I was born in a vraukian border settlement around 433 AGS, to a sorna agel mother and a vraukian father, I have no idea why they gave me the name Wulfgaet, but they sure as hell didn’t want to make my life easier. Our border settlement, I think it’s name was Granvall, unimportant as that may be I just wanted to mention it. Either way, this dipshit they called Michiel became the crowned ruler of the Kingdom of Vraukis 2 years before I was born, but this bastard relentlessly made my life living hell through his decisions. You see the king before him, some other fucking fancy pricks name was the one who established support for such border settlements. It was to promote the growth of the kingdom and to hopefully spur the expansion into both Sorna agel and Borderland territories. But apparently this Michiel fellah thought it was a great idea to abandon this plan of expansion and focus on the inner kingdom. We were a hardy bunch in our village, many of us knowing how to wield weapons. But make no mistakes, we weren’t a well trained army, more like a ragtag militia. But my mom was something else, her sorna agel blood still strong, I swear that woman could fight whole armies on her own. But unfortunately this was no mere army, it was a group of 16 fucking trolls. And while the village tried to fight them off it was impossible, we got slaughtered, the village burned and our people eaten. Only I survived….. because I was weak, my mother sacrificed herself and told me to run…. because I was weak. I ran, I followed my mothers orders, I ran and I ran until I could no longer run. It felt as though my legs were sacks filled with rocks that I had to drag along with the rest of my body. But that’s when they found me, a mercenary band. They called themselves the Brotherhood of the Wrong Fall. I was recruited into that band after following them like a stray dog for about 3 days. At the ripe age of 18 I had apparently joined a mercenary band. And that started the next chapter of my life.