For those who are curious this is my extended back story, some details will be left out, only some that I think that need to be in there are prevalent.
I was born into a small family, mother, father, and older brother, into a small village in a remote area in the countryside. The village, which I called home, was famous around the area for making terrific weaponry, my father being one of those famous in his craft. He was a Blacksmith you see, specialized in the forging of great and lavish swords. My brother was his apprentice, being about ten years older than I was, and at the time was growing from the knowledge bestowed upon him by my father. I remember going into his shop sometimes, just listening to him teach him, hoping to learn now and one day be able to take up the trade as well. Our village, nor my family, was not rich for their well crafted weapons, yet we were not poor either. What we did have was closeness; everyone knew each other well and was willing to help anyone. It was a happy time, we did not live in lavishness, but I was content. This however was to change in my fourteenth year.
I still remember that day that it all changed. The weather was befitting of the coming occurrence. The day was a bit cold, mist laid about the ground and there was a grey cloud cover. The mist prevented seeing at great distance, but this weather was common this time of year in my village. I was out back of my home when I heard a woman running into town yelling something to the degree that soldiers were coming from a country that ours was not in good terms with. Before she could yell it again though she let out a different sound, one of agony and she then was silent. I peered around the walls of my home towards the path that led through the center of the village and saw nothing out of the ordinary except for people scattering, women running with children and men running pick up arms, some women in fact joining them. Everything was silent except for the silent chatter among those standing in anticipation. Then I heard it, the sound of horses galloping, and as the sound hit my ear soldiers exploded out of the fog, weapons drawn and charging the village. I was too young to realize it but my village was a threat due to its weapons that were produced. Our village took its stand dropping many soldiers from their mounts but their efforts were futile, they were outnumbered significantly. All fought valiantly but it was of no avail, the soldiers had lit ablaze the structures, forcing all out. By the time the villagers, as well as my family, had come to the center of town, fleeing the fire most of our village’s defenders had fallen. I still hid out back of my home, hoping, praying not to be seen, and yet still keeping a visual on the occurrences in the village. What happened next is something that I will never be able to forget, and is hard to recount but for the sake of it, I will. The soldiers dismounted their steeds and began mercilessly murdering all. My mother, my father, and my brother, all cut down. It was an unbearable sight to see but I had to keep my composure to stay quiet in hope that I would be seen. Those sounds I heard on that day though, they will haunt me for the rest of my days. After all were dead they began raiding the village, taking all weapons that they could get their hands on. I was about to flee into the surrounding forest until I looked to my left and saw a villager, another blacksmith’s son in age comparable to my brother, limping towards the trees. I rushed to him and we both hid in the forest until the soldiers had left. What caught my eye was that he was wielding my father’s final creation, his masterpiece of sorts. We remained quiet, and in time the soldiers left.
We left without going to the fallen, our village destroyed, we could not bear seeing our friends, our family in ruin. We walked along the trail to where we thought we knew was the closest habitation, moving very slowly since he had been badly injured. That night we set to sleep under the trees, hoping someone would find us, yet at the same time horrified at the concept of who would find us. When we awoke the next morning he could barely move. He presented me with my father’s sword, saying that he did not have the strength to move on. I did not want to believe him but as I took the blade he took his last breath. So, now alone, I carried on the way, no in possession of my father’s final creation, too large for one of my height at the time to wield. This is the very sword that I don at times at the present. I walked, only staring at my feet, not wanting to look up for fear that my eyes would lock upon those of one who killed all that I have ever known. I reached a clearing and looked up, in hopes that I would find a village to help me. In fact there was a village there but to my dismay, it was abandoned. At this sight, I collapsed on the dirt, too exhausted from torment over the past two days.
When I awoke I was in a strange place, surrounded by faces that I was not familiar with, yet I knew that I had been saved. I sat up, and conversed with those around me. They asked what happened, I asked where I was. I was unable to speak of it at the time, only getting out soldiers, family, dead, and all I got as an answer was safe. I was taken in by this kind village and helped by them through hard times. I f it had not been for them I would not be alive today. After staying in the village for a few weeks I was taken in as one of their own and informed that I was now to learn the ways of their people. At first I was confused until I met the one who was to be my teacher, who explained that this village was comprised of those who could manipulate fire, fire benders. I learnt under him, taking great time to comprehend the teaching, I was told that it is learnt from an earlier age and that learning it later was vastly harder. I picked up some techniques, but nothing to the degree that other around me could perform, it was brilliant to watch.
About two years after I arrived at the village got word that the country’s forces were being decimated and all volunteers would be accepted. Once I had gotten wind of this I knew I what I must do, not in vengeance but in order to save my country. I bid a sad farewell to the village, which I had come to call my family, and made the journey to where all were to gather. Upon arrival I befriended a two men, one of age 18 other of 20. The 18 year old was a skilled archer and carried his very detailed bow with him, and the other carried two axes with him. We learnt that day that we were to lay siege to the opposing forces in hopes to repel them enough for our country to have reinforcements come, in other words we were to sacrifice ourselves to save our country. It is amazing sometimes how strong the loyalty towards one home can be, no one left after they informed of it. So that night we prepared and set out. We arrived at the enemy camp in the morning, in hopes to surprise them and attack with shock, but somehow they knew we were coming. Myself, now of adequate height to wield my father’s blade, as well as my two new friends stood strong with the rest of the volunteers. They charged at us, but instead of hiding, this time I partook in a counter charge. Both sides hit each other with great viciousness. Blood rained in the air as bodies fell. The sounds of those around me were horrible but everyone fought on, hoping that the sounds they heard were not being uttered by themselves. I almost met my end that day. I had stepped back and tripped over the corpse of a fallen warrior when a soldier came charging at me. If it had not been for my friend seeing this sight I would be dead, as I looked up at the soldier I saw an arrow puncture his throat as he fell to the ground gasping for air. This deed was not unreturned however, as later I spotted him facing an enemy I recognized, he was the one who killed my father, a face that I will never forget. My friend had also somehow been laid out on the ground and was about to be killed until I rushed in. I am not proud of what I did next but by bitterness towards this man boiled over. I eyes burned with fire as my hands headed up. The next thing I knew I had a ball of fire in my hand which I hurled at him from a distance. He burst into flames as I continued to rush towards him. As soon as I got to him, well let us just say that the blades on the top of the sword are not just for decoration, his guts laid about the floor after a momentary clash, and then the next moment his head joined his entrails. That day was the first time I had ever inflicted harm, let alone kill a person, I scared m that I was capable of that, and from that day forward I tried to find my way out of fights, I knew what they could result in and I did not want to see that again. This was hard how ever since the siege was a success and they had us enter into other battles as well. I will only explain one more of these battles, my last one, as it has significance to me.
As I had gone through battles I had better learned how to use my control over fire, my fire balls were prevalent in battles, and my two companions and I were gaining a name as the terrible trio. On this day however I learnt a great deal of more about my ability over fire, one of which I wish I never had to learn. My friend with the axes and I were plowing through the enemy soldiers while our archer was behind picking people off. I looked up from one of my victims to see a soldier with a weapon that I had only seen rarely before, he was wielding a gun. Just as my gaze fixed upon him he fired, but not at me, he hit our archer, my friend. As soon as I saw this I looked back at him only to see that he was attempting to reload. Anger filled me as I looked at him and suddenly above his head a ball of fire formed. This ball opened up and a rained of fire upon him, sending him running mad into a few of his comrades, causing them to burst into flames. I then turned and ran back to my friend. He was badly hurt and I knew he would not make it. My other friend saw me kneeling over him and he rushed over as well. As he was next to him he told us both that it was an honor to have met and fought alongside us. He handed my friend his hatchet, and I his bow, the very one that I adorn at times. His last words I still remember clearly, “give em hell, they have it coming.” For that battle we both knew we were fighting for three not just us so we let all fury fly that day. Once the battle was over it was clear that our side had been the victor. My friend and I were able to bury his body after the battle, in doing so I felt as if I was burying my entire family. We would later hear that both sides had come to a treaty and the fighting was to stop. He and I talked and we realized that the country we were fighting for was not the same country as it was when we started. We had nothing left there and on that day we decided that it was time to leave. So, at age 16, we parted ways as we both had different hopes and aspirations and I began my time as a wanderer.
Over the next 6 years I wandered from city to city, country to country trying, living in the same cloths, the one I worn during my time in battles, trying to find a place where I belonged. The first thing I noticed as I wandered through new countries was how much more advanced there were then the one of which I came from. I had to learn fast the new ways. The ways of steam, of gun powder, of industry. Life on the streets is not an easy one. Never knowing when or if you will have your next meal, always wondering if you will be safe during the night, as well as getting into scuffles with drunks who would wander by, not really able to talk your way out of a fight when they are already set on fighting you. Aside from those random brawls I avoided fighting as much as I could; it would just seem that trouble would always follow me where I went. I remember once sleeping in a park and waking up at to hear the voice of a woman crying for help. I looked up to see her being pursued by two men. I am one to avoid fights but I am also not one to let harm come to someone who is in trouble. The lady was able to escape and I was fine, aside from a few bruises. The two assailants on the hand were left in a bloody mess, and in fear of repercussion I left the town. I had to leave many cities that looked promising for this reason; you see many horrible things on the streets you sleep on at night. One day I wised up and realized I could turn my knowledge of fire into a talent. So I put together a simple act and performed it on the corners of streets in the cities I wandered around. With the tips that I accumulated I was able to afford places to stay the night, possibly in hopes to avoid seeing the things on the street, in hopes that I could avoid trouble. I never really could figure out why they tipped me though, was it the act or that the cloths I had worn were becoming very tattered and ripped, may shirt had almost all been shredded. One night when I could not afford to rent a room it was bitter cold and I was able to keep my body warm by a blanket I found yet my face was frozen. I took the remains of my shirt that night and formed a type of mask in hopes that it would keep my face shielded from the cold. Times were getting tough and my street performances were making me enough to get by but I did not have any luck with the towns I went to. Either it just did not feel right or something would happen that would force me to leave, whether that was defending myself or someone, or being expelled for my appearance, not the best to go around in tattered clothes with a large sword and bow strapped to your back. I finally stumbled upon the town of New Babbage and new that this town could finally be the right fit I had been looking for. So I took some of the last of my money that I had made while performing and bought some appropriate clothes and set up a small camp outside the walls of town. So at night if you see me about the roofs, in attire that is old and tattered, adroning a large sword and bow, do not fear, I am only looking to keep the streets safe. Hopefully this town will be the home I have been looking for, and I will protect it with my life if I need to.