Gunnar childhood was short and bitter, he spent the first 10 years of his life in poverty scavenging for whatever he could get. This is all due to his parents dying at a young age, his father died in battle as a knight. Honorable yet gruesome death, once in the line of soldiers into a head on a pole as a warning for all. His mother was tortured and murdered by petty thieves looking for anything valuable in their home. She did her best swiping at them with broken glass but there wasn’t anything to do when they got a hold of her but to tell her children to run, as far as they could.

After such events over the years the only family member he had was his older sister. She didn’t stay very long though, over whelmed by the lifestyle they live she abandoned him in hopes her life would get better.

From ten to fourteen he stole just to survive until a man offered a bed and food in exchange for work. As a child he took whatever he could get not knowing what was before him. The man was sick, abused Gunnar sexually, physically, and mentally. It was all “punishment” if he didn’t catch enough beast for the old man to feast on and fund his hoard pub. Through these challenges he gained a pain tolerance like no other, and slowly gain considerable strength, speed and learned to be silent when in the hunt.

Through all this Gunnar didn’t even receive a bed, he received a cold cobblestone floor with corners full of spiders and walls inhabited by rats. Gunnar was a slave, a prisoner to a man he trusted to give him a better life. His rage was incomparable and bottled up at that until a point where the old man was to drunk to probably lock the door to Gunnar’s room. At the dead of night he stuck out and crept up the steps to the room the old man slept in. Gunnar was practically silent under the man’s snore, he crept slowly until he was just overtop him and slashed his hands into his throat.

The first time his nails didnt penetrate enough and the man eyes shot open in surprise but it was too late. Gunnar’s second strike was enough to grab the mans windpipe and with a strong yank back, the old man was choking on his own blood, wrapping his own throat in panic he gargled his own blood. Gunnar didn’t stop he repositioned his strike and went for his eyes, with every strike his teeth grit, his hands eyes filled with rage and passion. It continued on for the next hour until the sun pierced the stained glass. Gunnar exited the room drenched in blood and bits of flesh, he’s eyes dull in emotions, his right arm aching in pain. He exited the pub and continued to walk, he walked past the limits until his feet hurt far away from the place that has tortured him since a child, into the depths of forest where he planned his new home to be.

It had been 4 years since his escape. He’d live the life of a beast, only gaining his food by his bare hands and teeth. Going through excruciating pains while he dealt venomous animals and just barely escaping mauling by carnivorous creatures. At this point he’d learn of how fire was the only thing that’d keep himself safe, through trail and error of course, he had the scars to prove so. Unknowingly though he had a bounty on his head that had doubled and quadrupled over the years for the death of the pub owner. Only notified of such a thing by the random undersized bear traps and storms of arrows that were set around his various camp sights throughout the forest.

He did rather well evading the masses until one night, a hunter of slim shape and full set of armor, had tracked him down and stood over his sleeping body. Gunnar’s head might’ve been collected if it wasn’t for the snicker the man let out as he closed in with a curved dagger. Gunnar eyes opened and locked with the hunters’ as he shot his hand out and grabbed the knife wielding arm and swung his right leg and used his knee to hit some rather sensitive parts. The hunter yelled in pain and put weight into the arm Gunnar grabbed trying to finish the job now angered by the sudden strike. Gunnar found it easy to simply through the man to the side though. He stood up and looked down upon the man in armor as he recovered. The hunter launched from the ground leading head first while swiping his knife. Gunnar emotionless in the moment grabbed the moving arm with his left hand, using the other open palm right hand to guide the hunter head first into a tree by pushing the back of the arm he grabbed and moving his body to the right in one motion. Releasing the man’s arm he than reached in the gap of the hunter’s helmet and chest plate and gripped it well enough to crush his wind pipe. Gunnar saw nothing but a weak animal when he held the man by his neck and slowly picking him up. The hunter in panic dropped the dagger and tried to loosen the grip Gunnar had on him, but he was too strong. Gunnar took the man’s helmet off with his free hand and crushed his head into the tree repeatedly. Eventually the bark was crimson red, and the tree molded a dent in the hunter’s skull. Gunnar recognized death immediately unlike his previous human kill, and should no emotion to it but simply shed anything useful from the dead body and burnt the rest as if the man was an animal. Gunnar placed the armor set on and took the mans weapon’s belt and walked for as long as he could once more. The following four years of his life has been just that, walking, slaughter, and survival until this current day.