MarkytoBear

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”

((How do you respond?))
 

"Well what can I tell you?" Yemegur pulls up the cushion and plants his armored butt onto it with a clank. "I was born in the mountains to a clan of my kinsmen." Yemegur's face sours, his gaze meets his hands on his lap. "My da and ma were two beardlings in love who thought their passion meant more than clan tradition but uh... One of them had the clan name so I had to be taken in even if without a name." Yemegur leans in closer, resting his face on the fist held in his hand. "I sometimes got to see my ma on rare occasions during clan celebrations, Brongards were allowed to mingle with us then. I never got to know her very well, I found out she got killed defending a raid sometime when I was twenty winters old." Yemegur waves his hand dismissively. "Growing up around all these fancy born Irgards was hard but children will always find a sacrifice to pick on in their games for any reason. I at least was bigger than most of them and got a lot of practice swinging arms and clubs. When it got to our trials of passage, I was one of the best, sure I never got crowned a 'winner' but people looked at me with pride for once. And the name of Irgard was granted to me by demand of the Smiths, even if the Great Smith gave me the stink eye as he pronounced me officially an Irgard." A sly smirk sneaks its way onto Yemegur's face as fond memories start making their way into his mind. "You know, a Brongard boy snuck into my quarters at night and took me to the elders of the Brongards who held a symbolic ceremony of their own to initiate me. I was given a tap on the back with hammers by every Brongard Elder before being taken back to the quarters before anyone was the wiser." Yemegur straightens out his back and leans back onto his arms. "You know, I never really understood ceremony but I felt good that night, it was like two different events all dedicated to the clan's recognition of me. I felt like one of the clan for once rather than unwanted runt."

Yemegur's face turns grim and his gaze becomes one which carries a deep sense of foreboding, he stares past the hag at a candle light floating behind her. "Good things, they never last, do they?" The candlelight flickers. The atmosphere around the man turns grim. "I eventually got given the same responsibilities as all beardlings who come of age do. I became a part of raiding parties and patrols and even got invited to the occasional war room to discuss plans. Things settled into a routine. I became a part of an Irgard war machine in the making." A grin grew on Yemegur's face but the unyielding sadness in his eyes betrayed it's sardonic nature. "No. Good things do not last, do they? We know better than all. A century of winter is enough to see that the world cares not for our happiness. My invitation to war rooms was what brought upon my exile. Did my raids fail? No. They brought plenty. Did I fail in defending the clan's holding? No. I taught them how to fashion nets to create boulder surprises on the heads of any raiders who dared climb our mountain. I knew all about making strong ropes from all the time I was made to care for our mountain goats. I was a 'true smith in the making' in the eyes of many. Making glory out of nothing." And then candle Yemegur has been staring at goes out.

"We had just defended the clan stronghold after our rivals decided to make a brutal counter-raid to make an example of us stepping out of line in the local 'balance of power'. It went perfectly. Nobody could have asked for it to be better. It rained. A lot. And our boulder traps not only crushed our enemies but also slipped down and tripped them as well. It was my shining moment. We didn't even lose a single beard in battle. We celebrated. We partied and blew our horns as loud as our lungs allowed. I danced. I drank. We survived. I was one of them. Then when I went to piss, the Great Smith's man-at-arms came at me with a knife, he got me good." Yemegur lifted his chains ever so slightly to reveal an ugly healed over scar near his ribs. "But I got him better. By the time people arrived to see what the commotion was about, I was standing over his corpse. He was dead and there was no proof that I was defending myself. Few believed I was guilty but the Great Smith demanded punishment. He couldn't have me executed due to the lack of proof so I was exiled instead. Sent out into the wilds with nothing but what I was born with."

Yemegur finally perks up again, his face getting its characteristic glow of optimism back. "Yeah, it was cold. I was heartbroken. But I tore off the clan's banner at the entrance to our fortress and wrapped myself in it. Been saying my clan name is Bannertorn ever since." Yemegur has a childish hearty laugh over it. "Still gets me, that." But he exhales right after wearily. "The years sort of melt together after this. I remember a long period of nothing but survival and hardship after this. Trying to make it out of the wild into civilized land was hard. My small size compared to other races meant I could hide more easily but it made me a target for large animals of prey. I had to start fashioning traps and sleeping a top trees on knapsacks to not get chewed on during the night. Eventually I made acquaintance with a band of mercenaries who got into a bit of a pickle with a pack of wolves, I was a welcome help from atop my tree slinging a bunch of rocks to scare the furry bastards away. They took pity on me and took me with them because they needed help navigating the land and I needed something to live for other than just tomorrow." Yemegur shrugs his shoulders and then looks to the side. "It was a friendship born out of interest, I doubt they'd have taken me on if I didn't know how to get past mountains and forests. But they stayed true to their word and they even let me join them on a boat journey to go meet their guild master. My story impressed her but the things I learned fighting for my clan in the mountains were what got her attention. Turns out that dwarves are the best at fighting dwarves, heh."

Yemegur finally pats his chained laps contently. "Brings me to now, doesn't it? I don't know how they found out where I've gone but I've been asked to return to the clan by my cousin. Turns out things haven't been going as well as they could have in the decades I've been gone. I don't know what I'm expecting to find when I come back but I have to go back, right? A guild can't fill the family-shaped hole I've been trying to fill for tens of winters now. I need to build. Not just survive. That is our namesake."