#ash warrior

At an early age, Luthias was smaller than most children of the Alamarri. At the age of 12, Luthias saved Tutha, the son of the tribal chief, from his own dog. The dog had gone rabid, and when it attacked Tutha, Luthias slew it with his bare hands. Tutha’s father, Mabene, was impressed with Luthias’s strength and bravery, and so took him in as his own son.

When Luthias grew to manhood, he became known for his charisma and bravery. While shorter than his fellow warriors, Luthias was stronger and doughtier than any warrior in the tribe. When Luthias was still a young man, Mabene sent him to the dwarven city of Orzammar to negotiate an alliance. Mabene’s tribe had come into conflict with other Alamarri, and he needed as much help as he could get.

Luthias was unable to convince the dwarven king to aid his tribe but fell in love with the king’s daughter, Scaea. Luthias and Scaea fled the dwarven realm and returned to his tribe. Scaea taught Luthias the art of fighting without pain, the berserker state known as the “battle wrath,” and with it, Luthias became a renowned warrior.

Luthias led his tribe to many victories until eventually, he replaced his foster father as chief of his tribe. This peace would not last. During a feast between the tribal leaders of the Alamarri and the Avvar, the beautiful and powerful Avvar chieftain, Morrighan'nan, became enamored with Luthias and seduced him. Scaea learned of the tryst and fled the village to return to Orzammar. When Luthias rebuffed Morrighan'nan’s offer of marriage, she left in great anger, and from that moment on, there was war between the two tribes.

For 15 years, the Alamarri and Avvar fought. During the Battle of Red Falls, a powerful young warrior from Morrighan'nan’s tribe challenged Luthias to a battle. Luthias was injured grievously but slew the boy. Morrighan'nan revealed that the boy was Luthias’s son, conceived 15 years ago during their tryst. She cursed Luthias as the murderer of his own kin, and the Battle of Red Falls turned against Luthias.

Morrighan'nan defeated Luthias in battle after battle, until the Alamarri were driven to the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. There, Luthias made a last stand. In the night before Luthias’s final battle, Scaea came to him and offered him a dwarven suit of chain in exchange for a night together. Luthias agreed and wore the armor the following morning in battle. The battle was fierce and bloody, and Luthias met Morrighan'nan in personal combat. In the end, Luthias slew the warrior woman, but not before receiving a mortal wound to his heart, the chain inexplicably unable to block her final blow. Luthias died, and after the battle was done a party of dwarven warriors came down from the mountain and took the body of Luthias back to Orzammar.

But now as I am a dwarf, he is the nicest person ever because he respects dwarves as they helped mold what the Ash Warriors are.

A jagged line of lightning splits the black sky in two over the pale towers of Ostagar. Then, the rain begins. It comes down in rivers, crawling through the cracks of my leather armor, streaking my hair to my forehead, beading on the oily kaddis smeared to my cheeks.

There are drums beyond the thunder.

The blood-fever begins, humming in my chest, singing the coming of battle.

They are here. The Spawn have come.

My hound rumbles beneath my hand, his hide hot under my palm. His low growl a whisper of the fury building inside us. Inside all of us. My brothers stir at my shoulders and at my back, blades hum as they are birthed from their sheaths, bowstrings creak and whine, begging for release. Our hounds paw the earth with their claws, bearing sharp teeth in vicious maws. We feel the same hot anger, we share the breserker blood passed from warrior to warrior, from dwarf to man.

The stinking creatures form rank, snarling and howling like jackals. They are vermin, stains on the Maker's earth. They smear to glory of battle. They slander the holiness of combat...

They are filth to be purged.

My blood sings, the rage coils in my limbs, smoke billows in my chest like a furnace.  

We are the dwarf-blooded. We are the hound-brothers. We are the Ash Warriors.

The war cry tears from my lips and the battle has begun.