6th of winter, 511 av.
Gromm wandered the streets of Avanthal aimlessly, taking in the sights and sounds of the city of ice. Everywhere he looked there were storytellers and bards, none of which would offer a good challenge. The jamoura were both gifted and cursed with their tremendous strength, although it was undoubtedly an advantage, it caused capable fighters to shy away from a chance to do battle with them and only the rarest fighters could prove a challenge for a skilled jamoura.
While navigating the cold streets, he realized he was ultimately alone. He had no master, and his demeanor made friends hard to find. He let out a sigh, the path he had chosen was far from easy, a warrior is always alone. In battle you may have comrades, but relying on them too much could be the end of you. In training and meditation, you block out the world to achieve focus.
In his contemplation, he came to a startling realization. He was lost. "damned cities." He murmured to himself "why can't they just build them in a straight line?" He briefly though of asking for directions, but quickly rejected the idea. Jamouran were not made for cities, that's for sure. He thought to himself.
