Having been born and raised within the heartlands of the Holy Orenian Empire, his family was cast from alleyway home to alleyway home, constantly being treated as a hidden reality of the city. Poor, hungry, sick, aching; it is always something in this glorious city, is it not?
Bruno was born into poverty, his father, Avi Glasse, a regular at most taverns throughout the land, and his mother, Shoshana, a regular within the back rooms of each as well. He never spent a day without clothes, and his parents would starve themselves in order to make sure he was fed, forced together in order to care for the life that they had accidentally created together. His father didn’t want to stay, but the thought of raising a young man of his own turned him into a selfish tyrant. From the age that Bruno was cognisant of his existence, his father worked to raise him to be a knight, a soldier that could and would be a force to be reckoned with. The oppressed son of the relationship instead sought arts and the Church. A sword didn’t feel correct in his hands, though an instrument or thick book felt entirely so. The back and forth of the two as Bruno aged forced his mother into a dreadfully slow tailspin. She only wanted to love the two of them as they were, happy with the sort of people each were and certainly biased by her familial bond. Constantly, she advocated for his son and his interests, praised him for speaking to a Canonist priest while his father screamed at him for not already being squired by a nobleman’s knight.
At around the age of fifteen, Bruno’s father berated him and his mother one last time before leaving the protection of the Orenian Empire to make a trek towards Urguan, where he’d attempt to give any information in exchange for sanctuary. Bruno had not heard any sort of truth regarding his father, just rumors that the dwarves had cut him down at their gates, just due to the thought of partaking in any sort of treasonous activity coming out of the Empire.
Bruno chose the more liberal path of arts and literature, his mother supporting him until eventually going mad and being declared as a heretic by the Canonist Church. Bruno’s distance and satire seem to have stemmed from this event, while still bearing the mark of the Church, he’s lost most of his faith in it, though perseveres through his relationship with GOD and his own mind. His, not-so-traditional, ways tend to keep him sane and from feeling as though he’s just another brick in the walkway, to be endlessly used to fuel the dreams and desires of those higher in class than he. So with satire and the means that his father used to communicate, he lives his lonely life alongside a lute and flute; exactly where he wants to be.
Bruno would cast the man a sideways glance, quirking his brow and even pursing his lips as the stranger approached him. His arms cross and the upper half of his body leans backwards, “If you think that those aspirations are within reach as I step off of- What? A freight ship?” He laughs aloud, shaking his head even widening his eyes as he looks into the stranger’s. “What of the pursuit of happiness? Food, even?” Bruno even snorts this time, as over-the-top as usual, “Your head lives in the clouds, sir!” He exclaims, tossing his arms outward and stretching them above his head, “I am here, to make the clouds that force me to forget! Hah!”
He wouldn’t have even let the man get a word in edgewise, strutting off in faux-anger, around the market and into the alleyways of the city; searching for sweet, sweet relief.
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