Str4wberriGrim

Haldaer grew up in a small home on the Isle of Nevaehlen. His family had a very humble living situation- with his father Halwon was an herbalist shop-keep, his mother Callonis working full-time as a Ranger, and his grandmother Maliel who was a retired herbalist and stayed with them, baby sitting when the parents weren't home.

Despite their in house troubles—things couldn't have been more normal for Haldaer. He slowly grew into a well rounded young boy, often helping his grandmother tend to the garden they had outside of their home. But above all, pursuing his interest in education. Despite his druid and naturalistic culture—in which he embraced as any other. He grew attached to literature's and books. He wished to be like his mother one day, a Ranger. But he also wished to fulfill another dream, which was to be a professor of some sort at most. Or maybe even a poet, as he did enjoy even the silliest of fiction.

Haldaer's grandmother had taught the young man plenty things, and took a liking to his interest in education. Often telling him stories of how she once was when she was younger. How she met his mother's father, how she would heal the nearly unhealable, scary stories, wars she witnessed, stories even she was told when she was once little. And so on. Haldaer loved his grandmother unconditionally with their bond, and if cherished every moment he had with the older woman.  He would often find himself inside of the library for hours on end, discovering all sorts of stories and histories that fascinated him whenever he didn't want to be at home, despite enjoying his grandmother's tales. It was her who would suggest it after all. And though his parents couldn't really wrap their heads around his interest- they found his hobby endearing. And supported him nonetheless.

All was well in the Talron household, until it wasn't. As Haldaer was heading home after helping his father with shopping in the district—the two would return to a broken door, and their sign on the front which had said "Closed" at the foot of it. In a panic, Halwon rushed inside to a dreadful sight. And Haldaer behind to witness the reaction of his father, howling in grief at the loss of his mother and wife. Searching aimlessly around the house in a blind rage for the perpetrators but to no avail. His search was in vain, and so was the robbing. As the family barely had anything to steal in the first place—but medecine, teas, and perhaps treats baked by Halwon's mother.

Days would past, and the family would hold a funeral for the two. Under the rite of the earth, they buried the bodies and planted a sapling at their graves. The loss of two major figures in Haldaer's life had torn him to shreds, but he would not let their deaths go in vain. Though they may not be truly gone or forgotten—they needed justice nonetheless. 

Despite being only 12 at the time, Haldaer had trained himself and behind the scenes of many other Rangers. Watching them closely—he studied them, practicing from the far far side lines. With determination in his heart and one goal... Though with time, he'd find that his goal would slowly die out. As he grew older, and as his father lost hope in ever finding those who had wronged them. He too had grown doubtful in the search. Through their pain and grieving, they prayed to the Stag, and hoped for better comings. Slowly, the two would find solace in their grieving. The 5th stage, acceptance. And Haldaer, though still training himself to fight like his mother once did- he also knew she'd be proud of him if he had followed his own dreams.

As he would age- Haldaer wanted to venture outside of his home in Nevaehlen. He wanted to see more of the world- what it had to offer. Who he would see and meet? What encounters he would have and... Maybe on the off chance. Actually finding the people who had killed his mother and grandmother.

It was a wild thought—but it wasn't completely off the table? He knew there was a chance he could possibly- pray fully at least face those responsible... And that was a risk he was willing to make- even if it would kill him in the end. He still had hope. Though it was little, it was still something.

So once he turned 17 he said his tearful goodbye's to his father. Knowing how much he would miss him hurt, but knowing it was for the better of them both is what kept him going. He knew his father would be proud of him no matter where he went, as long as his son were happy. Though before he would make his leave. He sprinkled peony  seeds at the base of the sprouting oak trees that were growing from his mother and grandmother's graves.