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Turning at the sound of a low-pitched whistle, your eyes strike dark smoldering green ones. Looking down slightly, moving only your eyes, you notice a sword at your throat. Looking back at the man, you notice his set jaw with a slight trail of crimson running from about mid jaw to his chin...blood? His shirt torn and dirty, blood stained in places...This is a warrior, a killer. He has no friends, but is never left wanting for an enemy. Locking you into his gaze he dares you to move. Still assuming you mean him harm- his sword does not waiver. A sudden streak of sheer panic floods your body as you realize he means to kill you. Suddenly he drops his sword away from your neck, sheaths it, bows slightly, then turns and walks away.

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Learning to fend for himself at a very young age, he learned all about surviving on his own. The oldest of twelve, born to a poor farmer and his wife, he was always the last to be allowed to eat. His mother, a stern woman who rarely let him get away with anything would often send him to hunt for dinner while she squandered what little money the family had on her two precious daughters.

Being the oldest came with certain responsibilities, she always said, sometimes you have to make sacrifices you'd rather not make for the greater good.

He loved his mother, and his entire family, as a matter of fact, but he hated them with a passion.

As he grew older, less and less he was able to contain his hatred, fighting with his brothers; he even went so far as to slap his mother. His father flew into a rage at finding this out. He took his oldest boy out into the barn, beat him until he no longer moved, then told him if he ever set foot in the house again, he'd shoot him.

Barely alive, Thundr slipped in and out of consciousness for days. The final words from his father ring in his ears when he came fully awake.

No home, no family, must leave, he repeated over and over again. By some sheer force of internal will, he slowly moved into a sitting position. Waiting for the room to stop spinning, he very carefully felt his ribs, and found two broken ones. Moving to check out the damage done to his face, he fingered his nose, broken, ran a finger along his lip, split, one eye swollen completely shut, other than that, he didn't seem to be to worse for wear.

Scooting slowly across the floor till his back touched a wall, he took several deep breaths before he attempted to stand. A sharp pain shot down his leg and he collapsed to the floor. Apparently, his ankle wasn't going to hold his weight. Finding this unacceptable he pulled himself up again. Slower this time, he leaned most of his weight against the barn wall and his one good leg. Gingerly he set down his right foot...

Taking slow measured steps, he walked to the door, squinting in the bright light, he shaded his eye with his arm and looked, for the last time, at the place he called home. Fifteen years of pain, and hatred were in this place, fifteen years of hurt and sweat. No home, no family...A weight he hadn't realized he was carrying suddenly lifted off his shoulders, the responsibility of feeding his family, of making sacrifices, but no more. He had no more responsibilities, no one to answer to, but himself.

Standing a little straighter, chin held a little higher, he began the long lonely walk to the woods, and eventually the road. A mile south sat a small stream he used to camp at, it had a small cave carved out of a big boulder he could use to sleep in until he was fit to travel. The promise of a bath and a stream full of fish to eat kept his feet moving.