Born into a now-forgotten house of declining nobility, Bob’s youth was rife with the teachings of scholars and priests. At an early point in his life, the family estate in Helena was sold to an anonymous buyer and Bob was cast unto the street; his parents chartered a ship with the last of their fortune and sailed off into the unknown with a contingent of servants. Bob’s formative years were spent on the poverty-stricken streets of Helena. He robbed, he fought, he sometimes even killed; all the while vindicated by his status as a victim of society. This was all changed by the bellowing sermons of a Canonist priest. It was typical for the flamenists to visit the slums with their disillusioned messages of fiery vigor and zealous optimism, utterly unknowable concepts to the struggling masses. This priest, indeed, was different. He spoke of naught but humility and faith; the power of will. Heeding the priest’s words, Bob committed his final theft, that of an iron plow, and made his way for the farmlands of Harlingen to begin his new life.
Bob subtly eyes the aristocrat’s bodily visage, taking notice of the coinpurse hanging off his hip before answering, “Work.” The man responds, saying he has no work. Bob eyes the surrounding scenery before looking around and then taking a step, then another step. Soon enough he is on his way.
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