Picking Up the Pieces

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The dwarf awoke shivering, confused and surrounded by carnage on the tundra. Two corpses that he could not identify lay on the ground, spears protruded from their neck and stomach, blood soaked the snow around them. One was dressed in a black robe, the other, some sort of forest garb. He couldn't remember anything from his past except his name, Jalil Falin. With no friends and no known family, he set off across the tundra. He wandered endlessly across mountains, forests, all over the wilderness. His mind was lost...searching for something.
Years passed. Everything that had happened to him since he woke on the tundra had been like a foggy dream, as if he hadn't really been in his body and he was just now returning after all these years. As he snapped back to reality, he became more observant of himself and his surroundings. His body was skinny and malnourished, he was in dire need of a warm bath and a barber. There was a strange tattoo on his left hand that he could not decipher. He was in full chain mail, carried an axe and a backpack...he must have been fending for himself somehow, he wasn't quite sure how.
Later that night, as he slept, he dreamt of a mighty battle between two men. They fought with spears to their deaths. An image of blood soaked snow was burned in his mind as he was jolted awake. He looked around and at first saw nothing but the trees and underbrush of the surrounding forest. On a second glance he saw a shadowy figure amidst the trees. He didn't feel threatened at all, he felt he needed to follow it.
For hours, he chased this shadowy form through the forest until he came upon a small stone structure. The shadow was gone and replaced by a voice in his mind...it seemed to guide his steps into this building. Once inside, he saw a statue of Asral and approached it. The voice became much clearer. He could feel it was the voice of Asral...
“My child...you seek answers to your past. Your answers will come through me, for I am the god of war and death. It is only through these two things that true change in life can occur, whether it is a physical war or a spiritual one, whether it is a real death or a symbolic one. With proper devotion and determination you will have the answers you seek. I can offer you honorable vengeance, I will grant you the means to fight against those who stole your life and who would steal it again.”
“What would you have me do my lord?” Jalil asked.
“Go to the great city of Elvandar. Once there, seek out an elf by the name of Farinthul...he will be able to get you started with your new life, and he will direct you to your next destination.”
It was the fires of Asral that had been guiding him all those years through the wilderness to safety. Jalil collapsed on the floor near the image of Asral and slept for a time. He woke renewed with purpose, left the temple and found himself at a crossroads next to a magnificent sparkling tree which he found strangely familiar. Everything he had seen since he left the wilderness seemed familiar to him. He must have been here before...
Following the road signs led Jalil north toward Elvandar where he made his first real contact with another living being in years next to the fountain in the city. After a refreshing drink of water and a few minutes rest, Jalil was approached by Farinthul, who introduced himself and offered Jalil some food, which he gratefully accepted. Farinthul displayed his knowledge of the arcane, played some songs on his lyre and shared stories from his past, while Jalil recounted what little he could remember of the events leading up to his arrival in Elvandar. Jalil was intrigued by this elf...who, according to Asral, was supposed to be of some help in finding the answers to his past, a past that had only two clues...the strange tattoo on his left hand and the two corpses on the tundra...

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