Quadral smoked the last of his husk weed he'd taken from the dwarves. Stupid, arrogant, cave boys. He nudged the dense body with his foot. Pathetic, he thought. There were two more somewhere, another dwarf and a non-dwarf. He could smell them.
The absolute blackness didn't bother Quadral. His father had buried him alive several times to get used to it. "Stop your crying boy and find a way out." He chuckled at the thought. Father looked surprised the final time he tried. Bullying a boy was one thing, but he'd grown older and stronger and learned to hate. Hate was the key to survival. To hate your enemy more than he hates you. Quadral heard the echo of the shovel splitting his father's skull and the meditative sound of the the spade piercing the dirt to bury the man he owed so much to.
He breathed in the fear of the dwarf. The little ones always bragged about courage and honor and other shit, but when it came to an unknown death it terrified them. Two more and he earned himself a full tankard and meal. Two more. Quadral hoped this dwarf carried more husk weed.
Quadral is a killer. He creates hate to give himself purpose and to provide himself an enemy. To those who his hate is not focused on, he is a calm man who always has a slight smile on his face. As if he knows something you don't. He will indulge in anything to the extreme, wine, violence, women or gambling. He will continue until all others surrender.