From a young age, Atashi had always wondered what lay beyond the border of his tribe. He'd grown up among his people in Ivorian and saw very little of the outside world before he was already an adult. His curiosity eventually lead him to leave his clan in the dead of night and explore the world. While he'd been taught plenty of hear-say of outside races, immortals and cultures, his first time seeing another race was at the age of eighteen. They were so small and fragile looking to him, he couldn't help but immediately develop sympathy and pity for their puny existence, and resolved to protect them as he traveled with them. Their travels took them to Rynmere, where they eventually went their separate ways.
Atashi settled in a small town and marveled at the architecture of humans. One of their lesser appreciated trades caught his eye and his curiosity did the rest in drawing him to try and take it up. His superior strength and height made hammering away at the hot metal a piece of cake and he was proven to be quite the able blacksmith, even if a lot of the humans looked upon him with uncertainty and discomfort. It didn't bother him, of course. They were just as ugly and sore on the eyes to him as he was to them, after all.
While living the life of a human, working as a blacksmith, he took an interest in their military and picked up a shield and axe. His superior height and weight made him a force not to be reckoned with already, but he honed his skills in combat all the same. There wasn't much difference between striking a hot iron with his hammer and striking an enemy, besides one of the two moving a lot more than the other. When he felt strong enough, he joined the black hand and let his passion and fury overcome him. After some time of handling petty criminals on the streets of the capital, he was selected to head to the eastern settlements and join the assault against a group of savages in 716.
He was at the front line with his tower shield and witnessed many deaths. And while he clashed steel with plenty of humans, he didn't kill a single one. Everyone he cross on the battle field was pretty badly injured but none were killed by his hand. After the battle, the images of the red snow and broken bodies stuck with him and haunted his dreams. The empathy he'd developed for humanity in living with them had made him soft. From that point on, he resolved to only wound his opponents unless absolutely necessary. He returned to Andaris and traded in his axe for a hammer. There he resides, working toward bettering himself and coping with the things he's seen.