Brotherhood. Loyalty. Justice.
The runes were carved not just upon Growling Bear's flesh, but upon his heart... upon his warrior's soul.
Originally, those gifts were bestowed to his ancestors... granted by a Chieftain from the oldest of the tribes' old tales.
The Chieftain's name... lost to the ages.
Their deeds, forever immortalized in song.
As Growling Bear held onto his horse's harness, he felt the comfortable weight of his wargear, strapped to his waist.
He carried an animal totem, lovingly carved by his sister in the likeness of his namesake... It gave him the strength and the courage to carry on.
He carried his twin hatchets, newly crafted for their most recent endeavor. With their blades, he'd slit the throats of the enemy. With their spiked backs, he'd pierce their hearts through their metal skins.
He carried his black-painted war mask. Once donned, he would be without fear... without compassion.
