A what in the bottom of where?
Former post-driver from an agrarian village goes on the road as an adventurer/travelling carpenter.
- Race: Human
- Barbarian 2
“I’ll be honest with you. I don’t remember much of my early childhood. What I do know about it I was told by village elders when they felt me capable of hearing it, or the town drunks significantly earlier than that.
My parents were from a far off kingdom, over mountains and beyond the edge of the world. Theirs was a kingdom of war and strife. They sought refuge, wanting their child, me, to live a happy, peaceful life. So, they ran. They ran far, over fields and mountains, and through forests, until they stumbled upon the small farming village of Kokoron, where I was raised.
My father died moments after he made it into town. He had suffered grevious wounds at some point during their travels. The elders presume that he sustained them defending my mother and I from beasts or bandits, common dangers on the local roads at the time. My mother passed away shortly afterwords, from grief and exhaustion. The town elders weren’t even able to get my name from my mother before she passed. They are still buried in the small cemetary outside of Kokoron. Theirs are the only two graves left unmarked, off in a corner. Even in my travels, I make a point to embark home once a year, when the morning chill frosts glass windows.
Early life was hard. I the town was struggling at the time with bandits, who kept their shipments of crops from reaching market, and kept the town poor. As such, I was on the street from nearly as early as I could walk. I don’t like talking about those years much. I did things I am not proud of. I had to, to survive. I nearly got as bad as the bandits. The villagers, for the most part, didn’t hold it against me. None of them could afford to feed or raise me, so I was left to the streets. I didn’t have any teaching or training, and I wasn’t particularly bookish, so I relied on brute force and a pinch of cunning to get what I needed. I was a stout kid, and the majority of the town was of advanced age. Few would stand up to me, even if they caught me. Sometimes, looking back, I wonder if they knew when I was robbing them, and just let it go.
I hated them at the time. They had kicked me out on the street, left me to fend for myself, without even a name to call my own. I think letting me get away with what I did was their way of apologizing.
This went on until I was about 12. I was caught stealing by a woodsman and carpenter who had come to town to do some work on the town fences. He had packed a lunch of mutton stew and rye bread.
(To be continued)