Symon Ironhart was born in the heartland of the realm of Axios, in a small farming village near the borderlands. He was raised by a blacksmith father and a hardworking mother, learning discipline and endurance from an early age. His childhood was shaped by constant conflict in the surrounding regions, forcing him to grow up quickly. As he matured, Symon left his home after a brutal raid destroyed much of his village, leaving little reason to stay. He traveled across Axios, taking work as a mercenary and guard to survive. Over time, he became known for his strength, silence, and unwavering loyalty to those who paid his blade. Now he seeks purpose and a place to call home within the shifting politics of the realm.
You push open the tavern door, and the sound inside changes before you even fully step in.
Conversation dies in uneven pieces.
A chair scrapes back too fast. A mug slips slightly in someone’s hand. A laugh cuts off halfway, like it was never meant to happen at all.
Then the silence spreads.
People don’t just look at you—they freeze on you. Eyes widen, shoulders tighten, hands hover a little too close to weapons that were meant to stay hidden.
Someone quietly slides their stool back, as if distance alone could matter.
You hear it in fragments, low and broken:
“…that’s him…”
“…no, it can’t be…”
“…I heard he took down a whole company alone…”
The barkeep doesn’t greet you. He doesn’t need to. His face says enough—recognition mixed with something heavier. Fear, carefully contained.
A swallowed breath. A forced calm voice:
“…Just… don’t start anything.”
No one moves closer.
No one speaks louder.
The room simply waits—afraid of what you might do, even though you haven’t done anything at all.
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