Riven Ha'Vek

Name: Riven Ha'Vek
Title(s): Drunkard
Location: Wanderer(erer)
Birthplace: Somewhere in the Dalelands
Age: 22
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Deity: Tempus
Alignment: Chaotic Good

Background:
Adopted at a very young age, Riven was raised on a remote farm somewhere in the Dalelands. He doesn't know exactly where as he never visited any of the known locales and his questions were always answered with "the Dalelands" (when he was younger) or a scowl (as he grew older). He spent most of his time "dealing with" threats to the farm as he seemingly, according to his parents, lacked the ability to do even the most mundane of farming tasks. His exceptional strength allowed him to wield even the heaviest of weapons. Early on he developed an admiration for the huge axe that hung over the mantle, though he was never able to extract any stories about it from his parents.

At the age of eight he was sent to his "neighbor's" stead which was "only" five miles as the crow flies on a once a tenday basis. Grom (said neighbor) was an expert with many weapons, so his parents claimed anyway. He taught Riven the basics of using a few different weapons. Noting Riven's strength and maybe on suggestion from his parents, Grom gave Riven an old rusted greataxe at age tweleve and began showing him how to use it. From then on that is the only weapon that Riven touched.

The threats to his parent's farm varied. Mostly there were random demons and beasts. If he had been less sheltered he may have assumed this to mean that the farm was close to the fabled Myth Drannor. Much of his time was spent practicing as the "threats" would stay out in the thick woods most of the time without ever approaching the open fields. His well worn practice dummy, a large post in the groud, was his best friend (and worst enemy!). Riven went through many many practice "axes" over the years, fortunately the forest held no shortage of wood to make another.

Hunting, if you could call his stomping through the woods that, was Riven's favorite hobby. He would grab the old rusted axe and head out into the woods looking for trouble, or threats if you prefer... On one such day he was wandering through an area of the forest he had not been through yet. He found what appeared to be the ruins of some long forgotten building. Curious, he walked through what used to be an entrance... He felt a tingle on his skin and started to back out but found that he could not move. Stuck there the tingle turned into a burning sensation. The burning sensation grew stronger until he could barely stand it and he cried out in pain. At his cry the world turned black. He was still awake and still felt the burning but he felt nothing else. Not the air, not the ground -- just his axe in his hand and the burning...

The next thing Riven knew he was standing on solid ground again. The air was cool and smelled slightly of salt. He had no idea where he was. It was late in the evening here but not completely dark yet. In the distance towards the south he could make out a faint light and he headed off towards it. The light turned out to be a town. Port Avanthyr is what the guard told him. Walking past the guard he heading inside the gates looking for the closest tavern. Gods only knew where this Avanthyr was and before he figured out more he knew he needed a drink...

//ugh, sorry if you bothered to read all of that nonsense -- creativity is definitely not a strong point for me\\