Sekmeht/Story

Early Years

As a young Gor’Tog, Sekmeht grew up in a small village in the outskirts of Knife Clan, Zoluren. His father, a well-known retired veteran of the local militia and mother a well-respected emergency medic of the local town loved their son greatly. Sekmeht’s upbringing of combat lore, knowledge of anatomy and respect would turn out to be a major fundamental and influence of his overall personality.

Since childhood, Sekmeht’s father had taught him how to channel and control his emotions and anger while focusing on the tasks at hand. Whether it be cleaning up his room, the yard, tasks, hunting for food or sticking up for himself; patience and focus was always an important lesson. His mother played a big role in his life by teaching him compassion for people and life in general while primarily being a housewife. It’s no wonder that over the years Sekmeht would inherit his father’s focus on hard work and respect and his mother’s empathetic view towards others and their belongings.

One day after regular sparring sessions with his father, Sekmeht lands a heavy blow that splits his father’s lip and sends him stepping backwards stumbling to the floor.

Sekmeht runs to his side and asks his father if he is okay.

His father laughs exposing his bleeding split lip and says “My son, that was wonderful… You make me proud.”

Sekmeht helps his father to his feet brushing leaves and dust from his father’s battle-scarred sparring leathers.

“You know son, rage can corrupt the soul of a man and make him falter when intense concentration is needed. This can be a critical and often time lethal mistake if the situation permits. Focus and keep control of your mind and you will be unstoppable…” his father says laughingly as he beams with parental pride still gathering himself from the fall.

Sekmeht glances up at his father with a look of acknowledgement, it is then that he notices his badly bloodied fist. He raises his fist up to the sunlight to better inspect it, he slowly rotates it gazing almost hypnotically into the hues of red crimson.

“Sekmeht? Are going to join me?” his father says noticing that his son seems distracted with his fist.

“Yes.” He replies nodding slightly obviously distracted by the intense sensation he has received from gazing into the blood.

“Good! Your mother will look at your fist AFTER she looks at my face.” His father says laughing.

Both men enter the house to prepare for supper and evening sleep.

Over-time, Sekmeht’s mother and father notice a peculiar thing. While being injured or injuring another, any time blood is spilt; Sekmeht becomes increasingly distracted by the sight often becoming almost another person or beast. His stamina, speed, focus all begin to increase often to where his father needs to stop or distract him to calm him down sometimes taking hours for it to subside before returning to a normal pace.

“Do you think he’s a Berserker? I’m concerned that now that he’s an adult he may hurt himself, someone else, or even us?” the mother asks with concerned demeanor.

“I think he may indeed be. I’ve noticed over the years the focus and control slowly becoming lost when bloodied. I think his abilities would be best put to use in the militia or military.” His father confirms.

Sekmeht’s mother and father eventually convince him that he’s born for combat and that the militia would be the best place for fighters of his standing.

Sekmeht agrees in his early 20’s and joins the local militia that his father was once a member of.

Time passes and his father becomes mortally ill. In his Late 20’s Sekmeht has learned much of what his father has passed down to him both philosophically and combat techniques.

“Sekmeht, I am sick, it’s up to you to become head of this family.” He says with quivering lips, “Go forth and fight for the good of our family name and for yourself.”

Time passes, as so does his father. After a ceremony his father is finally laid to rest at his family cemetery.

Sekmeht continues a close relationship with his loving mother for years to come often checking on her and helping around the house.

The Rage Unveils itself

One day while passing through close to where his mother lives during hunting trip he sees a fire and smoke billowing from the distance. Sekmeht quickly recognizes the location of the smoke he knows this can't be a good thing. He begins to sprint towards the location with his Kertig bastard-sword drawn into a defensive position clenching the pommel tightly in one hand and draping his shield across his shoulder and arm with the other. As he turns down his street, the street he grew up on, he sees what looks like his mother standing in the door way waving towards him. He begins to sprint towards her, sheathing his sword and putting his shield back across his shoulder. As he gets closer his sprint turns into dead stop as he gasps noticing his mother has been impaled on a spear... Her face is painted with pain... She is dead and her arm raised as if she attempted to avoid the attack. Sekmeht releases a thunderous roar... Something slips in the back of his head, images begin to roll, everything that his father had taught slowly unravels. The image of him as a child with the blood across his hand becomes vivid as his vision begins to fill red tainted with rage and anger... He paces slowly, his shock and horror become laughter, his brows flare and his nostrils flare as his eyes become bloodshot. Grunting he snarls and leaps into the air, landing softly with his head snapping side to side cackling. He walks up to his mother with a grin, wipes a tear from her cheek, closes her eyes, then softly cleans her face with his palm freeing it from its bloody pain-tormented appearance. Slowly he pulls his hand back gazing at it sharply and begins to draw smears of the fresh blood across his face. The feel and smell of it invigorates him as his inner fire and rage burns brightly. All of the sudden a creature crawls from out of the side window of his mothers house with items falling out of its backpack. Immediately noticing that this creature did not belong there, Sekmeht begins to engage. "Rage can corrupt the soul of a man and make him weak. Focus, Relax and you will be unstoppable my son..." boom within his mind, it seems like glass shattering... "Remember, son... Rage can corrupt the soul of a man and make him weak." also begins to echo within his head. Time begins to slow as he licks his lips gazing at the pillager. The creature turns and in a startled moment fires a crossbow bolt which slices through the air lodging itself into Sekmeht's thigh. "Remember, son... Rage can corrupt the soul of a man and make him weak. Focus, Relax and you will be unstoppable"... Sekmeht utters softly. At pole range he roars "Rage is so much more enjoyable, it invigorates the soul and body. Guide your hatred and anger with your inner-fire and you can destroy all things!", Sekmeht launches into the air drawing his sword he turns slicing deeply across the creatures chest. The creature drops to his knee's gasping in shock and horror as it's sternum is split. Sekmeht lands back turned towards the creature, he gazes down quickly at the inscription on his sword covered in a thin red coat. Cackling, he turns and walks over to his Mother's murder staring at him with huge bloodshot eyes. Weeping softly it says "Forgive me.". Sekmeht raises his sword high into the air, his eyes beaming down hatred he cleaves the top of the invaders skull killing it instantly. Now covered in blood, and his enemy vanquished, the rage begins to fade... it's over for now... Sekmeht returns to his mother and gives her a proper burial rightfully next to her husband. He places the final rock on the mound, he knows know what he must do, he knows now that a beast lies within.... RAGE! REVENGE!