The beginning

[Zowa]

Ghore, home of the trolls. They were my people. On this day some ten years ago I was born into this world, but left for dead. The weapons master of the local warriors guild, Cruush, found me in the swamp and took me in and delved deep into his soul and found pity for me, something I did not know trolls possessed.
The years passed and my training was vigorous, often lasting through the nights, stopping only for sleep and food. Cruush passed his knowledge of weapons on to me with a forced determination. What drove this man so fiercely? After learning the bare essentials in each class of weaponry, Cruush growled, “You master only one. Pick wisely to aid your travels.” I saw before me a wide selection of hammers, daggers, whips, and swords. Some were larger than others. As I reached down and grabbed a longsword Cruush grunted with satisfaction.
My training continued for many years, often leading me into the forest south of Ghore to demonstrate my skills for my master. Along the way I saw many curious things that made my brain race wildly. The most curious thing Cruush called a caravan. “Many travelers, “ (things I did not know existed) “moving together from one place to the next,” he told me. Most often I encountered them on the Calimshan Desert Road. What fun these caravans were to become.
As my training progressed I became bolder with these caravans. On one occasion I found the most peculiar caravan with elves, orcs, and dwarves all together. “What a story I could tell about this,” I thought to myself.