Little Thomas would never describe his early years as happy, far from it actually. Born in late autumn to the wife of a traveling merchant, he was introduced the harsh reality that is life. It was at the ripe age of three, on his birthday to be exact, that his mother received word her husband would be arriving home soon, as his ship was finally returning to port. Now under normal circumstances one might see this as a cause for great celebration, however there was a catch. Her husband had been away for five years. Obviously the age of Thomas and time her husband had been gone created a bit of a dilemma for her. Dear ole mom decided the solution to this dilemma was to give Thomas to his biological father. Mom bundled little Thomas up and forced him into the arms of the man who would, for the next five years, be mentor, teacher, and father, in blood if nothing else.
Growing up the bastard son of a drunken minstrel was great fun if one can keep everything in perspective. Thomas was a quick study of the viol that combined with the innocence of being a child; it was of little wonder that he kept a constant flow of coin in his father's money pouch. During Thomas's eighth winter, he was given the chance to play at the naming ceremony for the newborn of the recently named Lord Merchant. This event was to be a very merry one for the Lord Merchant as his wife had finally begot him a son. With so many people expected to attend, the ceremony was to be held in a grand hall, a first for Thomas.
On the day of the event young Thomas entered the great hall playing a lively tune, his fingers but a blur as they traveled up and down the rack of his old worn viol, the bow dancing across the strings. As his song came to an end, he dropped to one knee and gently kissed the newborns forehead. As he started to rise, he lifted his head and looked into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen; there was something familiar about them. Those were the same eyes that had haunted him for the last five years, the eyes of his mother. She was smiling down at her new "firstborn" child.
"Mother" the word but a whisper upon his lips seemed to echo throughout the halls. Her eyes widened n recognition and as if for the first time the feeling of familiarity snapped into place: she realized that the young child with the flowing black hair and ice blue eyes was none other than the son she had abandoned years ago. Little Thomas seemed frozen as all he could do was watch as the important man standing next to his mother appeared to have come to the same conclusion, that Thomas was his wife's son and the drunk was the fool that had dared to lay with his wife.
What happened next seemed so fast for dear young Thomas. His father was cut down before he could reach the door followed by his mother throwing herself before the lord offering her very life that he should spare that of Thomas. The latter not being necessary as the new merchant lord would never punish the son for the sins of the father: and what better guardian for "his" newborn son than his own older brother. So it was, that this day Thomas received his new name, "Remus the Elder of Drakes Hollow", or as he like to refer to himself, Remus Elder Drake the Riddler of the Universal Mystery.
Nine years had passed. Remus was now a lithe young man, not strong of arm but deft of hand, not truly brilliant yet wise beyond his years. This wisdom is what inspired Remus to plead with his Lord Father to be not his brother's protector with sword and shield but to be his father's blade in the night, he learned the ways of subtlety and deception, poisons and procession to keep the ilk of other rival provinces in their place, jumping at shadows and always behind lock and key. Remus now walked silently down the back streets and alleyways of Drakes Hollow a peddler of death awaiting a new customer.
This night however, he had not been sent by his father's hand, for it was dull and grey; he was not out by order of his beautiful mother, for he would never hear her enchanting voice again but for in his dreams. They were dead…poisoned during their evening meal. Thomas too would have succumbed to their fate if not for his paranoid habit of spiking all of his own drinks with a detox of his own making.
Who would dare to end this most beloved line? Who would dare to commit such an act of betrayal upon this wonderful family? One need look no farther than the young heir: Nine years of age, sandy blonde hair like the man that lay dead at the high table, face down in his plate, icy blue eyes like the woman at the table, his mother who wept as she took her last breath. Yes it was my younger half-blood brother accompanied by his betrothed, the daughter of a neighboring province.
The betrothal of the younger was meant to end the hostility between the two warring cities, but alas it seems that a woman's guile would bring the young heir to end his own family. As they approached the high table to see their task complete, the woman drew a small dagger and prepared to slash young Remus's throat. Thinking the poison fast at work, she could not fathom the pain in her chest as she looked down to see a crossbow bolt protruding from her ample bosom. Slowly Remus sat up in his seat and stared down at his half-brother, eyes darkening as he stood and said "you have made a grave mistake and it shall cost you dearly brother". With that, his brother bolted from the room taking torches from the wall and throwing them across the path setting the manor ablaze.
Stupid little brothers always in such a hurry to get what they feel to be their due. Look at him now… hiding like a common street orphan in the squalls of Drakes Hollow trying to avoid what he knows to be his just penalty. Killing our parents, burning our home to ash, it all matter not as I silently stalk him. Money and wealth mean nothing to me, Remus, as I have made my own way. A small cottage outside the city houses containing my prized possessions; my old and battered viol and a painting of my mother. I had always thought the love and trust of my family to be the most irreplaceable, however as I approached the last of my family the facsimile of a cold smile stretched across my lips. This s an oath breaker a kin slayer, as I bent a knee before him as I had so long ago, I gently kissed his forehead and held him close. He sobbed as the bolt of my crossbow in his leg was swiftly pulled free. Begging me, his elder brother Remus, to spare his life, I leaned in and whispered "Blood first, Blood always" as one lone tear scorched its way down my cheek. As my dagger sank into the deep of his heart his beautiful eyes, those of our mother, lost their light the ice blue turning to but a dull grey.
Life is never fair, this lesson I have learned well. As I left my brothers corpse to cool in the chilled autumn air, I set out to find a new life. A life most likely to include much blood shed as that is the way of things it seems. My lord father paid me to cut fates strings for his foes, and I'm sure many others will as well, if for no other reason than to keep me from cutting theirs. As I made my way to my cottage to collect my belongings, I kept in mind the creed that has kept me alive for thus far; never betray a trust unless yours is betrayed first, family is everything, you live or die protecting them and Oath breakers and kin slayers will not be suffered to draw breath.
The years passed as they must, and seasons have come and gone. I have continued to make my own way. I have ended many lives for not but a handful of coins. Families betraying family always so quick to snuff out their own in attempts to gain standing, though the years have passed and many things have changed, that it seems never will.
Throughout, I have always remained professional in all my dealings; all contracts completed keeping ever in the back of my mind, the creed I have followed, this is what I focus on… contract complete, coin in hand. An heir's death to allow his younger brother to take his seat at the table. We shared a drink, and then bowing kindly I stepped out the door and smiled as I heard the sound of the body hitting the floor as the door swung shut. Kin slayers shall not be suffered to live.
As I quickly walked from the city, I came upon a sight I had never before beheld; light, in its purest form. A young elf bent low in prayer beside a small faun that had been caught in a hunters trap. The young elf's gentle song seemed to calm my heart as she freed the innocent creature and healed its wounds. I approach; drawn to her for a reason beyond my understanding, and quick as my knife, she spun, bow drawn and arrow notched, ready to defend her new-found charge. Keyhanna was her name she was a wandering wood elf tasked with the protection of the woods in this area. Keen of eye and quick of wit was Keyhanna, and I found her willingness to accept what I had done, and would likely do again, quite refreshing.
Killing for money was not so wrong to the young elf as you might think. A druid and a ranger, Keyhanna knew the ways of life, and that sometimes one must do what he or she must in order to survive and make their way. Very quickly she and I became fast friends, and something more, and as long as I never caused an innocent to needlessly suffer at my hand she would begin training me to live off the land as she did, the hope being that I, one day, may not need to continue in my "ways".
I have found we created a new sort of family, one which makes this life somewhat bearable. No longer is life nothing but blood and death surrounding me. Sweet Keyhanna tries so hard; truly her efforts to teach me the subtle language of the woods, the signs and behaviors of animals that we so often come across, all has been a pleasant respite. Sadly however, I am destined to walk the path of gloom. Shadows will always be my closest friends in my time of need. Maybe just maybe though, she will not be so far from me, for she is my light and shadows grow stronger with a stable and ready light. I hope though, her light does not dim as we must continue our way.
Recently, we caught word of a great forest fire in the Woods of Stone Tooth Mountain. Given we were told true, the whole forest has been burned to little more than useless tinder and the druid that once called it home was lost to the blaze. We wandered the fallen woods and found only devastation and the remains of the burial place of the druid.
My darling Key has chosen to remain in the woods and help to regrow what was lost and protect that which remains. I will continue on as I always have… I hear there is to be a grand brawl in the next city over and I wish to try my luck and see where my path takes me. I will however return to these woods one day and find my beloved again. My hands may be a little more stained by the sins of my profession, but return I shall. This I have sworn, and if nothing else you never break your bond to your family.