I don't dwell in the past. I don't celebrate birthdays, nor do I mourn deaths. My only friends are my skills, my weapons, and my environment. There never was time for celebration during the War. The things I did during my time in the Norlandic Army under Godden I still give me night terrors. I'll never be able to escape the past. My parents, both born in the Kingdom of Norland, pushed me to enlist in the Army at the ripe age of 16. At that time, tensions were already high, yet our Captain claimed that our mission had to do with the "hardening" of souls and "strengthening" of character, and all the new recruits swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. The Captain said we were free to take what we wanted, as per tradition, from every village we raided. I did what the other recruits did, stuffing my pockets with valuables. I still see the look of terror of the women running to hide their children, as the men retreat into the forests. Their fate is unknown to me, even today. I had no idea that we had added fuel to the fire and sparked the Atlas Coalition War. I was never on any important missions during the conflict, yet I was always there to see my closest friends and people whom I had grown up with leave this world. I then learned that it is best to traverse the land alone, as to not risk any more loss. I now remain, at age 41, an empty shell of a man. I wander the realm of Atlas, catching the odd job. Maybe I'll open a tavern, or become an assassin. Death is all I know at this point. And God knows nobody will employ me, not with my history, and not with people holding the former Norlandic soldiers responsible for the murder of many members of the clergy. People always say time heals everything, but they never mention that it also requires a will to heal.
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