Biography:

In the desperation of my youth I shunned the path of the weak. I now live in fear of strikes from enemies every day. However, many an accursed Dwarf's last memory has been the sharp agony of my serrated dagger slip between their shoulder blades, biting deep through flesh and bone alike. They always fight valiantly, but I know the damage has already been done. They weaken, convulsing, suffering insidious pain as the toxins imbued upon my blade work deadly havoc. As I slice out their tongues they scream incoherently, mouths wide, filling with blood. I open my mouth too, and they see the scarred stump within. Choking they spit out blood, dripping down, clotting in their beards. I force their mouth and nose closed, reveling in their last futile struggle. Finally their writhing ceases. I disappear into the dark. A shadow.