Legends of Belariath
Zoltaire
As the barbarian walks among the foothills his mind drifts back to what had brough him here. His brow furrows as he considers the strange phrases that have brought him here. He looks out at the forest and fields below from his elevated position, his long, shaggy mane of black hair blowing slightly in the wind, matched by the billowing of his wolfskin cloak. He trudges down the hill pondering where he should go.
Born upon the date of a solar eclipse to son of the chieftan, Zoltaire was heralded to the world with a strange prophesy delivered by the wisemen admist a raging blizzard. A prophesy of which he was unaware until he had seen the winter come and go twenty times. The wisemen of the tribe had regarded the child and said "He shall walk the flatlands and he shall walk with death or else he shall be no more. From 20 winters until death, he shall not see the mountains until he looks past the mortal coil. The mark be upon this one." The aged barbarian with his long white beard had delivered this statement as his eyes drifted to the distance, as though watching something that was not visible to the naked eye. The ceremonially garbed shamen had gathered around their aged teacher, one stooping to scrawl down his words upon a scrape of parchment. The child's parents regarded the wisemen with a touch of suspicion in their timbered domicile, before nodding with a touch of reluctance accepting that fate was merely being delivered to them via its herald. As the aged barbarian turned, leaning heavily upon his cane, he paused stating "Say nothing of this until he must leave." With a curt nod of his head he left stepping into the swirl of ice and snow, trudging through the snow snow towards the temple.
Zoltaire grew like the child of any warrior in his tribe learning the ways of war. First begining with nothing more than hands of feet, he learned the explosive brawling style of his people, thrusting with elbows and knee, shin and forearms: every part of his body to be considered a weapon. The tomahawk like hammer was the first weapon he was introduced to, as nothing more than a youth his arms became wiry with muscle from the strain of using the then heavy weapon. With age the spear soon followed, the thrusts and paries of the long weapon adding to the lines of callouses upon his palms. His hand and eyes becoming as one as he casted the spear innumerous times as a crudely fashioned target. As his skill progressed and his strength increased the axe and sword became famaliar to his graspe, learning the patterns of arches, slinces, cuts, thrusts with fluid ease. Learning to feel the blade as an extension of his arm as he danced with the weapon - striking and counterstriking, letting his mind focus upon nothing but the battle before him becoming a true warrior of his people in the very essence of his being.
As he learned the ways of the warrior he spent his time tromping through the hills and vales of his native northland. Finding his way through the paths of the mountain side, stalking animals through the forest laden hills. Time being the best teacher in this respect, developing an ease with the world about him as he moved through nature. His bulky, broad shouldered frame learning to make but a whisper as he past through the brush and forestry finding the prey he sought. Quickly becoming a man in the eyes of his tribe as he hunted and slew his first wolf during his adolesence, earning the tatoo of a wolf's paw upon his left bicep.
Grown in skill and wood lore, and now a man he was accepted into the circles of the warriors of the Wolves' Blood Clan. Joining the other youthful warrior in their drills and mock battles, while at the same time learning from the experience of the aging greybeards, vetrans of clan wars and extensive raids. Learning the tricks that had kept them alive to see grey streak their hair. Soon he began to join the raids into the flatlands, giving him his first taste of battle. Outlaying towns and villages being overwhelmed with the savage fury inherient in the hearts of every barbarian, the men who stood their ground easily cut down, while women, valuables and livestock where carried off back to the village. It was at this time a mailed man,undoubtably one of the towns constables, approached Zoltaire cursing at the barbarian as he comrades fell around him, his sword cleaving through the air as his eyes screamed for vengence. Zoltaire snarled in response, ducking and weaving from the sword's clumsy slice, his spear darting towards the the chest of the flatlander. Piercing the mail of the attacking man, the spear point drove into his breast, his life's blood gushing forth in a crimson deluge staining the ground before him. With a gaspe the defiant flatlander fell, and with that the barbarian had killed his first enemy. After the raid a second tatoo of a wolf's paw came to grace his right forearm.
Days became monthes and monthes became years, the hunting, training and raiding continued as he killed, looted and pillaged in a manner contenting his barbaric heart. With the respect of his peers and a promising future all seemed well to the barbarian...however soon it became the 20th winter since his birth and his cryptic prophesy was revealed to him. Zoltaire's reaction was one of shock and dismay..to leave to travel among the lands of the inferiors inconcievable. But it struck him that the wisemen had always displayed a slightly unusual interest in him, speaking much of the gods, the stars and the fates. With the grim acceptence of one knowing that prophecy cannot be escaped, he gathered what scarce possession he could carry upon his back. Saying his farewells to his friends and family...with a promise to return when he could, he set off upon the mountain paths familair to him since he was but a boy. Traveling through day and night as he trudged with determination to move on, filled with sorrow and raging against the fates as cool wind whipped against his face. Each powerful stride of his legs brough him closer to the foot hills. Finding these hills he decended from even their meager elevation, entering the forests of the flatlands searching for the answers he sought, selling the strength of his arm to cover the costs of his travels, and after monthes of travel stumbling upon a strange and lonely inn.