Barrak was born in the city of Caer Morda near the end of its 100 year war with the elves of the Toralli woods. His father was often away defending the wall of the city leaving him without any male role models. His mother, in an attempt to curb his wild streak he was developing, would often send him out to speak with the local artisans in the hopes he would want to learn a trade. Everytime he left however, he would head towards the taverns and listen to the tales of the soldiers off duty imagining himself fighting in battle and shedding the blood of his enemies.
By the time he turned 30 the war had been over for 10 years and life was boring. His father had attempted to teach him fighting, but Barrak lacked the discipline to master his father's axe. He spent every day wandering the caverns near his home hoping for action. On one trip he got his wish. An umber hulk burst forth from the wall next to him and in a fit of rage smashed Barrak in his gut dropping him like a sack of mushrooms. Looking up in pain, he believed his life to be over. A primal scream echoed throughout the cavern and the umber hulk turned from its meal to face a new threat. A flurry of limbs and blade rained down upon the monster till it fled back down the tunnel it came from. The last thing Barrak recalled was a the smell of rotten goat milk mixed with alcohol being poured down his throat before losing consciousness.
Barrak awoke feeling ill, and found the taste of bile upon his lips. Opening his eyes he found he was in an unfamiliar home. The smell of rotten goat milk filled the air and he quickly leaned over the bed, emptying the contents of his stomach upon the floor. A voice rang out, echoing in his ears, "Your going to clean that mess up lad." Searching for the speaker he saw an old dwarf sitting on a stool mixing the milk with what looked like fermented mushrooms. Slowly rising he looked at the old dwarf, "Who in the nine hells are you old timer?" The old dwarf stopped his work and with a barely visible smile looked at Barrak. "Clean up the mess first lad, then we'll talk." Barrak shook his head, got up and headed for the door. "Clean it yourself! I'm out of here." Barrak couldn't even follow the old man's movements. One moment he was on his stool, the next he had Barrak by the back of his head and was using his beard to mop up the vomit. "Now then, the name is Zerak and before we continue you should wash up."
Zerak turned out to be a retired battlerager. His rough appearance and course attitude in his youth had gotten him banished from Caer Morda. Despite how quickly Barrak fell to the umber hulk he saw in his attitude the potential to become a battlerager. For the next 15 years he trained with Zerak and eventually mastered the rough fighting style of the battleragers. At 45, he had learned all he could and so he left and headed for the human settlement of Washburn to try to gain employment as a mercenary. He had heard tales from Zerak of the treasures that adventurers could gain by heading into ancient crypts and tombs.
Washburn turned out to be the worst mistake of Barrak's life. When he arrived a series of gruesome murders were committed. The townsfolk were in a frenzy and lashed out at any and all strangers. Barrak was accosted by the guard and lost control, his rage overpowering him. When he came to his senses 4 of the town guard lay dead and a group of paladins from the nearby temple of St.Cuthbert and took him in to custody. A sham of a trial was held and he was found guilty of the earlier murders as well as the deaths of the town guardsmen. He was sentenced to be sent to prison island, where he would never again be able to harm another innocent.
The boat was moving slowly up and down with the waves of the ocean causing Barrak to lose his lunch. This ocean was worse on his stomach than old Zerak's gutshaker drinks. Looking at his flask, he swallowed a small mouthful of alcohol hoping it would ease his stomach somewhat. As he put it away he wondered if he would be able to ever get more alcohol. He doubted this prison island he was being sent to would have a brewry. At least they left him his weapons and armor. Looking out at the horizon his heart began to ache as the reality of his situation began to sink in....
