Backstory

About me? Where do I begin?

I was born in the unassuming town of Sarain, to human father Oisin Havisk, and Elvish mother Tuuli Aamutaden. At least thats what father told me. See, I never really met my mother, at least I don’t remember her much. One day she told my father that “the fun had gone on long enough”, left for Kyonin and never looked back. I don’t resent her for it, I had a great childhood. In fact I owe her quite a lot, but I’ll get to that later.
I was raised amongst lots of older folk, as my part of the village was mostly just older folk. There were other kids in my village, don’t get me wrong, I just didn’t get along with them as much as elders. I was, different I guess you could say, and knife ears comments got really old really fast. Anyways, I liked the elders because of the stories they told, especially the ones from my grandparents. They told stories of Havisk Hall, the ancient hold of my family, stripped away from us by the bandits.. Stories of the heroism of my ancestors, like Domhnall and the dragons, and Fionn (my namesake) and the lich. They wowed me all throughout my childhood, giving me many an afternoon of adventure through the fields. But alas, those days were numbered, as all childhoods are, and it came time for me to grow up and take the footsteps of my father.
Being a hunter certainly has its perks. The adventure from my childhood translated into my young adulthood pretty well. Hunting deep into the stolen lands and surrounding area of my village. Even quite a few times my father and I served as guards for caravans traveling to and from Brevoy. Boy, those were some fine times, other than the bandits.. As I grew alongside my father, my wisdom seemed to grow as well. He was the wisest man I knew, and thankfully that rubbed off on me somewhat. Everything was wonderful, life was an adventure, my father and I couldn’t have been closer; in fact you could hardly tell I had a mother at all.
One day everything changed. I was about 19, and on a fateful day in mid Gozran, in the north of the stolen lands my father and I were set upon by bandits. There was roughly 12-15 of them, all sneering and jeering, telling us to hand over all of our valuables and to drop our bows. But we knew these men. We knew their reputation, and they wouldn’t be satisfied with anything but our lives. My father, rest his soul, turned to me with the sternest look on his face and said in elvish “I’ll create a gap. You run. No talking back. I love you, son”. I went to speak out but just then my father reached for an arrow and loosed it in a bandits throat in the blink of an eye. He then turned and smacked my horse on the rump and she took off straight for the gap. I was so confused, so hurt, so ashamed that I had to leave him there.

Then came Estel. Hope.

I eventually came to a cave, where I stopped to rest. I was broken, and lost. Abandoned by my mother, now my father had perished. I stayed in that cave, oh my, it must have been a couple of days, laying curled in a ball, crying, with my hands over my face. All was lost. I had nowhere to go. Thats when Estel came. Hope. In the darkness of my darkest day, something began to snuggle up to me. Right under the crook of my arm snuggled up a baby badger. I looked with surprise, usually such a fierce little creature wanted to take comfort in me. I immediately got the notion that, like me, this badger was lost. But he found me, which gave me hope. Estel.

After my stint in the cave, Estel rallied my spirits and I was a new man. I no longer simply wanted to be a hunter. I wanted to be a Marshall. A Ranger. A protector. I went back to Sarain, to deliver the news of my father and to give my goodbyes to my grandparents, rest their souls. I told my grandmother and she broke down. Never had I been so sad in my life as to see my grandmother cry. My grandfather just went out on his porch and smoked his pipe with a blank look on his face. I’ll never forget what he said when he came back in the house… But enough about that. Grandma Aggie led me into my old house, into a chest in the back. The chest I wasn’t allowed to touch ever since I was a boy. She opened it and handed me small pouch with a metallic rattle. It was full of gold. Gold from my mother. 900 pieces, to be exact. This was more than ample for me to start my journey. So I headed to Brevoy.

Now, in Brevoy my options were vasy. Army here, militia here, various mercenary groups here and there. But there was one that stuck out in particular. The Followers of the Dragon. I met with a gentleman in a pub in Restov, and he pointed me to the followers. He told me of their amazing journey into fruition, their fearless leader. I decided to find the recruiter.
I joined the Followers and that’s where they taught me how to use this bad boy. *pats greatsword*

I spent a few years with the Followers, but about a year and a half ago I left. Back to my old haunts. Ranging and hunting. Guarding caravans. That sort of thing. Up until I received a message from my old friend Reyes. . .

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