I am not a murderer. My clan will tell you otherwise, but they are wrong.
My name is Torsson and I am a shaman. You heard that right. I grew up in the Stormpeak Mountains where fierce storms and hard living are the norm. My parents were killed when I was very young so the clan raised me as their own, worshipping Moradin and working in the stone mines.
Early one blustery morning, I went foraging for wood in the nearby forest when I saw a ghostly shadow in a small clearing. I moved closer to investigate but the shadow was too elusive. “Greetings, Torsson,” growled a mystical voice behind me. Wheeling around abruptly, I faced an enormous ebony dire bear. “I am called Whiteclaw, and I killed your mother and father.” the beast spoke as I stared horrified at his ghostly shape. “They were foraging for wood together as you are now,” he continued. “I thought they were going to kill me for my prized fur since they had axes in their hands. So I attacked your mother first and felled her with one quick swipe. Your father, enraged, charged at me with his wood axe. We fought for hours, both bloodied and driven by hatred. When I saw he was at the end of his strength, I made one final leap and sunk my teeth into his neck. Little did I realize he had driven the blade of his axe through my chest at the same instant. As we both lay dying, I swore to your father that he had fought valiantly as a true warrior. As his dying wish, he asked that you, Torsson, be raised to protect the natural world and help others. I swore to him that my spirit would fulfill that wish. Your father’s soul rose up to be with Moradin, but mine went to the spirit world, where I met the Great Bear. I told my story to the great spirit, and he allowed me to return to this world in spirit form to protect you and teach you the spiritual ways of the shaman: protect the natural world and protect your allies. And this I swear to do from this day forward.”
For three days, I stayed in the forest with Whiteclaw and he showed me the ways of the spirit world. When I returned to my clan, Whiteclaw stayed behind, telling me to be patient and way for his appearance. I was a changed dwarf after that. My fellow dwarves noticed the change as well, especially the cleric chieftan, Thorne. He counseled me daily on the virtues of Moradin, but to no avail. I was a follower of the spirit word, not the divine. Frustrated at my new calling, Thorne summoned a strong power to try to drive the “evil spirits” from me. I tried to resist, but he was too powerful. As I thrashed in agony, I heard Thorne scream as the side of his head was torn open by foot long claws. Whiteclaw had come for me.
“Go! Leave now and never return! I will find you.”, he boomed. Somehow, I gathered my strength and w ent hurtling down the mountain trail as fast as my short dwarven legs would carry me. At last, I reached the walls of the great city. Exhausted, I tried to lose myself among the narrow streets and filthy crowds. For a time it worked until one day in the courtyard. Three dwarves from my clan spotted me before I had the chance to run. “Murderer!” they yelled as the came at me with long spears. As before, Whiteclaw appeared and hacked the shocked dwarves to pieces. But this time, the city guards witnessed the entire incident. Whiteclaw
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