Ashrom Khan
The Khan of Camberlay

”There are a few sounds, a few sights, a few moments that remain with a man throughout his whole life. Even into the depths of old age, these memories linger, defining moments that create the man who lived them as well as shaped him into the man he is to be. I remember of the name of the first man I killed, not because he was particularly honorable, or worthy of admiration and not because I feelt guilt or pain at his death. It remains with me, because his death was the one that marked the path I would take through this life.

I remember the sound my sword made when it hummed through the air. I remember the sound of a girl-childs laughter when she was sprayed with the blood of a slain man who sought my life and hers. I remember the feel of my first woman, and all of its frantic desperate need. I remember the pride felt, the surge of hot pleasure when I bested the last man who stood between me and the position I had fought to take for the better part of two years. I remember looking at my People, THE People, who cheered me on as I took up the mantle that had seldom been worn by anyone: the chief of chief, lord of lords.

The Khan.

I remember summers of golden light, flowing ale, and long labors in the fields with horses and crops. I remember winter nights so crisp and clear it felt as if the world might crack at the wrong sound of a breath. I remember a woman who matched me in mind, body and soul. I remember the smell of gunpowder and blood, and the sound of mortar cracking stone. I remember the fiercee joy of combat, of conquest, of winning another fight and the simple delight at being alive, and feeling that life from balls to bones.

I remember the last bellow of a desperate and foolhardy charge, of waging a desperate battle to get some of the women and children off of land that had been theirs for long ages. I remember thinking death was close at hand and I remember the desire to let it all go.

History

Life is no picnic.
Ashrom Khan has lost much, a homeland, a people, roots, ties to his ancestors, friendship, and even his will in the process.

Once he was the leader of a proud people, a people who traced their roots back to the Vikings and the old gods of England, Germany, and the Norse. A remote enclave deep in the mountains of a country that once was but is no longer. He ruled his people, a collection of individuals descended from various bloodlines organized into tribes. He was the Khan - the Khan of Camberlay. He became a duke when a King sought to reward his valor and his battlefield prowess before his country fell.

The battles that buried that once upon a time country are the same battles which should have killed Ashrom, who rode with his people in one last glorious charge, refusing to bow down to the yoke of an invader who sought their annihilation. It would be the last charge of the Tribes of Camberlay. And so it was. Bleeding on the field of battle, Ashrom Aijihad turned his blood and chocolate gaze to the heavens to watch the stars as they burned far above. His Mate waited for him on the other side. He knew this and as his life began to ebb he saw her hand reaching for him to guide him to the other side.

He distantly heard a voice, seemingly far away who said: “Do It”

There was a sense of pain, distant and obsolete, and then Sanura’s face drifted, her face sad, the features twisted and blew away an expression of sorrow, and regret. And then Ashrom Aijihad knew no more. When he woke, he knew he had not left this world. And despair and rage welled up from that deep place where man’s instincts lay repressed. He raged and bellowed and then he felt fear squeeze his heart, forcing air from his lungs. Fear such as he had never felt – and he, who had fought his way to become Khan, battled against hordes of foes with savage ferocity, who knew the taste of his own fear just as he knew the taste of his own blood, grew in terror until he thought his heart might burst. Then he saw the pale skinned man who crouched down in front of him and began speaking.

There were words. So many of them. But it boiled down to a few simple facts: First, Ashrom Khan was no longer human, he had been changed into a bear-skin, a literal berserker from old traditions and oral stories passed down from their ancient roots. Second, the man that was speaking could give the warrior peace and forgetfulness in return for Ashrom’s services. Third, that there was still many things that Ashrom could do.

Peace. Forgetfulness.
These were the things that sold Ashrom on listening to this strange man.

And that was how it began.
Ashrom became a bruiser, a drinker, and a professional leg breaker. Osan’gar, the man, vampire, used Ashrom to enforce his deals, to kill and to break legs and skulls as needed. He put Ashrom into the ring and made the big man into a professional fighter, Ursus the Titan. Over five hundred years Osan’gar had himself a savage killer.

All that changed after a ballsy Necromancer trapped and bound Osan’gar and forced the vampire to take her sister as his human servant.

Since that day, the big man has rediscovered living – reconnected with a daughter he never thought to see ever again, and life is no longer grey. The colors that had washed out returned. The big man lives once more and the world is becoming the place that he remembers: full of potential and promise.