Dirge

Race: Tiefling
Class: Warlord

Dirge was abandoned by his human mother at birth. She was a serving
wench at a small tavern outside of the Nentir Vale, and was raped when
a small party of Tiefling raiders attacked the small village. She was
horrified by the abomination she’d given birth to, and left it to the
wolves. A young female militia member from House Azaer stumbled across
him, and took him with her.

The young boy, first named Erabog, was raised by the militia, and was
put through his paces per the instruction of the House. He was taught
the use of weaponry, armor, and bare-fisted brawling, usually by being
on the receiving end of training blows by the paid militia members. As
he grew, the abuse against him increased, and his anger and darkness
grew until he snapped and severely beat three young trainees with
their shields and wooden swords to the point that they were no longer
fit to be part of the group.

Rather than being punished for this, the head of House Azaer took the
young Tiefling boy into his confidence, and started teaching him more
about the history of House Azaer, and of the history of Bael Turath.
He soaked up the information, asking for more stories, or books he
could read (once he was taught how), so that he could know more of his
own past. This led to him becoming interested in the history of other
cultures, and other creatures. His favorite things to learn about were
military history stories. He would sit enraptured at the stories of
the militia (who had been directed to take him on as a trainee, much
to their dismay) about past fights and such. He would ask why they
made decisions, and, when not told to shut up, follow up with
questions as to why they didn’t decide to do something different.

The young woman, Zina, who had rescued him as a baby was now a captain
in the merchant militia, and had come to realize that maybe Erabog had
heretofore unknown abilities. She put together a training exercise
that would allow her to test her theories out. She split the young
trainees of the group into two miniature companies, one led by Erabog.
She told them that they were to hide a chest somewhere in their camp,
and then, when ready, attempt to capture and take the opposite
company’s chest to their base. She started the exercise, and quickly,
Erabog’s company found its niche, with Erabog at their center. He
would call out for his teammates to go in various directions,
splitting up and regrouping as necessary to push their opponents away
from the chest, and to keep them occupied.

As Erabog was about to grab the opposing team’s chest, an arrow buried
itself in the ground near his feet. He looked up, and one of the human
sergeants was pointing his crossbow at him. “I don’t care what Azaer
says, you little monster, I will not let you make any of my people
look foolish any longer.” The man placed another arrow in the
crossbow, and pulled it back to lock it into place.

“Captain, flank him!” Erabog ducked and ran straight at the man,
diving to the side as he shot. The arrow took him in the calf, but he
had enough momentum to pick up a short sword that lay in the
belongings of one of the recruits. He dove back the other direction,
and as the captain came up along side the would-be killer, he swung
low, biting the sword into the man’s knee, driving him to the ground.
The captain swung her warhammer and shattered the man’s wrist, forcing
him to drop the crossbow. Erabog stood on one leg, and pointed the
sword at the man’s throat. “Give me one good reason not to kill you
now,” he growled.

“Because I said you shouldn’t, young man,” said Zina. “I think there’s
a better lesson for him to learn here. His camp is over there,” she
said, pointing towards one of the tents. “It’s now yours. As is this
crossbow,” she said, handing him the crossbow over the pained protests
of the wounded man. “I won’t give you his commission… you haven’t
earned that yet. However, he doesn’t deserve it either. Terren, you
are hereby demoted to private. Erabog, you’re promoted to private
first class.”

With that, Erabog started to train himself in the art of tactical
warfare. Soon thereafter, he changed his name to Dirge, as a
reflection of the music intrinsic to his favorite topics.

Emotionally, Dirge does not trust anyone quickly. He is always
suspicious, and will rarely open up about himself. In battle, Dirge is
decisive, but realizes that he doesn’t know everything yet about
battle, so is willing to have his decisions questions… after the
battle is fought. In the heat of the fight is not the right time to do
so. Physically, Dirge is about average human height, but quite
muscular, with a number of scars, including the circular scar on his
leg from the crossbow bolt. His skin is brick red, and his facial
horns are in the shape of what would appear to be a beard on a human,
tipped with ivory. His eyes are solid gray, and his hair is so black,
it turns blue in sections. He keeps his hair to the top of his neck,
so as to prevent any problems from enemies grabbing it in battle.