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About Chrono_Nexus

Greetings, brothers. My tale is sad, but it is not one of woe.
I was born in the northlands, to the Ulfer tribes. My father, Arlon, was a shaman to the village. The frozen wastes are a lonely place, but fortunately I was always surrounded by my brothers, friends and family. Until, that is, one day...
It was mid spring, as the men of my village began preparations for the Hunt. I begged and pleaded to go. I wanted to be one of them so much, to be a proud hunter, but of course I was too young. So, as the hunters departed, I stole out behind them, armed only with a toy bow.
I was quickly outpaced by my elders, and I had to strive to keep them in sight. So engrossed was I in that, I never saw them. I never saw their pointed helms, their curved blades, or their feral expressions. A scourge of Qadiran raiders captured me...
I woke some time later in the belly of a dank ship, surrounded by strangers. The smell of human sweat and feces was overwhelming, and my hands and legs were held in place by thick, rust and blood flecked manacles.
It seemed like we were trapped in that pit for weeks. After a few days, I found a fellow Ulfer, who explained my fate. I was to become a slave to the Qadirans, and would be put to work, and eventually killed... provided I survived the trip. The conditions were not kind to a child, and I became very ill during the voyage. I lost so much of my weight, I was sure I would not survive.
Fortunately, my ill health worked to my advantage. I fetched a much lower price in the auctions, and avoided becoming a "hand servant" to some twisted noble. I was purchased by Rasem Daersal.
Rasem was a camel racer, and trained me to become a jockey for his steeds. I learned quickly, and became a proficient rider in months. As my skill improved, so did my health. Rasem sold me two months later, because of my weight and my "arrogance".
My next owner was Nathifa Hammara. Nathifa was a successful salt merchant, who owned several mines in the eastern deserts. He needed workers with small frames to dig.
A salt mine is the abyss on Golarian. Imagine a pit of darkness, full of jagged rocks, encrusted with salt, in the heart of a desert. This was my home for many years, as I grew from a frail child into a toned young man.
One day, I was confronted by Nathifa. He called me lazy and stupid. I retaliated, by calling him a coward. Enraged, he decided he would send me to participate in his favorite pastime: The blood pits.
The blood pits are a type of arena held in an isolated part of the desert. There, slave owners offer up combatants for the amusement of the crowds and to make a profit if their slave is successful. I was only fifteen, and had never held a sword, or killed a man.
I should have died there, in those pits. I think a part of me did. Somehow, my body survived, and I became a skilled warrior. Whatever grievances Nathifa had against me, he knew I could net him a profit as long as I fought and survived.
I don't know how long I could have lasted there. To my salvation, a band of Andorans attacked the bloodpits and freed me.
For saving my life and my soul, and to free all who pull the yoke of Qadir, I pledge my allegiance to Andor!

Other details: Trogdor is an orc word meaning "pit fighter". Many of the warriors of the blood pits were half orc, so the name stuck. In his first fight, Trogdor was not given a weapon. Trogdor was forced to use the chains that bound his hands to defend himself.
Trogdor continues to wield the spiked chain as a representation of his cause: as long as the Qadir slave trade continues to flourish, he can never be truly free.