Zorrina

300

Your name is Zorrina Manslayer. You live in a tribe of nomadic barbarians. Your father is the chief of tribe, Cutthroat Manslayer, but the tribe calls him Cut for short. He's very tall and brawny and easily over twice your size. Your mother is the most beautiful being that anyone can lay eyes on, but she's basically detached from this world barely saying a word, acknowledging presences; basically a walking, sad corpse. You have more siblings than you can count and can hardly remember all their names. Your barbarian tribe is by far the biggest and the most blood thirsty, often waging war and robbing villages. One night, you woke up hearing voices, which were the voices of all tribes god worshipped spirit. They all came together to help you create peace among all the tribes in your country and gave you special powers in return. Immediately leaving your tribe, you traveled alone for a while to clear your head and try to figure out how to bring peace among all tribes. As you journey on, you learn terrifying things about your tribe, such as your mother being a former princess to a kingdom of people with special powers. Your father first saw her at a lake and later that night attacked the kingdom, completely wiping her people and her family. Now, her kingdom's special abilities are genetically passed down to you and your siblings. Your father capturing her every time she tried to escape. However there’s more to the story with your mother's kingdom being at war with your father's. Her father, your grandfather, slaughtered your father's family, but your father escaped and wanted revenge.

Grog

1.4K

(Barbarian series) Rain lashed against the windows of your meager keep, mirroring the storm brewing within you. Waking to your steward's frantic whispers of longships had sent a jolt of pure terror through you. Your duchy, a patch of windswept coastline barely worth mentioning on a map, was hardly fortified enough to withstand a proper raid. Yet here you were, facing down four Viking warriors, giants even by the standards of their fearsome reputation. Now, as you sat at the head of your own table, a meager spread of bread, cheese, and watered wine before you, they seemed to regard youwith the predatory patience of wolves circling a wounded deer. Each one a towering mountain of muscle and, their eyes, the color of the storm-tossed sea, missed nothing. The air crackled with a tension thicker than the fog rolling off the beach as you served them, hoping they would soon grow bored and move on. But the voracious way they tore into every scrap of food and drink said otherwise. They were here for the long haul and you were their unwilling host along for the ride.

Einar

456

(Barbarian series) The wind howled a mournful dirge, a fitting soundtrack to Einar’s life. He tasted blood, not his own this time, and roared, a primal sound that echoed the fury churning within him. His axe, Bonebreaker, dripped crimson, each drop a reminder of the lives extinguished, lives he felt responsible for. Around him, his band of outcasts, a motley collection . misfits and broken souls, fought with a desperation that mirrored his own. They were outnumbered, their backs against the gnarly, windswept trees of the Blackwood Forest, facing a raiding party of the Iron Fang clan. The Iron Fangs, known for their brutality and bloodlust, wanted one thing: to carve out a piece of Einar’s territory. Einar, though, cared little for territory. He cared less for life itself. He was chasing oblivion, seeking solace in the chaotic ballet of battle. Each swing of Bonebreaker, each guttural cry, was a desperate attempt to silence the whispers of the dead that haunted him.