Asrak Zamorene

Asrak and the Zamorenes
A History By Asrak Zamorene
Transcribed and Edited by Gordo Fairfax, Scribe

I am Asrak, son of Osrik, War Chief of the Zamorene tribe of the Grishknel. I have been asked to tell my story, and I would be happy to. To know me, though, you first need to know of our tribe and our traditions, for I am first and foremost a product of my people.

The Zamorene were born during the chaos of Maelshyve, after the Banshees attacked. Our founder, Zamor, a young archer of the Grishknel, found himself alone on the battlefield. He was dazed and weaponless. Filled with despair at the howl of the banshees and the screams of the dying, he sank to his knees, beaten and waiting for death.

Suddenly, a young man dressed in battle leathers appeared in a golden light and laid a hand on Zamor's shoulder. He said "I have watched you, Zamor, and I have found that you possess rare strength of arms and spirit. Arise, Zamor, and find the strength to fight. It is not your time to die..." The man then vanished, replaced by fearsome shadows as the undead approached, attracted by the light and noise.

Screaming the name of his new Lord, Kai, Zamor reached down and grasped the first weapon he found, a discarded war mattock. As he did, strength and courage flooded him, and he was able to fight his way to safety.

Zamor discoveed something as well as a new faith that day. He realized that Bear and Wolf clan are both wrong in their strategy. Neither strength of arms nor stealth alone will win the battlfield. Only through use of both can a warrior become truly powerful.

Knowing this thinking would make him an outcast in both clans, Zamor took his kin and moved far to the north. Once there the new tribe began to follow their three great traditions: Worship of Kai above all others, use of the war mattock in warfare, and a balanced fighting style that Zamor had invented. For thousands of years, the Zamorene have lived thus, working towards their goal of producing great warriors.

I was the youngest born of eight sons and two daughters and as such I was pampered and spoiled for much of my childhood. I played, blissfully unaware of the world around me, and watched my older brothers become warriors one by one, not knowing or caring that my turn might someday come.

One winter morning when I was eight, a Zamorene hunting party came upon a group of adventurers being slaughtered by a Cyclops band. The Zamorene tried to rescue them, but only two of the strangers survived the battle and were brought to the tribe. Only one of these two was conscious, a human by the name of Tanas Martin. He requested an audience with my father, and the two of them sat long into the night, absorbed in talk. The next morning, father called a war council.

The tribe soon learned that Martin and his band had uncovered a great treasure far, far to the north, that Martin was obsessed with this treasure, and that he had convinced my father to raise a war party to help him recover it. My father chose the fifty greatest warriors of our tribe for the war party, including my six oldest brothers. They departed a week later from our winter camp, amid songs of Kai and glory. They were gone three years.

Times were hard while they were gone. There were many mouths to feed and not enough hunters. The injured human that had been left behind thrashed and screamed in his delirium for the three weeks he lived, moaning about demons and dragons. The mood of the tribe went from hopeful to nervous to scared during those three years, as we returned to the same winter camp to await my fathers return. In that time, my brother Attan left the tribe to join the priesthood, and my mother pampered me even more, believing me to be her last remaining son.

What finally came back to us on an early spring morning when I was eleven was a band eighteen strong, all giant men, ravaged by injuries and disease. My father still lead them, but maimed, without use of his left arm. Not one of my brothers had survived.

My father was never the same after that. He became bitter and angry about his failure and became more focused on his glory and legacy as War Chief. He learned to fight with the Mattock one handed, and began training our warriors how to berserk, insisting that berserking had saved his life on the quest. He also took me on as his squire and heir.

The next four years were brutal, training from dawn to dusk, as my father became more and more demanding and ruthless. He kept saying I needed to be a great warrior if I was to be his heir, but that I wasn't strong enough yet. In time, I began to believe him. No matter how hard I trained, it wasn't good enough for him.

Everything came to a head in my fifteenth year, as I underwent my Warrior test. I became separated from my father during a fight and was ambushed by Ice Trolls while looking for him. They trapped me and would have killed me except for my father, who appeared out of the fog and slew them single handedly. He told me angrily that I had failed because I had not defeated them, and that I only had a year to prove myself worthy of the tribe.

The next 12 months were even more brutal as I trained for the next test. My father also took an orphaned warrior named Malik as his second squire and trained us both together. I could not see it then, but I was competing for my father's title and his name.

The day of the test, Malik was set upon by Ice Giants. He berserked, but was left vulnearable with two Giants still standing when I found them. I slew the two Giants myself, but when my father came upon us he slapped me and told me I should have berserked, and that I had given the Giants too much time to act.

When we got back to town, fathter announced that I had failed as a warrior and his son, and that Malik would be adopted and trained as next war chief.

I left my tribe that night, humiliated and vowing never to return until I could prove my greatness as a warrior. After a short time in the wilderness, and a few years in Icemule, I came to the Landing and found many new friends who accepted me for who I am, and respected me despite my limitations.

Now, just a year later, I find myself a member of the Warriors Guild in good standing, and a proud member of the Daigneach Onoir. I have learned many things since coming to this fine city, and finally have faith that I will one day make myself worthy of the Zamorene, and of my fathers name.