Sunder, the Awakened Warforged, DECEASED

Traveling through lands torn and burned by war, a group of surviving Asherians paused their flight. In the ruin of war and the riddance of life; there was a warforged. It's core still in one piece, it's arm outstretched, asking quietly and calmly for help, as it lie beneath the wreckage of a dominion trebuchet. Intrigued, and interested in its possible use, the Asherians freed the warforged from its heavy grave and marched it along with them to their destination of refuge. After being freed, the warforged ceased its asking for help and quietly followed orders.   As time went on, the warforged would begin to wander from its assigned post or looking at animals or flowers while seeming to daydream. He even began questioning the reason and need for certain tasks and would start to decide on his own if he would obey. He found that he very much loved spending time with people. However, they seemed fearful of him. He began to find a clever way to spend time with people and also tame their fear a little. Blacksmithing allowed him to have some interactions with people. Shoeing their horses, making slight changes for a custom part, and even the simple nail and bit orders offered something.   One memorable day, a local kobold was speaking in an unknown language to the dragonborn smith Sunder worked under. Though it was draconic, he understood it. He didn't know why but he understood the new words and their meaning. Other strange things would come to his mind. Especially a memory, vague, but the words clear.    "We vowed to bring them asunder. So bring them to us! Go. Run them down and tear them limb from limb if need be!"    He thought long and hard on these words. "Perhaps I am meant to sunder things. Perhaps I am Sunder."    Many obviously did not like the fact that this creation of war had begun to have its own will. Let alone name itself and ask to be called such. Those who refused to address him as Sunder often game him demeaning nicknames. Having been used as a scarecrow at one point, the nickname "Crow" seemed to settle among some. Sunder is very passionate about his work as a blacksmith and his dabbling in music. He is so very grateful for his Second Breath and attributes this to the people here collectively. He would likely do anything to protect them. It saddens him to not be loved in the same way. He knows he is feared, apparently created to kill and hunt their own people. But that was when he was brainless. Sunder desired to be respected and a friend to these people. They are his family and their approval means the world to him.   Recently, a presence has been manifesting itself. A rage, a fury, a sadness. Sunder doesn't know what it means entirely yet. However, Sunder is noticing that arcane knowledge has come to him easily, and has been able to twist and control this presence within him. Able to imbue weapons with that anger and extend it out towards a target. Such wild and ferocious magics don't please Sunder. He doesn't want to harm. However, a lingering worry keeps him focused on crafting his own magic, armor, and weapons should the Asherians need his protection. Perhaps becaise of this malicious presence, Sunder has taken interest in religion and learning of the gods. He sees to find his place and hopes the gods can steer him well.   Interests include smithing, games, music, competition, and reading. If someone couldn't find Sunder smithing, they could surely find him haggling someone for use of their books or scrolls. Offering them work and labor in exchange.   Sunder is noticeably curious and intrigued easily. He will often try and sit with the militia to hear of their stories and laughter. Sunder has been seen several times trying to talk to anyone passing, now and then, a child might engage in harmless conversation with Sunder, until a worried adult comes cursing and screaming to protect their child. Sunder's favorite memory is of learning to smith hardened steel. Something that took some reading and experimenting. Still not swift in his skill with it, he has only made some equivalent of brass knuckles and a rather fine short sword. He seeks to one day make his heavier scale mail into something that is also more refined. Currently, he is working on a rapier. Seeking to find the right blend of carbon and heat for a strong and thin blade. Very difficult. This will require a refined steel. Sunder's most loathed memory is of being a scarecrow in a field. Chasing some birds away as he has been commanded. Having done so with success, a painful thud hit his head from behind. Turning, some children and an adult were lobbing stones and yelling at him. He was doing what was asked. So, why was he being punished? This memory still comes now and then. Reminding him that, though he feels a love for this land and people, no one is 100% good.