his eyes, is separated in half instead nearing his temples. Other than that it might seem unkempt and sometimes even dirty.
Galt is physically well built, this is shown by his near-military stance: head up high, jaw nearly parallel to the ground, shoulders left broadly wide and nearly exaggeratedly straight back. His muscles are present yet still covered with thick layer of skin. A body built for endurance... If you don't believe me Galt has scars to prove it. Quite literally. His chest and back are covered with dozens of scars leaving you wonder of which thorned bush was he dragged trough.
Personality:
Galt is a a inquisitive young man with a strong will. He is easy-going and forgives quite easily - a characteristic that might be confusing and utterly annoying to his enemies. He can smile in the face of death itself, something ,he in fact, considers honorable. Being of a warrior tribe, smile is a sign of courage, especially when facing death. Honor is another word describing him. Trusting in no deities, he relies purely on himself and people around him. Honor taught to him in his childhood is the fundament of his moral compass. He might not make the right choices yet he'll never doubt them.
Easy going as he is he doesn't mind meeting new people. Yet the only people he truly trusts are those he recognizes as brothers or sisters through fire and water. True, strong, and lasting bonds can be made only through fire and water, akin to the making of steel. This phrase means you've went trough something important, dangerous or in any other means significant together with him. Some might say its a test of loyalty, yet to him, this only proves philosophy that actions are what makes the man, not his words or thoughts. Its all about what we do when the talking is over.
Some might say he's also reckless and even stupid. This is quite untrue yet it proves time over time. Why? Because of the previously mentioned honor. He'll never let anyone stand above him before proving his value trough actions. Taking commands doesn't come easy for him and he's always ready to carve his own path and destiny. He will also rush to nearly instant help when seeing injustice. His honor demands him to stand tall, especially against stronger force. In fact, in childhood he oftentimes switched sides, when playing games with his childhood friends, to stand by the side which was surely to loose. Unfortunately to him, this was gallant yet as always embarrassing. This is why he shrugs off things easily and is never afraid to try something new or jump with his head first.
His honor code is set of rules and presets of how to react to certain situations. Such as not to never lie, not to kill and unarmed opponent, never kill a boy that's shorter than an ox cart wheel etc.
Also, to define his personality you'll have to know his motivations. What motivates him the most is his urge to learn. He wishes to learn about the world around him. He seeks knowledge. To achieve this, he first needs to learn to read and write, though. Trough his life he was affected by two strong philosophies. That of the tribe he was born in and that of an order he was affiliated with. In both cultures mercy and hesitation were not an option . Mercy is considered weakness as it always leads to suffering. It is a seed of pain and darkness - a thorn that only the strongest may remove. The wound will bleed yet the poison shall spread no further!
Galt's philosophy is simple - good and right are not synonyms. He must act in the name of justice for others are too weak. Some live and fight for money, some for love, some for revenge but justice - it has no persona, it has no room for emotion, it is pure, untainted and only truly understandable by those who see trough the curtain of pain and mortality.
Possessions:
White linen shirt.
Dark brown cloth pants.
Leather boots.
A simple leather belt.
A sack with a strap to be hold over shoulder. ( crossing from shoulder over chest, not just over shoulder like purse)
A hunting knife to be held horizontally on his lower back.
Short sword with holder by his left side.
A flask full of drinking water.
A pot with a black bottom (from being put directly on flame) and a wooden spoon.
A journal with a bottle of ink and a quilt.
Powers or Strengths:
He:
Can take beating - Galt is capable of taking beating... I know, I know not explanatory enough. What this means is he is harder to knock out and is most likely to shrug off pain and keep on fighting. He obviously has the same limits as any mortal man, yet his pain tolerance is a lot higher. Also it takes more than just pain to impact his thinking and physical functionality.
Can protect himself - Galt knows how to fight unarmed and use shivs. He's not a martial artist but in a pub fight he'd probably take upper hand. He has skills to fight, yet lacks an actual technique. While he could stand as a challenge to an average soldier, most he could probably do is throw his opponent off feet for long enough to make escape. His hand-to-hand style is extremely simple, plain and purely practical.
As for his shiv skill, he's a beginner. While he is aware of where to stab, he lacks practice to properly use moves in a direct confrontation.
Can wield a sword without hurting himself - Galt can tell the pointy end from a handle... Yes, yes he also knows how to swing, thrust, parry and use it as an improvised shovel to dig up an out-house. He's quite rusty at swordsmanship and could use some practice. Even with that, he's still a fine swordsman that just lacks an actual technique. He can fend off attacks of expert swordsmen relatively well, yet without technique and a proper fighting form, his attacks could easily be countered.
Weaknesses:
Can't lie - Galt just can't lie. He may manipulate the answer yet he cannot tell lie. This is connected to his moral code of honor.
Illiterate - Galt can't write or read. Yes, yes, he has a journal with him. He uses his own self made symbols until he learns to actually read and write.
Bad at names - He nor fully trust a person he don't know trough his actions, nor he is likely to remember the persons name. Instead he uses self made names which he gives to each individual depending on its characteristics or previous deeds.
Clumsy - He's clumsy... What, do you want me to draw a diagram or something?
Always does what he considers right - Galt always follows his moral compass even if it means engaging a dragon to save a stuck up princesses favorite dress she wears only in her royal sandbox.
History:
A new day dawned. Together with the scattered rays of light a life was born. A boy. Named after his grandfather Galt rested in the hands of his mother. Unfortunately, he was not meant for an idle life. As soon as his infant skin was touched by the sun, his family and the whole tribe collected their tents, mounted them into caravans and started to move. Galt was born as a nomad tribe. A tribe that consisted of Humans, Orc's and those in-between. As a pure human, his value was low in the eye's of the tribe's council. In fact, only thing that truly protected him from a random swing of an orcish axe was an oath given to the very same grandfather Galt was named after. Yet this history is of himself to tell.
Galt was born in a family of 3 older brothers and 2 sisters. Being the youngest protected him from a lot of hardships, as there where always someone to protect him and take care of him. Yet it also meant he always had something to prove. He grew up among orc's. Something that doesn't come lightly for a human child. They are hard working, persistent, strong and most definitely not tolerant towards weaklings. They are like mother nature herself, only the strongest survive. Thankfully as a human Galt had more than one chance to learn so although he couldn't wield a two-handed mace like most of his other specie peers, he grew up as a quite healthy young boy. Growing among orc's does teach you a lot. You become a lot like them yourself, just without the nature given physical benefits, of course.
Age 6:
Grown this far comes as a great achievement if you grow up in a multicultural tribe, where the weakest get left behind, but regular child of this age is nearly a warrior. Galt lived trough a lot of fights. Mainly getting his face planted into the ground, though. So he learned to take beating. After all, if you can't walk in the end of the day, you get left behind and that nearly always means death. Galt spent most of his days playing games with other children of his age and helping with the cattle. A childhood that didn't leave much time for academic knowledge, yet taught him a lot about taking beating, staying humble and the simple pleasures of life such as true trust and the value of his own family.
Age 12:
Many things changed at this point of his life. At this point he could hold a sword meaning he had to learn how to wield it. Practicing with sticks against his peers at this point once again proved painful. Yet when facing opponent that can throw you away or snap you like a twig taught him something. He learned of human willpower and most importantly intelligence. His mind worked a lot differently from that of an orc. Although not yet capable to put it at full disposal he already knew that brutal strength did not solve all the problems. Something he was taught by his older brother - a fine swordsman and a feared warrior among even the orcs. Quick, smart and devoted to the tribe. In fact, he learned that trough learning you could anticipate moves, learn patterns and become more aware of your own body and a sword as a tool. Something orc's sometime tend to miss out. Though their values taught him a lot as well. To honor battle as something beyond words, to actually find it as a resort and a solution, as well as teaching him to stay humble trough both - loss and victory. His brother taught him a lot. Even more than that he protected him on daily bases from bullies and aggressors.
His everyday life didn't change much thought. Besides playing he now trained but instead of just helping with the cattle, he drove them himself.
Age 14:
A point of change in his life.
It was night. A night it is hard for Galt to forget. Same goes for all the other tribe members. Least those who survived. This night has pressed so hard into Galt's memory, that he could probably tell you the exact count of stars in the sky. It was a a quite bright night. The tribe had stopped in a steppe a day's walk away from the next feeding ground. Most where asleep as a sudden burst laugh and yells appeared from afar. Men raced to arms as suddenly out of darkness appeared spiked shadows. Dressed in horned helmets and armors, wielding large swords and axes appeared group of orcs. Something rare happening in these part of the plains, yet not unpredictable. This is why orc's are always battle ready, and so must be everyone with them. A battle begun, clashes of swords, screams and the disturbing noise of bones crashing. Galt was hopped out of his sleeping bag... Or rater a sack with a thick hide blanket. His heroism was short lived though. Galt grabbed his sword laying next to him and dashed outside just to see his brothers and other tribesman engaging the attackers. He drew out his sword and charged the nearest enemy facing away from him. As he rose his sword to strike, the large orc, nearly twice his size turned around and as he did, swinged his left arm. Caught by the strike Galt was thrown away, let go of his sword and landed somewhere near his tent. Rest was a blur...
He woke up a while later, face down in the mud, his unsheathed blade next to him. It was his mother by his side trying to pick him up. He slowly came to senses and stood up. His mother crying, on his right, his father kneeling and holding his blood tainted left hand. A bloody battle they had survived. They had triumphed. Or more precisely - survived.
The morning was dawning. Hearing the struggle in the night a band of monks and knights had arrived and slaughtered the attackers. Without them, Galt's tribe would right now be just rumble of burning remains. Galt's oldest brother same as most his friends had died in battle like heroes. Like Galt was supposed to... As the sun started sharing its warmth the tribe moved on. Those that couldn't move on were left behind... Only the strongest may survive. Galt's mother wanted to drag him with, yet he relived of her grasp as he noticed his older brother still breathing. His mother just yelled as he rushed at his brother body : " We cannot save him.We must move or his death shall be for nothing! ". As Galt approached his brothers body he saw pain in his face. A man drawing his last breath, yet his lips smiling. A true warrior, a true hero... Galt dropped down next to him, as his mother and father looked back and carried on with the tribe. How could he leave? His brother had saved him time over time, he had taught him everything about the path of a warrior. Who can he follow now? ... A sudden tap on his shoulder. Old man in his late 50's with a face grim yet full of hope. " Son, he was a true warrior that brough justice over barbarians. Yet he fell. Cleanse him of his sins and let him embrace the afterlife with honor. " After saying this the man handed Galt a dagger. Small, pointy and razor sharp stilleto. " Send him to after life " - the man stated and pointed at his left armpit, and then toward the same point in his brother body. " Stab there, finish his suffering. " The man looked at Galt with an expressionless face. Galt didn't knew why, but he...he listened. After a moment his brother gripped in Galt's arm with all his remaining strength and his eyesight slipped into oblivion with words unsaid-' Thank you, brother...'
Galt stood up and watched as his tribes caravans disappear behind the horizon. Covered in his brothers arterial blood, still splashing, Galt turned towards the elderly man that calmly carried on towards another fallen warrior...
Long story short. Galt sensed weird magnetism coming from the mans words and actions. After helping out with the mercy kills, Galt decided to follow the group of knights and monks. Was he looked for and worried for? Most likely not. Those where the ways of nomads, those where the ways of orcs and Galt's people.
Age 15:
Nearly a year has passed since the massacre and at the duty of a mere monks assistant. Heh, a lowling among the monks and knights, yet living better that he was with his tribe. Regular feeding, more stationary way of life. Galt lived among members of an order that believed in justice. Yet it wasn't just a word for them, it was a deity, something to be worshiped and considered absolute. It consisted of knights - soldiers of justice, that seeked to undo all evil, and of course monks - interpreters of justice code.
The order was situated in smaller villages consisting of knights- mainly sons of local nobles and anyone else wealthy enough to buy his own equipment. The order itself was institution that kept order in these few villages. To expand its influence it periodically organized crusades. As in most religions, this was probably just a disguise to actual plundering missions, organized by the order's council.
As an apprentice to a monk, Galt walked the path of "Justice". His everyday life was mainly about taking care of the mess left behind by the knights. Be it delivering the final stab, to relive the person from suffering or simply calm down the surrounding people, that the people killed where actually sinners. This way he made lots of enemies and even more doubts about whether all this killing was necessary.
As days wen't on, the order shrunk. Some fell in the battle, some died from illnesses or even age. There where less to fight for the cause, yet as always, there was some evil to undo. Something interpreted as unjust.
You see, Justice was their actual deity. It was a superior being of balance that gave strength and guidance to those devoted to its cause - purging the world of evil and wicked.
One day, while walking over a field of dead, Galt noticed a young soldier. He seemed mortally strucked yet held his sword by his side, looking directly into Galt's eyes. The order was to kill everyone., yet Galt hesitated. Why? In fact the whole reason for this battle discouraged his thoughts. It was without a reason, the village had to be slaughtered because some of the villagers where found sick. Galt shook off the thoughts and decided to keep walking. " No one left to relieve of suffering. "- Galt shouted to others scanning the field and walked away. A seed of disturbance in his might. The order was weakening. Then again, so was his own faith in the purpose.
The reason behind the sudden weakness of order was simple - wealth of those behind the raids was diminishing. You cannot loot and plunder forever. Sustaining order from spoils of war can be possible only as long as there are actual battles to fight. Without them you loose resources and eventually the belief to the whole cause.
Age 16:
2 months ago. The Order had shrunk even more. Galt together with some monks were visiting a village for supplies. Night was falling as Galt picked up a basket of bread and went on to meet others. As passing trough a dark alley, all of a sudden he felt a breeze of wind coming from behind. He managed but to drop the basket and raise his right hand as a blade came from above and then contracted towards his neck. His right hand prevented his throat to be instantly shredded, yet did not protect it from getting cut. The blade slowly beaching his flesh to the bone. He could feel the cold steel approaching his pulse as he couldn't draw back to escape. Suddenly, he realized something. He back was pressed against a leather armor. A soldier. Galt then went for a hope, reaching with his left hand behind the attacker, on its lower back Galt finally could touch a blade sheathed there. Quickly drawing it out and flipping it upside down, Galt thrust the blade in the one place he knew, under the opponent left, arm, around the armpit where artery was closest to the skin. One stab, he had done so many times to erase helpless lives. Once again it ended a life, this time, however, to save his own. As tha stranger collapsed behind him Galt stood up. As he uncovered the face of the unknown figure just to realize it was familiar. It was the man he had spared nearly a year ago. The wounded man laying on the field. Obviously this was a no random encounter. He tried to assassinate him. And could you blame him for trying? Galt arrived together with people that claimed to bring justice yet slaughtered a whole village. Nor children nor women were spared. Galt knew just one thing. If this man seeked for him, there where probably others. Wearing robes of the order no longer meant anything. They reminded him of nothing but suffering he had brought.
Once again Galt decided to leave the life he knew. He picked up the basket and returned to the camp. There, he silently went to his room, tended his own hand and neck and after collecting his belonging he left. Unsure of what to expect he knew one thing - he needed to sort things out. His first goal? Learn to write and read. Maybe then the things will make more reasoning. Is he to follow the guidance of Justice or that of his own honor code. Till then, he's on his own.
Name: Galtharius Falthrum
Age: 16
Race: Human
Height: 6'1''
Weight: 187.39 lbs
Physical Description:
He's a young lad at his prime age. In fact you can see his youth glittering in his greyish-blue eyes. You could even take him for one of those stuck up nobles that have never seen the harshness of life. That's until you come up close. His otherwise pure skin hides several scars : one being a slight crescent like curve slightly aside from his left eye, the other scar is actually right under right side of his jaw running parallel to the jaw bone ending right before sleep artery. The second one is slightly harder to notice, since it might disappear in the shadow cast by his considerably broad jaw. Both scars seem to be made by quite deep cuts that have left a distinctive marks. Unless asked you wouldn't notice but the second scar also continues on his right arm, an inch below the wrist. Galt's has mid-length dark hair reaching mid-way over his ears. Front side of his hair, which might naturally get in his eyes, is separated in half instead nearing his temples. Other than that it might seem unkempt and sometimes even dirty.
Galt is physically well built, this is shown by his near-military stance: head up high, jaw nearly parallel to the ground, shoulders left broadly wide and nearly exaggeratedly straight back. His muscles are present yet still covered with thick layer of skin. A body built for endurance... If you don't believe me Galt has scars to prove it. Quite literally. His chest and back are covered with dozens of scars leaving you wonder of which thorned bush was he dragged trough.
Personality:
Galt is a a inquisitive young man with a strong will. He is easy-going and forgives quite easily - a characteristic that might be confusing and utterly annoying to his enemies. He can smile in the face of death itself, something ,he in fact, considers honorable. Being of a warrior tribe, smile is a sign of courage, especially when facing death. Honor is another word describing him. Trusting in no deities, he relies purely on himself and people around him. Honor taught to him in his childhood is the fundament of his moral compass. He might not make the right choices yet he'll never doubt them.
Easy going as he is he doesn't mind meeting new people. Yet the only people he truly trusts are those he recognizes as brothers or sisters through fire and water. True, strong, and lasting bonds can be made only through fire and water, akin to the making of steel. This phrase means you've went trough something important, dangerous or in any other means significant together with him. Some might say its a test of loyalty, yet to him, this only proves philosophy that actions are what makes the man, not his words or thoughts. Its all about what we do when the talking is over.
Some might say he's also reckless and even stupid. This is quite untrue yet it proves time over time. Why? Because of the previously mentioned honor. He'll never let anyone stand above him before proving his value trough actions. Taking commands doesn't come easy for him and he's always ready to carve his own path and destiny. He will also rush to nearly instant help when seeing injustice. His honor demands him to stand tall, especially against stronger force. In fact, in childhood he oftentimes switched sides, when playing games with his childhood friends, to stand by the side which was surely to loose. Unfortunately to him, this was gallant yet as always embarrassing. This is why he shrugs off things easily and is never afraid to try something new or jump with his head first.
His honor code is set of rules and presets of how to react to certain situations. Such as not to never lie, not to kill and unarmed opponent, never kill a boy that's shorter than an ox cart wheel etc.
Also, to define his personality you'll have to know his motivations. What motivates him the most is his urge to learn. He wishes to learn about the world around him. He seeks knowledge. To achieve this, he first needs to learn to read and write, though. Trough his life he was affected by two strong philosophies. That of the tribe he was born in and that of an order he was affiliated with. In both cultures mercy and hesitation were not an option . Mercy is considered weakness as it always leads to suffering. It is a seed of pain and darkness - a thorn that only the strongest may remove. The wound will bleed yet the poison shall spread no further!
Galt's philosophy is simple - good and right are not synonyms. He must act in the name of justice for others are too weak. Some live and fight for money, some for love, some for revenge but justice - it has no persona, it has no room for emotion, it is pure, untainted and only truly understandable by those who see trough the curtain of pain and mortality.
Possessions:
White linen shirt.
Dark brown cloth pants.
Leather boots.
A simple leather belt.
A sack with a strap to be hold over shoulder. ( crossing from shoulder over chest, not just over shoulder like purse)
A hunting knife to be held horizontally on his lower back.
Short sword with holder by his left side.
A flask full of drinking water.
A pot with a black bottom (from being put directly on flame) and a wooden spoon.
A journal with a bottle of ink and a quilt.
Powers or Strengths:
He:
Can take beating - Galt is capable of taking beating... I know, I know not explanatory enough. What this means is he is harder to knock out and is most likely to shrug off pain and keep on fighting. He obviously has the same limits as any mortal man, yet his pain tolerance is a lot higher. Also it takes more than just pain to impact his thinking and physical functionality.
Can protect himself - Galt knows how to fight unarmed and use shivs. He's not a martial artist but in a pub fight he'd probably take upper hand. He has skills to fight, yet lacks an actual technique. While he could stand as a challenge to an average soldier, most he could probably do is throw his opponent off feet for long enough to make escape. His hand-to-hand style is extremely simple, plain and purely practical.
As for his shiv skill, he's a beginner. While he is aware of where to stab, he lacks practice to properly use moves in a direct confrontation.
Can wield a sword without hurting himself - Galt can tell the pointy end from a handle... Yes, yes he also knows how to swing, thrust, parry and use it as an improvised shovel to dig up an out-house. He's quite rusty at swordsmanship and could use some practice. Even with that, he's still a fine swordsman that just lacks an actual technique. He can fend off attacks of expert swordsmen relatively well, yet without technique and a proper fighting form, his attacks could easily be countered.
Weaknesses:
Can't lie - Galt just can't lie. He may manipulate the answer yet he cannot tell lie. This is connected to his moral code of honor.
Illiterate - Galt can't write or read. Yes, yes, he has a journal with him. He uses his own self made symbols until he learns to actually read and write.
Bad at names - He nor fully trust a person he don't know trough his actions, nor he is likely to remember the persons name. Instead he uses self made names which he gives to each individual depending on its characteristics or previous deeds.
Clumsy - He's clumsy... What, do you want me to draw a diagram or something?
Always does what he considers right - Galt always follows his moral compass even if it means engaging a dragon to save a stuck up princesses favorite dress she wears only in her royal sandbox.
History:
A new day dawned. Together with the scattered rays of light a life was born. A boy. Named after his grandfather Galt rested in the hands of his mother. Unfortunately, he was not meant for an idle life. As soon as his infant skin was touched by the sun, his family and the whole tribe collected their tents, mounted them into caravans and started to move. Galt was born as a nomad tribe. A tribe that consisted of Humans, Orc's and those in-between. As a pure human, his value was low in the eye's of the tribe's council. In fact, only thing that truly protected him from a random swing of an orcish axe was an oath given to the very same grandfather Galt was named after. Yet this history is of himself to tell.
Galt was born in a family of 3 older brothers and 2 sisters. Being the youngest protected him from a lot of hardships, as there where always someone to protect him and take care of him. Yet it also meant he always had something to prove. He grew up among orc's. Something that doesn't come lightly for a human child. They are hard working, persistent, strong and most definitely not tolerant towards weaklings. They are like mother nature herself, only the strongest survive. Thankfully as a human Galt had more than one chance to learn so although he couldn't wield a two-handed mace like most of his other specie peers, he grew up as a quite healthy young boy. Growing among orc's does teach you a lot. You become a lot like them yourself, just without the nature given physical benefits, of course.
Age 6:
Grown this far comes as a great achievement if you grow up in a multicultural tribe, where the weakest get left behind, but regular child of this age is nearly a warrior. Galt lived trough a lot of fights. Mainly getting his face planted into the ground, though. So he learned to take beating. After all, if you can't walk in the end of the day, you get left behind and that nearly always means death. Galt spent most of his days playing games with other children of his age and helping with the cattle. A childhood that didn't leave much time for academic knowledge, yet taught him a lot about taking beating, staying humble and the simple pleasures of life such as true trust and the value of his own family.
Age 12:
Many things changed at this point of his life. At this point he could hold a sword meaning he had to learn how to wield it. Practicing with sticks against his peers at this point once again proved painful. Yet when facing opponent that can throw you away or snap you like a twig taught him something. He learned of human willpower and most importantly intelligence. His mind worked a lot differently from that of an orc. Although not yet capable to put it at full disposal he already knew that brutal strength did not solve all the problems. Something he was taught by his older brother - a fine swordsman and a feared warrior among even the orcs. Quick, smart and devoted to the tribe. In fact, he learned that trough learning you could anticipate moves, learn patterns and become more aware of your own body and a sword as a tool. Something orc's sometime tend to miss out. Though their values taught him a lot as well. To honor battle as something beyond words, to actually find it as a resort and a solution, as well as teaching him to stay humble trough both - loss and victory. His brother taught him a lot. Even more than that he protected him on daily bases from bullies and aggressors.
His everyday life didn't change much thought. Besides playing he now trained but instead of just helping with the cattle, he drove them himself.
Age 14:
A point of change in his life.
It was night. A night it is hard for Galt to forget. Same goes for all the other tribe members. Least those who survived. This night has pressed so hard into Galt's memory, that he could probably tell you the exact count of stars in the sky. It was a a quite bright night. The tribe had stopped in a steppe a day's walk away from the next feeding ground. Most where asleep as a sudden burst laugh and yells appeared from afar. Men raced to arms as suddenly out of darkness appeared spiked shadows. Dressed in horned helmets and armors, wielding large swords and axes appeared group of orcs. Something rare happening in these part of the plains, yet not unpredictable. This is why orc's are always battle ready, and so must be everyone with them. A battle begun, clashes of swords, screams and the disturbing noise of bones crashing. Galt was hopped out of his sleeping bag... Or rater a sack with a thick hide blanket. His heroism was short lived though. Galt grabbed his sword laying next to him and dashed outside just to see his brothers and other tribesman engaging the attackers. He drew out his sword and charged the nearest enemy facing away from him. As he rose his sword to strike, the large orc, nearly twice his size turned around and as he did, swinged his left arm. Caught by the strike Galt was thrown away, let go of his sword and landed somewhere near his tent. Rest was a blur...
He woke up a while later, face down in the mud, his unsheathed blade next to him. It was his mother by his side trying to pick him up. He slowly came to senses and stood up. His mother crying, on his right, his father kneeling and holding his blood tainted left hand. A bloody battle they had survived. They had triumphed. Or more precisely - survived.
The morning was dawning. Hearing the struggle in the night a band of monks and knights had arrived and slaughtered the attackers. Without them, Galt's tribe would right now be just rumble of burning remains. Galt's oldest brother same as most his friends had died in battle like heroes. Like Galt was supposed to... As the sun started sharing its warmth the tribe moved on. Those that couldn't move on were left behind... Only the strongest may survive. Galt's mother wanted to drag him with, yet he relived of her grasp as he noticed his older brother still breathing. His mother just yelled as he rushed at his brother body : " We cannot save him.We must move or his death shall be for nothing! ". As Galt approached his brothers body he saw pain in his face. A man drawing his last breath, yet his lips smiling. A true warrior, a true hero... Galt dropped down next to him, as his mother and father looked back and carried on with the tribe. How could he leave? His brother had saved him time over time, he had taught him everything about the path of a warrior. Who can he follow now? ... A sudden tap on his shoulder. Old man in his late 50's with a face grim yet full of hope. " Son, he was a true warrior that brough justice over barbarians. Yet he fell. Cleanse him of his sins and let him embrace the afterlife with honor. " After saying this the man handed Galt a dagger. Small, pointy and razor sharp stilleto. " Send him to after life " - the man stated and pointed at his left armpit, and then toward the same point in his brother body. " Stab there, finish his suffering. " The man looked at Galt with an expressionless face. Galt didn't knew why, but he...he listened. After a moment his brother gripped in Galt's arm with all his remaining strength and his eyesight slipped into oblivion with words unsaid-' Thank you, brother...'
Galt stood up and watched as his tribes caravans disappear behind the horizon. Covered in his brothers arterial blood, still splashing, Galt turned towards the elderly man that calmly carried on towards another fallen warrior...
Long story short. Galt sensed weird magnetism coming from the mans words and actions. After helping out with the mercy kills, Galt decided to follow the group of knights and monks. Was he looked for and worried for? Most likely not. Those where the ways of nomads, those where the ways of orcs and Galt's people.
Age 15:
Nearly a year has passed since the massacre and at the duty of a mere monks assistant. Heh, a lowling among the monks and knights, yet living better that he was with his tribe. Regular feeding, more stationary way of life. Galt lived among members of an order that believed in justice. Yet it wasn't just a word for them, it was a deity, something to be worshiped and considered absolute. It consisted of knights - soldiers of justice, that seeked to undo all evil, and of course monks - interpreters of justice code.
The order was situated in smaller villages consisting of knights- mainly sons of local nobles and anyone else wealthy enough to buy his own equipment. The order itself was institution that kept order in these few villages. To expand its influence it periodically organized crusades. As in most religions, this was probably just a disguise to actual plundering missions, organized by the order's council.
As an apprentice to a monk, Galt walked the path of "Justice". His everyday life was mainly about taking care of the mess left behind by the knights. Be it delivering the final stab, to relive the person from suffering or simply calm down the surrounding people, that the people killed where actually sinners. This way he made lots of enemies and even more doubts about whether all this killing was necessary.
As days wen't on, the order shrunk. Some fell in the battle, some died from illnesses or even age. There where less to fight for the cause, yet as always, there was some evil to undo. Something interpreted as unjust.
You see, Justice was their actual deity. It was a superior being of balance that gave strength and guidance to those devoted to its cause - purging the world of evil and wicked.
One day, while walking over a field of dead, Galt noticed a young soldier. He seemed mortally strucked yet held his sword by his side, looking directly into Galt's eyes. The order was to kill everyone., yet Galt hesitated. Why? In fact the whole reason for this battle discouraged his thoughts. It was without a reason, the village had to be slaughtered because some of the villagers where found sick. Galt shook off the thoughts and decided to keep walking. " No one left to relieve of suffering. "- Galt shouted to others scanning the field and walked away. A seed of disturbance in his might. The order was weakening. Then again, so was his own faith in the purpose.
The reason behind the sudden weakness of order was simple - wealth of those behind the raids was diminishing. You cannot loot and plunder forever. Sustaining order from spoils of war can be possible only as long as there are actual battles to fight. Without them you loose resources and eventually the belief to the whole cause.
Age 16:
2 months ago. The Order had shrunk even more. Galt together with some monks were visiting a village for supplies. Night was falling as Galt picked up a basket of bread and went on to meet others. As passing trough a dark alley, all of a sudden he felt a breeze of wind coming from behind. He managed but to drop the basket and raise his right hand as a blade came from above and then contracted towards his neck. His right hand prevented his throat to be instantly shredded, yet did not protect it from getting cut. The blade slowly beaching his flesh to the bone. He could feel the cold steel approaching his pulse as he couldn't draw back to escape. Suddenly, he realized something. He back was pressed against a leather armor. A soldier. Galt then went for a hope, reaching with his left hand behind the attacker, on its lower back Galt finally could touch a blade sheathed there. Quickly drawing it out and flipping it upside down, Galt thrust the blade in the one place he knew, under the opponent left, arm, around the armpit where artery was closest to the skin. One stab, he had done so many times to erase helpless lives. Once again it ended a life, this time, however, to save his own. As tha stranger collapsed behind him Galt stood up. As he uncovered the face of the unknown figure just to realize it was familiar. It was the man he had spared nearly a year ago. The wounded man laying on the field. Obviously this was a no random encounter. He tried to assassinate him. And could you blame him for trying? Galt arrived together with people that claimed to bring justice yet slaughtered a whole village. Nor children nor women were spared. Galt knew just one thing. If this man seeked for him, there where probably others. Wearing robes of the order no longer meant anything. They reminded him of nothing but suffering he had brought.
Once again Galt decided to leave the life he knew. He picked up the basket and returned to the camp. There, he silently went to his room, tended his own hand and neck and after collecting his belonging he left. Unsure of what to expect he knew one thing - he needed to sort things out. His first goal? Learn to write and read. Maybe then the things will make more reasoning. Is he to follow the guidance of Justice or that of his own honor code. Till then, he's on his own.