The Conquerors Legacy
I was never one for my father’s craft.
Father, (Talon Farrar), always wanted me to join his forge, but how could I? When Mother told me tales of great heroes who slew dragons and singlehanded routed armies of evil warlords. Stories told to young children often affect them in later life, and this is truth with myself in consideration. A breastplate fit for a particularly large halfling was a second skin for me until our racial differences separated us, and a stick, hardened by flames, killed the branches of trees and the leaves of bushes. Eventually I joined Father in his forge. My arm bred strong blades when they were called for, but I didn’t want to make the weaponry for great men, I wanted to use it.
But Father forbid it. His didn’t want his song ‘gallivanting across Brevoy, and being cut down by bandits and worse.’ He wanted me to stay in a small town 90 miles North of Restov, Hammering swords occasionally, but mostly horseshoes and nails. I was young, I still am, I am only 19 now, but still, a year of experience is still more than Father ever had. I left, enraged by his tight grasp and relentless planning of my future, rather his future for me. I took the reins of Celder, a black horse, resident of our family, and any armour or weapons I could scrounge from the forge, at that time, a set of scale and an iron longsword, and left in the night.
I always had good intentions, but the year that followed didn’t reflect my intentions. I was half starved when I found the bandits. I was surprised I wasn’t killed on the spot, but I suppose the leader saw something in me, whether the defiance of my father, or glory lust, who knows? But, I banded with them, and, to survive, we raided and killed, and I had blood money in my pockets. We moved across the river lands, burning villages and killing other bandits alike.
Eventually we found ourselves back in the plains surrounding Restov. It was not until we were almost upon my small town that I realized the farmers and the homes. How quickly my past fell atop me. My 18 years or boredom but safety, and time after. How many innocents fell on my lance? Was this fate punishing me? I wonder, now, looking back, did I cause the attack on my small town? Did I inadvertently lead them back to the Rostland planes? Either way I had to stop it. I emplored the bandits to not attack the town, but why wouldn’t they? It was ripe for the picking, defenseless, under the feigned protection of Restov, who, all the while are bickering amongst themselves and plotting against the North and the other noble houses. So I took up arms against the brigansds I called allies only a day ago.
With the aid of the men who could pick up an arm, we warded them off. But the town was already half burnt. Mother and Father were nowhere. But, we put out the fire and began repairs. I found that Father died a few months after my departure from a weak heart, and mother a year later, from what people called ‘Loneliness’. She fell ill and died from a fever.
I stayed for weeks while we repaired. But I was looked upon with malice and suspicion, and my place was no longer here. The brigands would have tracked me eventually, and the town was not the land I wished to be in when they did. So once more, I left in the night. But this time I had morals unhindered by paternal anger. I had not the devotion to pledge myself to a god for my powers, and laws hardly suited me. I pledge myself to any who prove to be allies and friends.
Needless to say, since the events of the past year, I’m hardly the most jovial of young men, everything is tinted with the lenses of hindsight, and a certain seriousness and regret. But for now I need to escape sight of the bandits, and I have heard that ‘adventurers’ are being called on to explore the Stolen Lands, perhaps it is a viable option to hide for a while…