Covered in spikes, heavily scarred, and seemingly piecemeal.
Eleven years ago, I was forged in Cyre to fight in the Last War. I was given the name Axeman 3-17, being that I was built to wield an axe, and “3-17” referring to my field position. Just prior to being deployed for a mission, my caretaker, an artificer named Sachmo, was roughly pulled aside by some higher ranking officers. My eyes were drawn to the skirmish. I saw him protesting their angry shouts, arms were in the air, the confusion in their interaction carved deep inside me, and I felt something come unhinged. I was overtaken by the injustice I was witnessing. Surely, this man who cared for myself and the other soldiers, mending our wounds and feeding us encouragement, would not deserve this ill treatment. I surged with energy, and before I knew what was happening, I was lifting my axe within range of one of the officer’s backs. I shook them with my disobedience. I looked into their stunned expressions. I had no time to revel in what was taking place, however. I lifted Sachmo up on to my shoulder and rushed off the battlefield, down the road and far away.
For days we wandered the countryside, avoiding scouting parties and enemy brigades. We were deserters, and for that, Sachmo would be slain and I would be destroyed. We ducked out in filthy ditches and sought sanctuary in the ruined building scattered throughout. After some time, we met two men. One was a ranger, a bit reckless, but well meaning. The other was the ranger’s brother, Bartel. He seemed very intelligent and confident. We heard his goal of moving to a city named Sharn and starting a business. He asked if we would be interested in traveling with him. We accepted, as living on the run was proving dangerous and difficult. Along the way, we befriended a strange elven woman named Knyanna. She had a peculiar darkness to her and a fascination with death. Her ability to manipulate magic was impressive, and we invited her to join our travelling party.
Once we arrived in Sharn, Bartel went to work establishing a storefront to do business. While he tended to his dreams, we travelled through the city of towers, taking in the awe-inspiring complexity of shops and homes jumbled together. We checked back in on our friend Bartel, and were informed that his shop would be a place to hire scouts, mercenaries, and purchase the spoils of the quests that those agents had completed. With nothing better being offered to Sachmo, Knyanna, and I, we decided to become part of the business and the first scouts on the roster at Bartel’s Scouts and Wonders.
STORY BREAK. WILL TIE ABOVE AND BELOW TOGETHER*****
After I was lured into the portal by Merrix D’Cannith, I was strapped to a wall, questioned about my involvement with my artificer and Bartel, experimented upon, and tortured for an indetermined amount of time. I gave no useful information. I was rescued by other warforged who were employed by Merrix to assist him during the experimentation and torture. They were sent as interlopers to gain information from Merrix and find me. They rushed me out of my cell, onto an air skiff, and then through perilous travel we arrived in the Mournlands. It was there that I had gained knowledge that legends about me have been spreading throughout the warforged community and this lead to a movement to rebel against Merrix D’Cannith and the Lord of Blades. For those of you who are new to the warforged; Merrix is the son of the creator of my race. We were bred to do battle in a war against undead, and the Lord of Blades is a supposed warforged that has great power and wishes to destroy the humans. My will is for the warforged to serve neither leader and for them to find their place leaving peacefully amongst all races.
At the suggestion of a warforged leader from my movement, I competed in a tournament to win a high ranking spot within the Lord of Blades’ forces, so that I learn what his mission is and try to prevent him (if he does exist) from achieving his goal of destroying the human race. After I won the seat of being one of his four horsemen (we were never referred to as that), I was granted a powerful item called a “docent” which has imbued me with power and new abilities. Consequently, I have been receiving mental suggestions from the docent, so far, merely battle tactics and a command to fight. I have been able to resist its control and am currently in my own mind.
My name was changed to “War” after I inherited the docent, but before that I have been called “Axeman 3-17” and “Arkenheld”. “Axeman 3-17” was my name from the war I was originally created to fight “Arkenheld” was a name bestowed upon me after I was raised from a permanently inert state (warforged don’t die, they just go inert). It was Merrix D’Cannith who had given me the name “Arkenheld” and I would rather let it go. For now, I will answer to all names including the other references to my legend: “The Scarred One”, “The Jawless One”, etc.