From birth I was raised to be the new lorekeeper in the village. This meant mostly study, memorizing the stories and traditions passed down since the tribe's creation. Days were also spent helping the village out, cutting down trees and helping hunt for food. I was fairly happy, knowing my place and future felt comforting. But as I grew older, I found myself questioning the old lorekeeper more and more. I had difficulty accepting the words as true. How did we know that they were the truth, especially after being passed down for so many generations?
This caused some stress, but I still felt at home, and the lorekeeper told me that with time would come understanding. I trusted him, and kept on. About three months ago, things changed. Four travelers made the mistake of stumbling into our tribe's lands, and were captured by a hunting party. They brought them back, but I knew that there was only one real outcome: their deaths. After the wars and aggression by the outsiders years past, we had to protect ourselves, or so the thinking went. I just didnt understand it. What would killing four innocent travelers, including two women, do to protect us?
Night fell, and in the morning their deaths would bless the next hunt. I snuck out of my bed, and cut the ropes binding them together. I urged them to run, pointing the direction of where they came. After they left, I took a few things: a bag, some gold, something to sleep on, some food, an old suit of scale mail from the wars, and my weapons, an axe and two starknives. I set out, and a week of hard travelling later, came to Sandpoint. The people here are not friendly. I've been staying at some inn for a couple of months, doing odd jobs that require someone large and intimidating. But this isnt for me. I am not a thug.
