Vik the Viking
I was nurtured from a baby to a boy after being born into the continent of Arith. My mother worked as a maid for the monarch of our lovely country's children, while my father was a lieutenant in the local militia. For many years, I lived in peace and freedom, with wonderful memories of running through the woods and playing cards with my best friend, Dredd_kiji, however one memory haunted me to this day... my father's arrest. He would simply serve for a short period of time and then return home, I was assured. He never did. I never thought he would.
Apart from that, I had a pleasant life. But it all came to an end with the bandit raids. That day, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the river was gently lapping against the port's historic foundations. An iron-clad bandit ambushed me out of nowhere! I was unarmed and would have been a gonner if it hadn't been for a soldier stepping in and wounding him. Regardless, the robbers were able to overwhelm the defensive garrison, although they did not murder us. Instead, they broke into the prison and... just let the inmates go. When the horde of filthy, filthy men began crawling and marching out of the prison gates, their hair unwashed and their tunics crawling in fleece, the street and the residents merely gazed at them. Then I noticed.... my father, who was limping. Little did I know, that was just the beginning of the horrors to come. His fingernails were taken out, his ears were hacked off, his ribcage protruded from his skin as if he'd been starved for days, if not weeks, and his faces and arms were bruised. He was riddled with cuts and gouges. My mother ran into his arms, and refused to let go... pouring out a sea of tears and crying with joy that she finally had him back. Yet that joy was not meant to last.
I heard a whoosh, a thump, my mother screaming, bandit shouting, and a thud as a body dropped on the floor all within a split second. The lord of the area had returned and shot my father with an arrow from a nearby hill, though my mother subsequently informed me that he was swiftly discovered by the bandits and beheaded, his head placed on a pike beside the flags of his fallen nation. But I was enraged, indignant at the demons that had been unleashed in my heart that I had never known existed. I realised I had been duped my entire life; monarchs were not heroes safeguarding the country; they were tyrants oppressing the people, and I refused to believe it. After robbing a few shopkeepers, I packed my belongings and gave some money to my mother to keep her alive while I grabbed the rest. I kissed her farewell and walked out of town. I would live in the dark woods for many years after that under the guidance of an elder, whom never told me his name, even on his deathbed. In my memories, the next few years were dismal. I do recall engaging in guerrilla warfare with wanted criminals and developing my abilities to stage ambushes to the point where I could do it it in my sleep. It was all going so well, i had friends around me, we were fell fed and equipped and feared throughout the lands.
My luck, however, would turn against me when, while going downstream in a boat with a friend, I heard a swirl approaching and turned around to see another outlaw approaching. While the trident had reached the boat, it flipped it, putting me under the sea. The bandit, who was already fatigued, struck into the boat, his trident going right through it. As the trident entered my eye, I tried to scream, but it would have meant certain death. The bandit seeing blood begin to darken the water assumed I was dead and flew away. I had escaped but i lost one of my eyes, a heavy price and have been blind ever since in it. My comrade.... he didn't have a lot of luck. I dragged myself and his body onto the damp sand and beneath an ancient tree as the sun sank, using the last ounces of strength to finish his grave, sticking my beloved sword, Fjoln into the top, his name engraved upon it to act at the tombstone, a worthy tombstone, for a worthy warrior and most of all, a worthy friend.
My devil had long been caged, he came out roaring. I realised that in this world, devotion and good deeds were one thing, but that deep down, everyone yearned to escape poverty's clutches; that money had conquered all. So I started building a new country, one that would fly under the radar until it was too late for its enemies, one that would be unknown to most but dreaded by all. Thus, on that day, I joined the Kaizoku Mercenary Group, an organisation made up of the most desperate individuals seeking a wealthy and thrilling life, and trained them into an elite battalion dedicated to their contracts and jobs.
It would be the beginning, of a long...long journey of I become the legend of the mercenary that I am today