EleventhSoldier

    I am the firstborn daughter of a proud guardsman, who used to work in the military, and fiery field medic. I was always intensely curious about my parents' work, following one or the other around to their workplace on days I was permitted, and this often worked out as they were unable to find me a permanent sitter. When I was 6 years old or so my last sister was brought into the world, with a problem during childbirth leaving my mother sterile with 4 daughters. This begged the question of who was to continue our lineage’s profession, as our family had always passed down the art of swordsmanship to the male heir. Rather than let this tradition die out and seeing my curiosity towards the subject my father decided I was to be trained by him as if I was the male heir. The training started the very day I turned 7 with him waking me up early to do drills and learn from him everything it took to be a warrior, along with lessons two days a week from my mother about medicine and the history of Norland which allowed my body to rest.

    This went on for years, with only occasional breaks for worship of the Red Faith or special market days. Soon enough the time came when I turned 9 and it came out that the doctors had been wrong and my mother was pregnant again and I felt so confused, while I was happy for another sibling I was worried that if it was a boy I would be replaced. In the meantime my father kept up training and drills, convinced it would be a girl and I would have nothing to worry about. In the end my nightmares came to fruition and a baby boy was born, training halting slowly as he started growing, stopping completely by the time I was 17, leaving me unable to completely master swordsmanship without guidance to push me forward. In the next two years I became closer to my mother, trying to ignore every time my brother was congratulated for his achievements and focus on what had been the other side of my training- becoming a medic. I worked hard and studied furiously, trying each day to exhaust myself so much I wouldn’t think about what I had lost and how much swordsmanship had meant to me. It didn’t work, so each night I would sneak out and work on drills and improve my strength so maybe my father would see my potential and continue teaching me. Two years passed with this hope slowly dying out until I realized if I wanted to finish my training I would need to travel elsewhere, find someone who would help me. The last straw however was when I collapsed from exhaustion and stress for the 9th time in the two years. So I left, I stopped filling up my time with medicine and told my family it was time I went out on my own, that I would make them proud. Despite the struggles with my father I was sad to be leaving and it was a tearful goodbye on both sides but I set off anyway, unwilling to keep sacrificing my health and sanity like I was.