Born to the Iramnis line, Quinn grew up a farmer. His family did okay, always having enough to eat and work, but Quinn always wanted more. At the age of 12 he began practicing swordsmanship in secret, avoiding his parent’s knowledge of it. He also would keep his shares of the crop money that they received and spent it on tutors, who taught him, slowly but surely, the fine arts of politics and manners as well as the basics of finer grammar and etiquette. Growing up on the outskirts of the Crown of Renatus-Marna, he would sneak out at night and just watch people. Unfortunately that meant he would occasionally cross paths with unsavory people, more than once causing him to get injured as he fought back. After an incident where he was assaulted, he begged a local doctor to teach him enough medicine to treat himself, to which they reluctantly did.
At the age of 16, Quinn ventured again to the city when he heard a rumor that the current monarch was there. On his way he was stopped. At first he thought them guards patrolling, belonging to Renatus’ well known and well organized army. Quinn realized as they got closer that they were not guards, but bandits. A fight ensued, where one man ran for backup and the other fought an ill equipped Quinn. Quinn at first gained the upper hand, using what he remembered from his well earned and quite costly mentor on hand to hand combat, but the bandit’s methods soon proved too much. Quinn was stabbed in the side. Quinn, feeling himself grow hot with rage and his vision blurry, used that as a distraction. He leveraged a position behind the bandit, snapping his neck before collapsing to the ground.
When Quinn started awake, it was well into the night. Shakily he rose to his feet, wincing as he did so. The bleeding had slowed, and upon closer inspection Quinn saw that the wound was not deep enough to cause significant harm. However the fact that he had killed bothered him. He looked around for the body, but it was gone. He investigated slowly, careful not to jar his injury, but only drag marks into the brush, and a sword laying in the grass. It was a worn blade, simple in it’s design. He picked it up, looking it over for anything that would hinder it’s use. Finding none, he slowly made his way home, sometimes using the blade to keep himself from falling over.
When he arrived home, he found his parents worried sick. He was forced to tell them all he had done as he patched himself up. His father was furious that Quinn would have such high goals, none of which involved his family. More importantly, the news that Quinn had taken a life shook them. They feared the bandits would return to take their twisted form of justice for one of their own. They told Quinn that he was not welcome. Without a choice, Quinn left.
Now alone and wandering, he went to the city. There he did odd jobs for four years, biding his time and building his strength and experience. He would watch everyone as they passed by, making good use of his keen eye. Then at age 20, Quinn left the city in order to find somewhere of his own. He had read of his great grandfather when he was young, and had always dreamed of an Iramnis Estate, or a place of his own to Govern. His run in with the bandits had taught him something no tutor could ever have. The world can be a cruel place. One can not find a place in it, they must earn it.
