Ghormm

Beginnings

Ghormm was born into the Duskaxe tribe, amid the vast, wind-scoured plains of the Hythorean Steppes. For millennia, his people had followed the slow rhythms of migrating herds and ancient stars, living off the land in harmony with nature.

Life on the steppes was harsh but honest. It was normal for boys to learn to hunt from a young age, and Ghormm proved himself particularly early—strong-limbed, broad-shouldered and possessed of a stubborn endurance that marked him as a future champion.

As he grew into a young man, his skill with a greataxe became unmatched within the Duskaxe tribe. The tribal elders taught him that the spirits of the land watched over him, as they did for all who fought with honour. That belief would be tested during what should have been a typical hunting expedition.

Bloodied Servitude

Separated from his kin while tracking game, Ghormm was ambushed by foreign slavers. After fighting off a dozen of them, he was finally subdued and placed in shackles.

Beaten and marched to the verge of death, he was brought to the Ankharan capital of Aldebaran. There, a merchant by the name of Christoff Tallstag was quick to purchase Ghormm, seeing a great deal of potential in the caged savage. Together, they travelled south-east across the desert sands, until the pair arrived at the bejewelled oasis of Silver Citadel.

Silver Citadel was a city of marble and gold, of towering spires and endless pleasures. At its heart stood a monolithic colosseum, where Christoff swiftly put Ghormm’s talent for violence to use. In the arena, he fought ferociously—weathering blows that would fell lesser men and answering them with devastating brutality. Christoff’s purse swelled as the crowds roared Ghormm’s name.

In the quiet moments between fights, Ghormm managed to find fleeting comfort. He felt camaraderie with his fellow gladiators, such as Kevin the Breathtaking, a flamboyant fighter whose theatrics contrasted sharply with the barbarian's bloodthirsty efficiency.

Ghormm also found warmth in the arms of Gertrudt Berilan, a travelling dancer whose kindness cut through the cruelty of his daily existence. Their romance was brief but sincere—a fragment of joy in a city gilded by suffering.

A Fateful Confrontation

After years in the arena, Ghormm had earned a fearsome reputation for specialising in the arena’s most dangerous game. Many exotic beasts from distant lands left their mark—but none were deeper than those left by a triceratops.

The battle was merciless. Horns rended flesh, rage overcame instinct. Ghormm was gored, trampled and very nearly bested. Yet in the beast’s eyes, as it bellowed in defiance, he felt something unexpected: kinship.

When the tide turned and the beast finally fell, he claimed a shard of its broken horn. In time, he fashioned it into a flute; a personal totem and reminder of his connection to the spirits of the land.

Moved by respect, and having earned his money back many times over, Christoff chose to release his slave from servitude. Ghormm accepted his freedom—then went on to continue his gladiatorial career. He began training under Blake Welfer, a retired champion whose scarred wisdom tempered Ghormm’s untethered fury into something more disciplined.

Life was finally looking up. Then came the night the sky fell.

The Fall of Silver Citadel

One evening, as Ghormm fought before a screaming crowd, the colosseum was shaken by a massive blast. A supernatural army of winged beasts and skeletal horrors descended upon Silver Citadel, led by a powerful, unknown sorcerer whose magicks seemed to warp reality itself. Screams of excitement turned to terror as chunks of the arena collapsed, vile spells tearing through the stands and fleeing spectators alike.

Ghormm fought with all the strength he could muster, cleaving any beasts which got within reach of his greataxe. Sadly, his efforts were in vain, as a falling piece of masonry knocked him unconscious.

He awoke hours later, broken, bloodied and buried under rubble. When he emerged, the sorcerer and his army were nowhere to be seen, and they had left only destruction in their wake.

Silver Citadel was gone. All Ghormm had was lost, with no bodies to bury and no answers to claim. From that day onward, he carried a unyielding distrust of sorcerers, seeing them as little more than debased villains.

Now, he wanders the world—a towering warrior fueled by an inexorable rage smouldering behind his eyes. Somewhere, the sorcerer who destroyed Silver Citadel still draws breath, and Ghormm will be there to witness his last.