Character Name: Alexico
Job/Level: Paladin/Warrion lvl 30
I sometimes wonder if what I have become is in my blood. Those answers lie hidden in a past I know almost nothing about. I can but tread on into the future and hope that my choices are the right ones, that my faith in life and Altana are not misplaced.
I never knew my parents; they were long passed on by my youth. My grandmother always spoke well of them, the pained fondness in her kept her from ever telling me much.
She told me, on those rare occasions she would speak of them, that my father had been an accomplished warrior, who won her daughter’s heart with his courage and skill in battle. She told of my mother, a beautiful slip of a girl and a caring healer, one whose benevolent soul could not resist helping anyone in need.
Other than these recollections I cannot remember her speaking much more of their life or even how they died. She always guarded this “secret” from me. Maybe it was so I wouldn’t take the path of adventuring, or maybe it was so that I wouldn’t follow their fate.
But that was not for her or myself to decide…
As a Hume boy growing up in San d’Oria I did not have many friends, it is hard to survive as an outside – especially among the Elvaan.
The few friends that I did make were and continue to be amazing. We have stayed together throughout the years, and we are more a family than mere friends. In fact most days you can find us hunting Giants in Qufim or running from Smithies in Yuhtunga.
But back to the story at hand.
When I was ten, a Taru friend and myself went on an “adventure” outside the safety of the castle walls. We wanted to see some of the adventurers hunting and refining their skills. I had only left him for a minute to head downstream when I heard him scream. To my horror I found a Goblin Thug staring right at him, so I grabbed the closest stick and sprinted towards his position. Just before I struck, I screamed to my Taru friend “RUN!!!”
The thug fell forward and hit the ground with a thud. I thought that I was victorious, but the goblin stood back up and unsheathed his knife. At that point I had realized the consequences of my actions, and I was frozen with fear. The goblin lunged forward with his blade, and I moved just enough so that it went right through my shoulder. I fell to my knees with the blade still in my shoulder. All I remember seeing after that was a man in white armor slice the goblin with his massive sword, then everything went black and all I felt was pain.
When I had awakened, I found myself in an unfamiliar house, with a bloodied knife sitting on a table. I could hear a woman’s voice from another room saying “Stephan, I’m glad that you called me here, otherwise he might not have made it.” At that point an older man walked in, and sat down next to me. “That was a very brave thing that you did earlier today, and not many people in your position would have risked their life for someone else’s. I think perhaps, that with proper training of your mind and body, you will make an excellent holy knight someday.”
Over the next seven years I trained vigorously, studying both books and the art of combat. Stephan took me in when my grandmother passed on. He trained me in the art of defense, focusing on shield-work and the delicate methods to stop attacks before the enemy could follow through. He taught me how to turn aside blows with an intricate internal rhythm, the dance of swords, the graceful movement of each single breath, and the very limits of what the body can take.
Just after I turned 17, Stephan ended up having to go on a quest that took him into an Orc camp. His party was ambushed and he was mortally wounded on a Fighter’s spear. The survivors brought Stephan back so that he could spend his last days in his home. Lying upon his deathbed, he told me to open the chest in the corner of the room. Therein I found a shield like none I had ever seen, its shimmering surface radiated purity and though it was far too heavy for me to hold it with my left hand – I could feel the strength imbued in its shining metal form. It was then that Stephan called me back to his bedside and told me “Your father would be proud of you, it’s a pity that neither him, nor I will be able to see you use it.” He died that night, slipping away into the arms of Altana, with a smile of tranquility on his noble face. I wondered then if he had known my father, I suppose that last thought hinted at something… though that something I will never know.
Early the next morning I left the protection of San d’Oria’s walls and stepped into the world know as Vana’diel.
Everything I do, I can’t help but to think how the past has molded my life. In a heated battle, I picture Stephan with a wooden sword and myself with a piece of wood strapped to my arm. I use the guidance he gave me as a child to protect my friends as an adult. Every day I strive to be a better person every time I step onto the battlefield. When I cant find the light that’s guiding me ahead, I pull out and stare at the shield and knife. One of these days I hope I will have enough strength to hold the shield and enough confidence to drop the knife. When I look back at my life, I ask myself one question. How did I get to where I am today? Only time and fate can tell… maybe the answer is just chance, or maybe it’s in the blood.