I was born with withered eyes with nothing, but darkness that had lead me to heightened my other senses and thanks to that I was able created weapons and tools to better my hometown as a result. Until war knocked on my door, I was one of the greatest blacksmiths of the land. The king had personally asked for a sword made by me. During one of the battles that ended with the king's death by arrogance, my sword was to blame, but the wielder was really to blame, was too convention in his weapon. I was blamed by nobles and hatred soon began by the residents of my hometown, and one night my house and smithery were torched and I was attacked by mob of the very people I had once helped and a only seemly trustworthy guard had disabled with my own crossbow; I had escaping with an
, I have found it difficult to wield the tools for my smithery like I once did. I seek a journey to recover what has been lost or to relearn and gain new abilities as well as gain new materials. I've traveled far and wide to get my honor back. I hope that I will find my place in the world and regain my honor. I must be strong and never give up. I will do whatever it takes to succeed.
