Dryo-thurn Fehn-garn

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As described by Ariskandir (Taken from this entry: http://laurelinarchives.org/node/14525):

Of Rohirric heritage, Bastard born. Scarred both on the inside and outside, self-destructive behaviour, impulsive, prone to uncontrollable fits of rage, his lack of people skills detaches him from those around. Undeterred by death or pain. Unquenchable lust for vengeance, would stop at nothing to get at his former friend Thayalengir. Short-sighted and unsubtle.

Qualities of use: Fearless, Determined, Sworn vengeance against Thayalengir.

Weaknesses: Self-destructive, unsubtle, rage blinded, somewhat physically and mentally impaired.

Dreothorn Fehngarn... bastard son of Beothern Fehngarn and the maid Eolyn Tregorl. He started his life as a normal child, one of those petulent children running around the fountain. His mother died when he was in his mid-teens, and his father? Well... he never really cared at all. Damned be the day fate decided to give him a father like him, maybe the main reason of his hatred against all the happy and/or successful​ living things. After the death of his mother he fled, rode away on a stolen horse and never looked back. What would a teenager know of live outside his town? Indeed he knew nothing, and that's why he fell into Anarr's grip.

He was turned into a slave and trained in the arts of murder and decieve. That's where he got his first scar, when he resisted against the will of Anarr. A quick whiplash at his face, and it was done. Pain. He felt like his skin was being ripped, and then slashed again just so that he knew what would happen if he wronged him again.

Now you know of the first scar, but the burned face was what catched your attention after all, eh? Well, for that we must know who was the man Dreothorn poured all his trust in, the man who he once called best friend. Theodane.

"What if I told you the most painful wound is not the one I bear in the outside, but the ones that have scarred me in the inside? No, who would believe. No one believes that someone like myself could even think of other not as victims but as people. I am an animal in the eyes of men, and so, an animal I shall turn."

Clamors of pain echoed throughout the icy cave of Forochel, then nothing. And then cursing. A curse of anger and pain, a curse of deceive and vengance. And in a frozen ground there was Dreothorn; part of his face bleeding. He tried to stop the blood, he placed his hand in what was once a pale skin and pressed, but instead of relieve there was pain. Nothing could make it easier, so he recovered the strength he had left and stood up. His heavy breathing broke the silence as he traversed through the freezing cold land.  He walked and walked until he reached a crystalline water, and he stood there, looking, beholding.

Instead of a normal face there was instead a rugged skin, red and stained with crimson blood. His scar was open again, the stitches that once united the broken skin now had disappeared, burned away. All this made him look like an animal, a monster, something that was not human. And so, there he lost part of his humanity and let the hatred in. Hatred against anyone who had their lives easy enough to rejoice in alcohol and pipe-weed.

And now you know the story of this man, what he has been through and what he has lost. What he searches and what he will never get back. Did he had it coming? Did he do something to deserve this? Every man has; him... even me, even you, lad.

"You do not know, not many do. We ignore that people dislike our presence, we ignore the fact that many of them may be enemies that plan against us. We could say we're a race of hatred and backstabbing, we are the bastards among all." -Dreothorn Fehngarn.