Duskfire Glacier tartok

"from the north, too. far north. place called sevka." he rumbled as they trekked. his tone held a certain bitterness. "born as a soldier, raised as one. they kill the weak." sevka was traitorous in his mind, but they'd raised the finest soldiers. 

harsh lands served to carve men out of stone. men that would stand through storms and battles and either fall a glorious death, or live to fight another day. it seems faust stemmed from the same background. 

"trained as a whelp," he continued gruffly. his first kill had come before he'd hit the age of one year old, and he remembers it as if it was yesterday. the adrenaline, the rush; the metallic taste of blood he'd from that day on craved to taste again. "been a soldier ever since. is all i know."

he swings his head forward, as the distant smell of a caribou grabs his attention. with a grunt, he pivots in his stride, heading towards the scent of big prey.