Cavaric was born in the forests of the imperial crownlands, an orphan, raised by his near ancient grandmother, since his father Alaric, an undistinguished yet honoruble and courteous knight, and his mother Imelda were killed by bandits, shortly after the birth of their son. Raised by the old woman, on tales of chivalry and war, the tales of father. Cavaric is determined to make something of himself, and restore whatever might and honor his ancestors may have had. Now age 20, his grandmother dead and buried, his home, now nothing but a shoddy ruin, rain soaked and falling apart. he makes his way into the wider world, with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the ambition that drives him.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
"Oh… you’ve been expecting me?" The man hesitates, surprised. He considers the crone, wheighing his options, wondering if it would be better for him to leave. Uncertain for a moment, he settles in the chair offered. “to answer your question, I'm looking for work, coin too if it is to be found“ He says, as he takes in his surroundings, expecting the worst after months on the road.
The old woman smiles a toothless smile "Well I'm sure you'll be able to find something to do around here, what is your name lad?"
"Cavaric" He says as he tries to summon forth a smile. "Good woman, you wouldn't happen to have some food to spare? I've only eaten windfalls and a bit of bread since last week" His stomach rumbles. the chair squeaks and Cavaric smiles awkwardly.
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