Thus begins the story of my life. I was born in a small village whose name is long forgotten. My father was a woodcuter who was already dead when I came on earth. War. My mother died during childbirth, I am thence an orphan.

I left the village at the age of twelve after stealing a sword at the blacksmith, sword I always keep now in my back. I travelled on the roads, burning wagons and ransaquing barns.

My clothes are now darkened with dry blood and a wolf tatoo has grown up on my back. Always alone, my eyes are steel and my fists are clenched. Murther is my soul and my fate. Whoever stands in my way shall end up in a bath of blood.

My only goal is to find and kill the man that started the war that took my late father.