Player: Ryu
Campaigns: Legacy, Grovewood
Edition(s): 2e, 3.5
Status: Deceased

Race: Human Class: Berserker

STR: 18/90 – CON: 18
DEX: 8 – CHA: 6
INT: 11 – WIS: 8

STR: 16 – CON: 14
DEX: 14 – CHA: 11
INT: 10 – WIS: 12
Note: Changed to Human, Barbarian

Zanur, by his very appearance is a Barbarian. His muscular figure shows his strength although people seem to get a feeling of kind-hardheartedness from deep within. He wears native armor of his people, a breast plate, and splinted leather from animals they killed themselves.

And so his tale began, one of loss, and misery, insanity and hatred. Born and raised on the continent Norin, Zanur was the sole son of his father, Falimer Xanannarg, and his mother, Ilicia. The three were members of a nomadic tribe, roaming about the continent at peace with many of the other people there. There was one group however, who refused to respect the peacemaking ways of the Entaii. The rouge mages of the continent took much pleasure in tormenting small villages and tribes, using their magic to decimate the people.

For four brief years of Zanur's youth, he was protected by his parents, and watched by the tribal elders. Even at these tender ages, Zanur displayed nearly supernatural strength and intelligence. Months before the other young ones of his age began to talk in broken demands and complaints, Zanur was already speaking in clearly constructed sentences. The elders watched Zanur with intensity as an anxious hope filled their minds, causing them to nearly forsake the other youngsters.

Soon after the observations of his powers, the elders held council, and voted upon the young boys fate. For hours they debated, unsure if he could be an omen of hope, or one that could be construed as terrible, and a sign of coming plight to the tribe. Zanur was, in this solitary case, seen as both, and so it was decided that he should be cast out from the mainstream population of the tribe. It was fated that he should become one of legend, one of terror, one of strength, and one of hope: a berserker.

For two years Zanur was almost an outcast amongst the people of the Entaii. The ones who he once had belonged to, now nearly avoided him, and were hesitant to even look at him. Finally, after the passing of 24 moons, Zanur was briefed upon his training. He departed swiftly, taking only what he needed for his coming four year voyage. The Entaii all bid him a fond farewell, and a sigh of relief spread over the tribe as he stepped beyond the boundaries, and departed their company. They had feared him as he was, and they would fear even more what he would become.

His adventures began at the young age at 6, and he was forced to care for himself with an extreme independence, for he now had no where to turn. Zanur became nearly wild, his sanity stripped by horrifying visions that had plagued him since the councils decision. The endlessly lonesome nights closed their spindly black fingers about his heart and left him nearly emotionally crippled as he continued to train.

Increasing his physical strength by tenfold, Zanur began to fight the ravaging beasts that attempted to plague him after dusk. Using them as his targets instead of running from them as he once did. He began to fashion his own weapons, making blades of pure wood, and fastening reed and wicker handles to each, then wrapping them with plant fibers. His old equipment from the village, soon became worn and worthless, and he was forced to create his own pack, and obtain his own supplies.

For the passing of 48 moons, Zanur lived in solitude, training to his utmost ability. Every night was a struggle, but he persevered. His sanity slipped away further with each lonesome day. The visions grew stronger, clearer, more horrid. He was forced to sit and watch as everything he loved was slowly destroyed, the world turning in on itself. It took every ounce of his strength to repel those visions, yet he could do nothing, simply watch in terror, and pray they would pass, unfulfilled by reality. The massacres and murders, the countless numbers of hangings he was forced to watch, each clawed at his sanity, stripping his mind to its natural instincts of kill, or be killed.

Finally the day came when he knew it was his time to return home. His mind was completely boggled with thoughts of survival, he could barely remember the softness of his mothers face, and the stern yet kind voice of his father. He headed eastward to the sight where he last remembered the tribe having been, yet before Zanur's four year voyage had come to a close, the tribe had moved on, and left for more fertile lands.

Left cold and alone, he tried to pick up the trail of then Entaii. Four years of savagery and training had done nothing to weaken his love for his family, and he slowly set off towards the northern coasts of Norin, praying his legs could carry him faster than the tribe could have moved as a whole. He had a strange feeling that the tribe had only recently forsaken hope of his return, and left purely out of necessity. Finding his tribe at last, Zanur collapsed upon the ground just beyond the tent of the elders council. A crowd gathered around him as hushed whispers filled the air. Simply coinciding with Zanur's return, a band of mages had followed him through the gates, disguised as merchants, looking to sell their wares to the members of the tribe.

While the guards watching the tribe had gathered around with the people surrounding Zanur, the mages slipped within, undetected. A single woman stepped forward, and approached the ten year old boy. Her face was soft as she knelt down in front of him. She placed a pale hand against his cheek, and roused him from his exhausted state. He looked up, and stared at the woman in shock as she spoke his name.

Zanur embraced his mother just as a unified scream was heard erupting from the crowd, and sparks were seen flying everywhere. The mages had sent the sparks as they surrounded the group of tribe members, sending the entire group into a panic. Zanur closed his eyes, oblivious as he hugged his mother, his heart flooded with emotion since his return.

Zanur felt an icy jolt as he opened his eyes to find his mother laying limp in his arms, her body nearly frozen solid from a spell created by three of the mages. Before Zanur could stand, each of the mages had vanished, leaving no trace of their senseless murder except the womans body laying outside the elders tent.

The young boy was left broken and devastated, his last hopes having been crushed by the mages, and so his hatred towards magic, and all those who used it began, and with a terrible vengeance.

The boy remained with the tribe, his mind bent upon revenge and hatred. He was given a tent, always on the outskirts beyond even where the guards were posted for their midnight watches. Zanur was outcast once more, even within his own people. And eight years passed in this manner.

96 moons cycled past in the sky as Zanur matured, and continued training, preparing to receive his powers. Depressed and thirsting for something, knowing not what it was, Zanur walked out side, forsaking his tent for the wild once more. This would be a simple short outing though, or so he thought. After walking a long, and somewhat arduous path through a nearby forest, the young man stopped in a clearing, and sat at the foot of a tree. His eyes wandered about slowly and his gaze fell lazily to a leaf rustling above him, shivering with some unseen force, for there was no wind.

Zanur had nearly closed his eyes and fallen asleep when a sudden violent wind sprang up about him and a large creature was seen towering over him. His eyes blurred from sleep he drew his sword and stood, showing no fear towards the threatening creature above him. The creature approached him, its face within inches of his as it opened its mouth. Zanur was nothing but slightly impressed with the creatures powerful jaws, lined with row upon row of razor sharp teeth. What happened next the young man could barely remember, but when he awoke from his unconscious state, the beast had gone, and he was scarred terribly, his body appearing as though the beast had ravaged him. His eyes felt strange, as though had been staring at one thing for hours. He could sense things had never sensed before. He knew something had happened, and he looked up towards the sky to see where the sun was, in comparison to where it had been when he had first came by the tree.

It had been almost an entire day since he had napped at the base of the tree. The sun could not lie and move back in time. He'd spent the night wounded beneath a tall tree, and he had absolutely no recollection of it ever happening. Zanur walked back to where the tribe was, their tents scattered about with paths between. Playing witness to a child being punished by his father, the young man was quickly over come with a thirst of blood, and a sadistic lust to watch someone suffer.

He drew his sword and attacked the father uncontrollably before he was subdued by fifteen of the guardsmen who had rushed to see what the scrabble was about. The elders quickly surrounded Zanur and shook their heads. They gathered chains and locks, and were forced to bind him to the tree he had once rested beneath. The tree where he had met his horrid fate.

Zanur's rage now over, and his blood lust subdued, he began to request the tribal scripture entailing the life of the berserker. He would be forced to read for hours beneath the tall waving oak tree. The branches above him would click and rustle, speaking to him in harsh whispers, and sometimes awakening the wrath of the spirit within him. He could do nothing to control it at first, his body only a tool of the spirit possessing him, but upon reading the scrolls and tomes, he learned that though it was difficult, it was indeed possible for him to undergo mental training and harness the powers of the spirit only when needed.

He began his mental training, guided by the tales of the generations of other berserkers that had come before him. Zanur learned that by focusing his anger, on either something that he could do no harm to, or focusing on something that deserved his wrath, he could subdue his spirited blood lust. His mental training continued to the point where he was in almost complete control of his spirit, and the elders held council once more, deeming that it was safe to release him from the tree.

He lived once again with his tribe, roaming about the continent with them until four years later. Three days after his twenty-second birthday, the tribe was once again attacked by a band of mages. Though Zanur tried to his utmost abilities to defend the tribe as their only berserker, he was powerless to stop the mages from utterly destroying the tribe. Every tent burned to ashes, every person he once knew and loved, killed in a fiery blast. No matter how he tried to subdue his rage, his hatred for magic grew, to the point where even the slightest thought would drive him to insanity.

Its been over two years since the mages last attacked his tribe, leaving him as the sole survivor of then Entaii. Zanur still roams about the continent of Norin. Three months prior to the fourth of the month of April, Zanur was forced to harness his spirits powers. Wandering through the plains his ears caught wind of a shrill scream of one of the nomadic tribes like his own.

Zanur arrived to see a band of mages, their arms raised above their heads, preparing to work the very same spell that had destroyed his own tribe. Overcome with rage and fury, Zanur was possessed by the spirit within his body once more. Unsheathing a blade made of silver, the berserker ran to the mages, and slashed at each, within a matter of seconds, killing them all. His fury did not end however. To each he completely mutilated the body and was left standing exhausted, his chest heaving with gasps for breath as his fury receded.

Zanur closed his eyes and began to walk away though he was pursued by a young girl, who lightly touched his shoulder. Zanur spun around in a panic then gave a slight smile. The young girl threw her arms around the man and hugged him as tears streamed down her face. She thanked him repeatedly, and Zanur ruffled her hair playfully before turning and walking away, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

He continues to wander about the continent, searching for another tribe like his own, or maybe just a friend or companion. His past is often a mystery to those he meets, for he is reluctant to speak of the memories that plague him. His style of fighting is also unknown to many, for his fear of being outcast once more. Zanur is so very often alone that he has nearly become accustomed to it, though it is certainly not a pleasure to his kind heart.