Dungeon Crawl Classics
My life in Camarilla was nothing.
My life as a slave tempered me.
Ildavir’s blessing healed the flesh and gave us all faith. Proof that she exists was there in the mended leg and hand.
Faith in Ildavir provides.
When we were all starving, I prayed to Ildavir and her divine power transformed the sea water to nourishment.
The fat and lazy do not respect the goddess.
Ildavir provided only enough to keep us going, not enough to fill us. When I asked for more, I found myself filled with fear.
Chaos should be fought.
I felt myself filled with rage when I saw the half-man half-animal creatures. My hands grew hot and I saw the energy shoot out of my hands making the creatures run in fear.
Glory matters not. Survival is everything.
I helped Me-gan lead the slaves down the ziggurat away from the killers above.
Honor is nothing compared to survival.
I watched Haskel tear the cloak off a woman to save himself from being torn apart. He did not even look as the woman was torn to shreds by the ghost wolf.