Hazir’s backstory

A mercenary who was born in Zamora

Working for the king of the land of Khoraja who is always in need of mercenaries to protect his
upstart kingdom.

At 11 years old, Hazir was kidnapped from Zamora and raised by the storied captain of a
mercenary company called The Brotherhood. The captain named Gonzago taught him how to
ride a horse and handle a sword. Hazir would become a master swordsman with Gonzago
teaching him how to use it in the most efficient and brutal ways possible. From an early age
Hazir has known nothing but war. At first he was on the “clean up crew.” He was told to search
the dead for valuables, intelligence, gold teeth. He helped stack the bodies up in what seemed
to be an impossible height. Countless times he would stare at the horizon, the setting sun
blocked by the impossible stack of dead bodies. All those people were breathing just a few
hours ago. When death surrounds you, your outlook on life changes. It cheapens life. You’re
here one moment, and the next your head is rolling down a hill after it’s been cleaved off your
neck.

Over time and many battles, Hazir became one of the best warriors in The Brotherhood. So
much so that he was considered a Champion. Hazir and the dog brothers he led were forced to
be the decoy army in a battle against the Shemites. Hazir spoke to Gonzago in private.

“This is a suicide mission. Most of my men will die.”

Gonzago, barely looking up from his map dotted with symbols and miniatures replied, “I have
given you an order. There’s no discussion. Go. Rest. Say your prayers to whatever god you
believe in. In the morning you and your men will move out and do your duty.”

Hazir, pulling the map from under Gonzago’s face sending the miniatures flying through the tent,
say, “You will lose your best warriors! You’ll lose me.”

Gonzago looks up, clenches his fists. “Are you a child? If I can train a Zamoran guttersnipe like
you to be a warrior, I can train anyone. Now, get out of my tent before I have you strung up in
the middle of camp.”

As Hazir and his men rode to their doom, he kept thinking about Gonzago and how his “father”
had abandoned him. The further he rode away from the camp, the more he wanted to kill
Gonzago. It was the only punishment suitable for sending all these men to their deaths.

In the battle, Hazir saw his company fall. All he saw was blood and sand. At one point he was
knocked off his horse. The beast fell on top of him, and Hazir was knocked unconscious. He
woke up shivering. It was night. The moon was bright, and Hazir found himself in a cart full of
dead men. He vowed to kill Gonzago for his treachery.
Hazir goes by another name now, and over time he has been able to create his own band of
mercenaries, the Grey Wardens. He knows his days are numbered. It’s only a matter of time
when a lucky spear finds his heart or neck, but he hopes that before he takes his last breath, he
would have put Gonzago’s head on a pike.