Aaron Rubedos was born in a remote northern settlement of Störheim, a community bound to the influence of Bekkrheim. His parents were simple folk, living a harsh peasant life. They sought to give their son purpose and a better chance at life, through service in the Wolfpacks of the Berserkr.
From an early age, Aaron was trained in the ways expected of his kind. Weakness did not survive the winters. He learned the Angrkharn and Veikr like his Maðrvindr brothers, yet unlike most, he never fully surrendered himself to the frenzy of the Väki. Where others embrace the blood-madness of the Berserkr, Aaron remained measured. Despite the mockery and pressure from his brethren, he became a disciplined soldier, shaped not only by battle, but by restraint and honor.
Aaron served under a rising war-leader of his pack. A man who had won many battles. A man who had earned the respect of the foothills of the region. But over time, this changed. Consumed by the whispers of the Väki or broken by constant threats to his life, he began to see omens where there were none. Soon everything collapsed into madness. Orders of defence changed to orders against their own.
Aaron could not endure longer. His heart wouldn't allow it.
When he turned his back on his pack, it was already too late to undo what had been done. Hiding out of sight, he tried all he could to convince his family and woman to flee with him. But once he found his loyal parents dead, he knew time had run out. Together with his woman, he ran. They fled across the frozen reaches of Störheim, until they reached the coast.
Here they boarded an overcrowded refugee vessel, bound for unknown shores. But fate didn't care for their misfortune. In the scrambling for the ships, they were separated.
Not knowing if his woman had survived, Aron was eventually washed ashore apon the continent of Azuras. There, amid strangers and unfamiliar customs, he began his search for her. Not as a Berserkr, but as a man holding onto the one thing he'd always carried. His love for his woman.
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?”
((How does your character respond? Please ensure your response is at least six sentences long, and uses at least two actions.))
Aaron's hand snapped to the empty space at his hip where his sword used to hang. His fingers curled briefly before he forced them to loosen again. For a moment, he stood still in the dim light of the shack, the candle flames flickering across his face as he studied the old woman. Only after a pause did he lower himself into the offered chair, though his posture remained rigid, ready to rise at any moment.
“I come from a faraway place… Störheim.”
A brief silence followed. His eyes stayed on her.
“It does not matter.”
His jaw tightened slightly as he exhaled through his nose.
"I am looking for someone.” A short pause. “A woman I lost.”
His hand balled into a fist in his lap before going still once more.
“I was told you might know where to begin looking.”
Recommended Comments