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Ambrovia
Profile: Ambrovia is quite tall and of a medium build. He is shaved bald except for the braided hair on his chin. Ambrovia's eyes are so dark green they look black unless they are seen in direct sunlight. Black leather, loose fitting pants, accompanied by stout leather boots, a loose, clean, white button up shirt and a black leather knee length coat with matching broad brimmed hat are the clothing of this lonely swordsman, whose life has no roads. He rides the horse given to him by his father. His pale hands grasp the reigns with no real purpose, for his horse is highly trained and responds with his masters every movement. Well mannered and polite, he is charming, but his swift and sure reactions make him a deadly opponent. Biography: My mother died when I was very young. I don't really know the specifics, but I think it was complications from giving birth to me. I grew up learning to swing a hammer by my father’s side as we traveled from place to place. He had been a blacksmith since he was able to walk, hearing it from him. Nonetheless, he was good at what he did. He even made the armour for many Kings and Lords. We went from town to town, from city to city, earning our way by working at the forge. He said that staying at one place too long always wore out your welcome, but I think if he got too comfortable at any one place he might settle down with another woman that was not my mother. It was very evident that he loved her very much. He taught me the ways of the world from the time I was able to understand his words. He spoke many languages and understood many different cultures, all of which he taught me. One day he grew ill while we were in Shienar. He was aging quickly. He finally decided that it was time to make a home for us. He built us a house with his own hands and only me for help. Off the western side of the house he built a forge, where he honed my skills in the art of making the sword, armour, and shoes for the horses he had acquired after making Armour for a Lord in Saldaea. He had begun teaching me the skills of a hunter at a very tender age, so that I may never be hungry. Now he taught me how to grow the food that would sustain us, being we were not traveling anymore. I was in the forge creating my masterpiece sword on the last day of his life. A Trolloc came from, it seemed, nowhere. It struck my father down in his initial charge. I came from the fires with my glowing white sword to see my father fall at its feet. I was numb. The Trolloc turned to me and grinned. It took one step. Two. Before he could take the third step, I had my burning sword buried in its heaving chest. The stench was great. Every detail swirled in my vision. I felt something well up inside
me. I pushed it out through the sword that had become one with my arms.
Lightening shot out from my iron extension exploding the Trolloc into
pulp, lighting up the dusk sky with a brilliant light that my eyes could
not bear to look at or turn away from. I have since moved on to becoming
a traveler once again, learning the world in a whole new prospective,
killing the evil where I may.
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