Name: Shannow 'Bladebiter' Gromath
Race: Cimmerian
Age: 21
Rank: Theroshan
Clan: Balance
Description: Shannow is of a medium build, and medium strength and mass. However, the gleam in his eye, and the dark red patches in his Ginger mane betray the mind behind the man. He strides with purpose, with that of one who does justice for whatever cause followed. Justice, by the sword. Dressed in fairly minimal clothing, nothing more than a girdle and boots, and his blade to keep the cold away. On occasion, he may be seen wearing a black cloak, also stained with the blood of his enemies. A scar can be seen on either side of his mouth, if one looks beneath the beard.
Background: Shannow Gromath was born into an angry world. His mother gave birth to him aboard a Stygian slave ship, where he was taken instantly by the dusky skinned bastards and raised as a sacrifical beast. The only times his mother was able to hold her babe, was when she suckled him. They channeled their energies into him, fed him, clothed him, gave him weapons with which to fight. He was forced into bloodsports at the amusement of Stygian noblemen, egged on to tear his opponents apart by hand after killing them with an assortment of brutal weapons. The blood from this arena flowed down channels, to a great altar to the Serpent God, Set. Those baleful eyes that blazed from the serpent's portals shadowed the life of Shannow, as he ripped and tore his way through cadavers. At the age of 11, a monstrous moment occured that severed Shannows last ties to sanity and morality forever. Into the death pit was thrust his mother, already beaten to bloody ruin. Left no choice, he did only what he could do. He ended his own mothers life on that arena floor, her blood feeding the altar of the serpent god. From the dessicated corpse, Gromath removed a rib. From the rib of his mother, life was given again to this young man.
Months passed, and Shannow lay mute. Mute, but not idle. Bloodied fingernails scraped at the rib, sharpening it to a point. He fed, he excercised, and became stronger and stronger. Yet more sacrifices were thrown into the pit with him, yet more blood flowed onto the altar. Finally, at the age of 15, Shannows time came. The iron bars of his cell squealed open once again, for him to be taken to the arena. In a gargantuan effort of will and strength, the Cimmerian overpowered the guard, using the rib to penetrate deeply into its chainmail. Again, and again, the links shattered, until a bloody, gaping hole was rent in the chest of the guard. Shannow loped off down the hallway, into the arena floor. The bastard Stygians clapped, and whistled. A frail boy stood before him, the days sacrifice to Set. Whimpering, pleading, the boy was drenched in piss and tears. Shannow spits, and tenses, eyes narrowed. Running towards the corner of the wall, Shannow bounds up, using his massive legs to thrust upwards, and into the arena seating. Screams all around, shouting from guards, whimpering from the boy. The Stygians are no match for Shannows arms, and he smashs them aside with ease, relish even. Cutting a bloody swathe through the confused milling crowd, Gromath finds his target. The Stygian that imprisoned his mother, who laughed as he was forced to kill her, to kill all those men, women and children. Now this man defecates himself, and a foul stench fills Shannows nostrils. The Cimmerian laughs at this display, and jumps from the seats, grasping the Stygian, into the arena floor. He marches, pointedly, towards the statue of Set. Through the dusty arena, and the bloodstained channels leading to the altar. The stygian whimpers, like a newborn goat. They reach the altar, The Barbarian lifts the Stygian high. With a beastial roar, the dusky skinned tyrant is thrust onto the statue, blood and bone erupting forth from his silken garbed chest, where a snakes head now protrudes. Blood drips, gushes from the fatal wound, organs floundering like fish on dry land. With another roar, Shannow takes the rib of his mother, and thrusts it through the Stygians head, shattering the skull in two.
In the chaos, escape was simple. Slipping over a wall, down some alleyways, to the docks, Gromath procured a ship. Not knowing how to sail, the crew were simply scared into submission by his bloodstained, fury maddened bulk. And so they sailed onward, towards Tortage, and a new dawn for Shannow Gromath…
