DerianCypher
First Post
(Hey all, I thought it'd be fun to write a story hour from a single PCs point of view. The following is his backstory. I hope you like it and any comments would be greatly appreciated.)
My story begins like many stories do. It starts with my childhood in the small city of Barlain. I was the son of two loving parents and was to be raised to be someone great. My father was Alain Al’Ulfgar and he was of Noble birth. My father, like his father before him, served His Majesty the King of Tunaria as a General of the Armies. It was family tradition for the oldest male to serve the King and had been for hundreds upon hundreds of years. My mother gave birth to me and they named me Artimus. Two years after my birth my father retired from service and moved to Barlain to raise me, just like his father had done.
Alain was the Captain of the City guard and his wife stayed home to care for me during the day. While my father worked hard during the day, at night he spent most of his time with his me. Be it teaching me to play the flute, or telling me stories about our family, My father and I could not be separated. Sometimes he was even known to bring me with him out on his patrols. When I was about 4 my father had his me officially initiated into the family. I was magically tattooed with the family crest: a Lammasu reared onto it’s hind legs with wings spread and a crown at it’s feet. These tattoos were placed on my wrists and would remain there forever, never fading or distorting.
On a warm summer day when I was about 7 my entire world came crashing down on me. I was out with my mother at market buying food for the evening meal when the giant bell on the temple began ringing furiously. People stood around for a moment questioning what was happened. Suddenly, the city guards began racing through the city, shouting for men to take up arms and for women and children to get home to safety. My mother dropped her basket and grabbed me and ran. She ran like the wind to our home and bound inside our front door. The slammed the bar into place behind the door and set herself to preparing things for us to leave. She crammed blankets and food into packs. Lastly, she carefully packed my father’s flute into a pack and then grabbed 3 cloaks. Each cloak had a clasp that was emblazoned with our family crest on it. Lastly, she packed a signet ring into the pack.
Without warning, the sounds of battle were heard outside our front door. Holding back tears she ran and grabbed a dagger from the kitchen and stood protectively in front of me. The scream of a dying man was heard just beyond the door followed immediately by three loud bangs. My mother looked out the window next to the door and let out a sob. She pulled the bar off the door and pulled the door open. Outside stood my father in his armor, a stream of blood trickling down his face from a wound over his eye. In his hand was a sword with blood dripping off of it. He ran inside and put a pack over his shoulders and put on one me. He then picked me up in one arm and ran outside. My mother not far behind, we ran out of the city. Occasionally we ducked into an alleyway or turned back to take a different route, but eventually we did get out. We ran to the outskirts of the city and then to the surrounding forest. It seemed like we ran for hours. I hid my face in my father’s shoulder to hide my tears of terror. Only when I heard my mother scream did I look up.
As I look up my father came to a dead halt. My mother fell to her knees and then onto her face, an arrow sticking up from her back. Behind her I saw the enemy, I saw the man who did all this. I saw the man who ruined my life.
My father dropped me to the ground and I scrambled away from him. He walked slowly to the man as he dropped his wickedly curved bow and drew a sword from the sheath at his side. Shouting my father charged him and did battle. Ripostes melded to thrusts in a blur of light and steel. Finally, my father got the upper hand and stepped into the man’s defenses and shoved his sword through the man’s middle. The man and my father toppled over and lay still for awhile. Slowly, my father rolled onto his back, and I saw why he was groaning softly. A dagger was protruding from his side.
I ran over to my father and held one of his hands in both of mine and cried, “Father! Father! What do I do? I’m afraid Father! Don’t leave me!”
A look of loved crossed his eyes as he saw me and he said with his last breath, “You must live to be the best man you can.”
I was alone and terrified, but I did what my father told me. I lived.
My story begins like many stories do. It starts with my childhood in the small city of Barlain. I was the son of two loving parents and was to be raised to be someone great. My father was Alain Al’Ulfgar and he was of Noble birth. My father, like his father before him, served His Majesty the King of Tunaria as a General of the Armies. It was family tradition for the oldest male to serve the King and had been for hundreds upon hundreds of years. My mother gave birth to me and they named me Artimus. Two years after my birth my father retired from service and moved to Barlain to raise me, just like his father had done.
Alain was the Captain of the City guard and his wife stayed home to care for me during the day. While my father worked hard during the day, at night he spent most of his time with his me. Be it teaching me to play the flute, or telling me stories about our family, My father and I could not be separated. Sometimes he was even known to bring me with him out on his patrols. When I was about 4 my father had his me officially initiated into the family. I was magically tattooed with the family crest: a Lammasu reared onto it’s hind legs with wings spread and a crown at it’s feet. These tattoos were placed on my wrists and would remain there forever, never fading or distorting.
On a warm summer day when I was about 7 my entire world came crashing down on me. I was out with my mother at market buying food for the evening meal when the giant bell on the temple began ringing furiously. People stood around for a moment questioning what was happened. Suddenly, the city guards began racing through the city, shouting for men to take up arms and for women and children to get home to safety. My mother dropped her basket and grabbed me and ran. She ran like the wind to our home and bound inside our front door. The slammed the bar into place behind the door and set herself to preparing things for us to leave. She crammed blankets and food into packs. Lastly, she carefully packed my father’s flute into a pack and then grabbed 3 cloaks. Each cloak had a clasp that was emblazoned with our family crest on it. Lastly, she packed a signet ring into the pack.
Without warning, the sounds of battle were heard outside our front door. Holding back tears she ran and grabbed a dagger from the kitchen and stood protectively in front of me. The scream of a dying man was heard just beyond the door followed immediately by three loud bangs. My mother looked out the window next to the door and let out a sob. She pulled the bar off the door and pulled the door open. Outside stood my father in his armor, a stream of blood trickling down his face from a wound over his eye. In his hand was a sword with blood dripping off of it. He ran inside and put a pack over his shoulders and put on one me. He then picked me up in one arm and ran outside. My mother not far behind, we ran out of the city. Occasionally we ducked into an alleyway or turned back to take a different route, but eventually we did get out. We ran to the outskirts of the city and then to the surrounding forest. It seemed like we ran for hours. I hid my face in my father’s shoulder to hide my tears of terror. Only when I heard my mother scream did I look up.
As I look up my father came to a dead halt. My mother fell to her knees and then onto her face, an arrow sticking up from her back. Behind her I saw the enemy, I saw the man who did all this. I saw the man who ruined my life.
My father dropped me to the ground and I scrambled away from him. He walked slowly to the man as he dropped his wickedly curved bow and drew a sword from the sheath at his side. Shouting my father charged him and did battle. Ripostes melded to thrusts in a blur of light and steel. Finally, my father got the upper hand and stepped into the man’s defenses and shoved his sword through the man’s middle. The man and my father toppled over and lay still for awhile. Slowly, my father rolled onto his back, and I saw why he was groaning softly. A dagger was protruding from his side.
I ran over to my father and held one of his hands in both of mine and cried, “Father! Father! What do I do? I’m afraid Father! Don’t leave me!”
A look of loved crossed his eyes as he saw me and he said with his last breath, “You must live to be the best man you can.”
I was alone and terrified, but I did what my father told me. I lived.
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