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Many hundreds of years ago, a woman gave birth to a child ... a son and called him Murtoc.
He grew and matured quickly and through school, became fluent in many languages. At a young age,
he began training in the ways of the warrior. He showed great ability in his training, so great
in fact, that he became the best student in his group. His teacher began sparring Murtoc against
bigger and stronger opponents, Murtoc coming out on top every time.
Time passed quickly, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and years
into decades. Murtoc, by now, had earned a reputation as a great warrior, and mercenary. He was
a good natured man, and always lent a helping hand wherever it was needed. Word spread of his
noble deeds, and he became somewhat of a hero among all people, far and wide.
Torches adorned the tunnel at regular intervals, giving a strange and flickering light to the
tunnel. Deep inside the cave, it opened up into a large room. Shelf upon shelf adorned the
walls, each shelf loaded with thick, old books, many being labelled with mystic runes. All those
torches gave the room a comforting warmth. In the center of the room, a chair, almost as big as
a throne, completely hand carved of the finest wood. Upon this "throne" sat a robed old man,
with a beard that reached his knees.
"When you were but a lad, I appeared to you at the fishing hole. My name is Morloch."
When he awoke, Murtoc was leaning against a wall ... It couldn't be true ... his mind _must_ be
playing tricks on him. It seemed as if he was towering over Morloch, who was standing in the
center of the room. Morloch looked as big as a grasshopper compared to Murtoc.