Nero Valtier was born in Kingdom of Norland during the late Second Age. Raised in a strict militaristic household, he was expected to follow a warrior’s path and pledge himself to one day become a knight of the kingdom, especially as the men in his family had a previous history of serving the Kingdom of Haense. However, his father was not as rigid as his mother; while still firm in his expectations, he was kinder toward Nero’s interests and occasionally allowed him to indulge in reading and history, quietly supporting the side of him that leaned toward scholarship. Mysteriously, his father one day disappeared in the middle of the night without notice, leaving Nero with unanswered questions that shaped his future and his mother in grieving. His mother maintained the household despite everything, refusing to slip up and show weakness, upholding the family’s strict traditions of duty, reputation, and loyalty, while ensuring Nero continued to be trained in combat. Nero views it as burdensome and has no real desire or passion for it. Instead, he finds his true interest in words rather than war, aspiring to become both a poet and historian, preserving the stories, tragedies, and truths of the Second Age through writing. He became deeply interested in historical records, studying the wars, migrations, and political shifts of the Descendants throughout the Second Age. Now preparing to travel beyond Norland, Nero seeks the truth behind his father’s disappearance while documenting the quieter history of the realms he passes through, striving to build an identity of his own separate from war and expectation.
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?”
Nero exhales softly through his nose, though he does not immediately obey. His gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, more apprehensive than fearful, before he finally steps forward and lowers himself into the offered chair. The wood creaks under his weight, but his posture remains composed. “I come from Norland,” Nero says evenly, his voice quiet but controlled. “A place of order… or so its said...” He muttered bitterly, glancing briefly toward the candlelight, as if weighing his next words before speaking them.
“I don’t know how you could be expecting me,” he continues, tone sharpening slightly with caution, “but I’m not here for trouble, or prophecy.” His fingers move to the inside of his coat, resting lightly against the edge of his journal, as if grounding himself. “I hope to become something more than what was chosen for me, someone who remembers what others forget. Although, perhaps you already knew that..." Nero clasps his hands tightly in his lap, "Tell me, could you be the one to help me find the truth?"
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