Weapon of Choice: Daggers, a whole lot of them
Weapon Score: Unknown
Hailing from a small village in Andor is a young man, new to the world outside the confines of modest home. Far from a tall man yet not to be considered short, he was one with a knack for hunting and thoroughly enjoyed his life as a woodsman. His dirty blonde hair fell mere inches from his shoulders and the gleam in his eye, to the keen observer, was a sign for his joy of the relaxed and carefree lifestyle he chose to lead.
Though he was the epitome of a free spirit he never shirked his duties as his family's provider. His father was getting on in years and his siblings were far too busy with their daily chores to be on the hunt. And so it fell upon Arutha's shoulders to provide meat for the family's nourishment. Traps were left along the Manatherendrelle for small game. Arutha checked and reset the traps every morning and returned home with the nights catch. Never failing to bring home less than two rabbits, Arutha would bring home three on average and four on an extremely good night.
Though the traps were sufficient to feed the family Arutha loved the hunt. He lived to stalk the deer that lived in the forest on the outskirts of the village, especially on days like this one, in the early spring with the sun barely peeking over the treetops. Never very proficient with a bow, Arutha's father had taught him the techniques of daggers at a young age. He crept along the carpet of pine needles now, stalking a young buck, new to its maturity. The beast was quite large but was still young, brazen enough to be grazing on the very edge of the forest closest to the town center.
Arutha had spotted the breakfasting animal on his way back from the river. He left his four rabbits; it had been an excellent evening, tied by the ankles in a bundle in the tall grass and began circling downwind of the buck. The wind coming from the west, Arutha circled around near the edge of town and crept slowly across the field to the edge of the forest. Using the tree line to his advantage he kept the wind to his right as he crept toward the deer. The trees were big enough to cause the wind to swirl around him and dismiss his scent before the deer could discover he was there.
Twenty yards away from the animal Arutha heard a harsh snap. Cursing himself silently he quickly dropped to one knee, hiding as best as he could in the brush of the forest floor. The deer, satisfied that he had indeed been spooked by nothing of dire consequence, resumed his meal paying no heed to Arutha. Reaching for the dagger in his boot Arutha measured the strength of the wind against his face and carefully gauging his through and loosing his dagger, all in a mere blink. Before the dagger reached its target Arutha was in motion, on his feet sprinting toward his target. Arutha grimaced at his poor judgement as he watched the flying dagger glance off of the deers antlers. He had not judged the wind correctly and it was way to far a throw score anything except a lucky hit. But luck was with Arutha that day, if in a different form. The deer, confused at his unseen attacker turned to watch with the deadly daer sail away into the brush. Curious, the animal went over to the bush to investigate what had just smacked it in the face. Thus the deer did not even notice as Arutha rushed in a headlong sprint toward him. The deer lowered its head to sniff at the bush and, findin nothing out of the ordinary about this particular bush, turned to see Arutha barrelling across the field towards it. The instant before the buck raised its horns in a thrusting charge Arutha dove into a headlong roll, coming to his knees and slashing the deer's throat from ear to ear. Arutha rose from his crouch as the deer collapsed, satisfied as he watched the beast's final throes of life that his family would eat heartily for a good long while.
That was life for Arutha, until one day near the end of a long summer. On his way back from a successful hunt, with three rabbits tied to his belt and a small doe dragging behind him he reached the edge of the tree line. Arutha fell to his knees at the sight of his village in flames. He ran to his family's home to find the wreckage left behind by the culprits. The door was smashed to bits and every window had been shattered. His father was cleaved nearly in half from his head to his midsection and his mother lay not far away, decapitated. His siblings were no where to be found. Arutha rushed out into the town square to find dead villagers and others he did not recognize. Bandits, he thought. Bandits commited this heinous crime. Arutha could not cope with the hideous gut wrenching sight. He collapsed to his knees and finally felt himself falling. He was unconscious before he hit the dirt.
When he awoke, Arutha groggily tried to clear his thoughts. Still sleep blind he tried to remember if his thoughts of the bloody massacre of his village were a dream or had actually transpired. As the visions from the night before rushed back to him he leaned over on his side and emptied his stomach. He rose to his feet slowly and trudged over to his home. He had no idea what he should do but his body went through the motions of packing a sack full of any provisions he could find. He checked his set of knives, in his boots, sleeves, across his chest, on his thighs, and one hanging from his neck down the back of his tunic and set out down the road toward out of town. There was nothing for him here. No use in burying the bodies. He had to get away before the bandits came back to collect the rest of the possibly valuable items in the village. Arutha had no idea what he was going to do. There was no way for him to keep up the farm alone. He did not want to chance living alone in the forest with winter soon to be approaching. Without even realizing it he found himself on the road to Camelyn. Surely he could find some sort of life for himself in the capital city.
And so Arutha followed the road to the big city. Leaving behind hopes and dreams. Leaving his family, his home, all that he had ever known.