Lirr
Barbarian Warrior of Halas
Growing up, I told everyone that I wanted to be a Rogue. I ran the streets with all of the other young urchins, and stole more than a few chunks of meat from McDaniel's. I fancied I'd be the best Rogue the chilly streets of Halas had ever seen.
It was one clear and unusually cold day when Yuran McLurkan took a swing at me. Down we went in a flurry of fists and fur-skinned kilts right in front of building that housed the renowned Wolves of the North. We were scrapping over pretty Mora Lyngwen; such a cute thing she was with her red braids and freckles; Yuran later married her. At the time, however, she belonged to no one, but I had it in my stubborn head that she belonged to me. It was Dargon McPherson himself that pulled us apart. He took one look at the bloody mess I'd made of Yuran, and sent him running home. He took me inside, doused a rag with a splash of ale and pressed it against the scratch on my cheek. It was my only mark from the fight. He told me I had it in me to make a great Warrior. I told him I'd have none of that – I was going to be a Rogue. He asked that I let myself be trained for one week, and see if I took a liking to it.
Two years later, Dargon had taught me the basics of becoming a strong and powerful Warrior, and I am forever indebted to him for seeing my potential when I was blind to it. My allegiance is sworn to the Wolves of the North under the blessing of Mithaniel Marr.