Quar Thalas - Emanuel's Half-Orc Barbarian

I am Quar, but I am unworthy of even that name. It used to be a name that I was proud of, a name that would be yelled across a battlefield and all would quake with fear and respect. Now it is an empty vessel into which pour all my sorrows at those things that I have lost. This has not always been the case, although it seems like an eternity since it was otherwise. I was born a chieftain's son, of the Black-Spire clan in the mountains of the South March. A strong clan with many a tale and song of our great deeds. My father was a strong and respected leader with many battle scars, and even more skulls in his trophy hall. I was raised in the expectation that I would win the tribe from him and lead our people to greater glory as a chieftain's son should.

While preparing to take my place in the clan I decided to take the wife of a great warrior I slew in single combat. Grazaa bore me a son, and I named him Etsëza or "Hand of Fate." I was content with my brood, and my exploits as a warrior were growing steadily. And then they came…

At first we heard rumors that tribes to the North were either being destroyed or disappearing. We assembled a scouting party and sent them to investigate… they never returned. Then we heard rumors of wars to the East, and the coming of a great cataclysm. My father came to me and said "Quar, it is your duty as First Spear to ride forth and meet this evil before it comes to our very fire pits. Take three warriors and go, and may Kahaúd guide your point!" With that I bid my wife and child goodbye and set out toward the high passes.

We ran through the mountains and attempted to avoid unnecessary confrontation until we dropped down into the Sataz valley. What we saw there made us grit our teeth and throats go dry. Where there once had been a lush and well populated valley there now squatted a charred and barren landscape. Sprinting down the mountainside we made for the closest remains of a village. In the charred and twisted wreckage we discovered few bodies and no survivors. The inhabitants seemed to have fled or been taken away, and the damage done was immense. Then I found some tracks leading north out of the blasted village, and we followed in hot pursuit.

As you may well guess we discovered that the Dragons had come, and had allied with some of the Northern clans. They were going from village to village and those who did not join them were put to the sword and burned to the ground. The Sataz valley was made an example of what happens when one resisted the will of the mighty wyrms. Not wanting to return empty handed we decided to raid a small outpost and return with some Dargonling sculls. They turned out to be a greater foe then we had expected, and all three of my companions fell in glorious battle! I fled with the heads of three of the creatures and they followed my path in hot pursuit.

They are the most efficient trackers that I have ever known. I set all manner of traps, and I employed all the tricks of evasion and ambush that I have learned from the Beast Hunters of our clan. For three weeks they drove me before them until I finally returned to the lands of my tribe. Looking across the plain I saw in horror a giant plume of smoke rising from my ancestral lands. When I came to the outskirts of my village I saw to my relief that most of the dwellings were still in tact. The fire seemed to be coming from the center fire pit, and I rushed through the vacant buildings toward the conflagration.

Most of the village was congregated around the central pit, my father standing at their head. Looming above them was the largest creature I had ever seen. It was twice the size of the Urthull Giant that I had slain two winters hence. The serpentine creature's large black eyes beamed an unmistakable intelligence that stood in stark contrast to its savage black body. Wings that could have encompassed a house were neatly folded and resting on the carapaced back.

"Father, I have returned!" I yelled, holding up the heads of the Dragonlings. "But I am hotly perused. What is this foul creature that dares invade the lands of the Black-Spire?" At that the dragon hissed and rose to its full height of nearly three stories. Dropping the heads I unfurled my clutch of spears.

"Quar, stand down!" Rumbled my father. "We have forged a pact with the wyrm, and you will honor my command!" This I could not refuse, even though my blood rose at it. Just then the Dragonlings that were perusing me seized upon me from behind and dragged me over to kneel before their master. They conversed in an alien tongue for some length and finally seemed to come to some resolution. One of the Dragonlings approached my father and as it spoke his face became ashen color.

"They say you have killed one of them, my son."
"Nay father, I have killed three… and two more could not have lived much longer." I could sense the sorrow in my father's eyes, but then he became resolute.
"They demand a sacrifice."
"I am ready," I said bearing my head high, "but lend me a spear so I might die in battle."
"I am sorry my son, but you are not the price that they demand." With that he turned back to the Dragonling and nodded his head. The vile creature entered the crowd and to my horror brought forth my child and its mother. "The Black Dragon Azull Tear demands a sacrifice. Who will witness?"
"No father, I will accept their fate! I will witness for myself." But he did not listen, and in that moment his strength in my eyes had failed. The great beast seemingly impatient with our tradition belched a geyser of flame and wrenched Grazaa and my dear Etsëza from the earth. Without any ceremony or delay the vile beast tore the child from her breast and rent her head from her body. Then it took to its wings and flew with my poor babe still clutched in its black hand. My poor Etsëza never uttered a sound.

I felt the hands of my clansmen propping me up, and I stared in a daze at the now darkening sky. Suddenly the spirit of Kahaúd gripped my body and I was the instrument of his rage. Lunging for my spears I broke through the circle of warriors that stood about me. Frantically looking about I spotted the five Dragonlings that were quitting the village. With a cry of rage and sorrow I hurled my first spear and charged into their midst. What followed I can not easily recount, but this I do know… when it was over I stood above their battered and broken bodies, while my own blood mingled with their already spent fluids. It was well done, but my spirit was not yet quenched. With all my strength I uttered the challenge:

"Hatath zaruk taull! Hatath zaruk xallac!" The crowd parted with a hush to reveal my father standing tall at the other side.

"Zaruk taull, zaruk taull," he replied as we approached. Then we embraced for the final time as father and son. He held me for a long moment and then we stepped back.

After it was done I was cast out. They branded me "Thalas," an Elfling word for patricide, made all the more vile by the use of the sylvan tongue. I had refused to head the tribe, but I had taken the life of the chieftain. For this I had doomed them to be absorbed by the other clans, and Black-Spire would be no more. I told myself that it was because they had refused to take up arms against the invaders, and thus had shown their weakness. But in my heart I knew that it was because they stood by and let my son be taken.

I have sworn to find my son, and if he is not alive I have sworn to revenge myself against Azull Tear, and all his kind. They have taken the world of men and Elves, and even cowed the world of Orc to their will. But I am not cowed! As long as life doth beat in my breast, I will not rest until they have been brought down and made to pay.

I will journey to the North, into their great cities. I will learn their ways, and how to defeat them. I will once again raise the banner of the Black-Spire clan, I am Quar… and I fear nothing.

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