For as long he could remember, Ulrik was never one to bow down to society. The orphan child ran amok in the streets of Vyre, bullying other kids and getting away with what he could. In this remote island city, theft and violence were his only true friends. Until one day in 4682 AR, when he attempted to swipe gold pieces from the wrong person: Brother Sven, a prominent member of the Skinsaw Cult, devout worshipers of Norgorber.

Ulrik was beaten half to death, taken to an underground cell, and left to rot for a week in his filth. The chapter leader of the cult offered a choice to young Ulrik. He could work for the Skinsaws performing their dirty work, or have his corpse flayed and dumped in a ditch. While Ulrik is nothing short of a chaotic free spirit, he could see death staring him in the face, and he chose to live.

At the spry age of 12, Ulrik underwent rigorous training over the entire next year. His mentor, Brother Sven, taught him the tools of combat and the tactics of close quarters battle. His journey was harsh and difficult.

“Parried again, worthless sheep.” Sven said as he easily knocked the wooden blade out of Ulrik’s hands. “Kid, you rely too much on your sword.”

“What am I supposed to do!” cried out Ulrik. “All the best warriors know how to expertly use their weapons, why can’t you teach me to do the same!?”

Sven put down his quarterstaff and squared his shoulders. “If a weapon you rely on can be taken, you are but a sheep waiting to be slaughtered. The entire world around you is your weapon, you must simply reach out and grasp it.”

“This is stupid, you’re stupid,” Ulrik shouted as the quarterstaff came crashing down upon his head.

The lessons that Ulrik begrudgingly learned were diverse and involved getting out of any dangerous situation. The next year, Brother Sven brought the teen along on an outing to get rid of a street gang that were causing problems for the cult. Ulrik, while aloof and disorganized, performed adequately, and completed the first of many assignments.

Regarded as an equal by the rest of the organization, Ulrik, now an adult, was a regular member of the Skinsaw Cult. Ulrik’s method of solving problems with reckless abandon was thought to be too wild by the other members. His ways of figuratively and literally breaking people earned him the nickname “The Hammer” from his peers. But his infamy would soon grow uncontrolled.

Saddled by his rage, Ulrik made a grave mistake when his bad temper caused a business transaction with a rival gang to go horribly wrong. Reprimanded by the chapter leader, he was punished to become a student once again until he learned to be more subtle and restrained. Brother Sven attempted to guide him once more, but it was only a matter of time before Ulrik’s patience broke.

Sven kept up with Ulrik’s footwork. “Doing well, Ulrik, it seems you’ve kept my teachings close to your heart and mind. Now the last thing I can teach you is how to control your unleashed emotions.”

“No Sven, I think your lessons are quite finished,” Ulrik shouted.

Ulrik squared his shoulders and rushed towards Sven. The mentor could not keep up with his relentless assault, and was knocked down.

“Stop this Ulrik! What are you doing!?” Sven cried out.

“Finishing what you started, old man.” And with those words and the sound of a crunch, Ulrik snapped Sven’s head like a twig.

When Brother Sven’s headless body was discovered the next day, the complex came to full alert, with all the Skinsaw members scrambling to find out who accosted their dear brother. It was all for naught, as that morning Ulrik looked upon the ocean sunrise across Nisroch Bay. Having boarded a merchant vessel headed for the Chelish mainland, he collected his thoughts.

“You’ve taught me much old man, and I won’t soon forget it,” Ulrik thought to himself as he admired the polished human skull in his backpack. “I’m gonna use your wisdom to hurt a lot of people.”