Act I: To Set One's Fate In Motion

One's fate was never, at any point during one's life, set in place. This was the most important lesson that Ashled would teach Alexander.

"You can decide to be whatever you want whenever you want, it's never too late. The world has no set rules boy; I've seen far too many distant lands and different rules to believe that any one is the correct set of rules. live by the rules you set for yourself, never do something you regret, and you'll grow up to-"

"To be the freest man alive, yes I know father. Surely you don't think I am so stupid as to have forgotten your ever important golden rule." spoke Alexander.

"Oh? Well since you know so much and your arms are so thin, I have to assume you've been spending all your training time studying. Which means you wouldn't mind catching up...by doing some push-ups right now." responded Ashled in a playfully mad tone.

"Seriously? In the middle of the market?"

"Maybe I'll let it go this time...if you can take my knee." Ashled grinned.

"Gods you're an ass." replied Alex with a disgruntled sigh before getting on his hands and toes on the cobblestone street of the marketplace and effortlessly completing two push-ups with perfect form, only stopping when interrupted by a light tap to head with Ashled's boot.

"Boy, you're almost a man now, you shouldn't need both of those." said his father. Alexander then lifted his left arm completing another push-up with only his right this time. Some of the nearby towns people mumbled to each other about "That kooky Ashled" and what a strong young man Alex was.

"30 per arm, and grab your mother some leeks and salmon for dinner. I'm heading home. You and I both know that it'll get back to me if you don't do all 30." yelled Ashled as he walked away

" If we both know it, why did you need to say it?" replied Alex, never knowing when to let his father have the last word.

"Everyone, my son has just earned himself another 30 per side for being an idiot. You all know how to count and where to find me." Ashled called out to the masses. The most frustrating part for young Alexander was that his father was entirely right. Over the past 15 years, Ashled had become something between a king and a god among those who lived on the South side. If something happened he already had heard about it, if somebody died he was already organizing the funeral, if someone's farm was about to go broke, he had already harvested their latest crop for free and left them some money in their safe. If Alexander's form wasn't good enough on his last push up, by the time he got home his father would already know.

"You're at 11 on your left, this will be 12 on your right." said the nearby fisherman to Alex, who had stopped his push-ups to call back to his father.

Alexander completed his push-ups as instructed and brought dinner back to his family. He arrived home to the typical boisterous Bjornson clan dinner party. The longhouse was large by Southern standards, however Southern Stirk wasn't known for large houses. It was one floor with only a few rooms. The main hall took up most of the house with the two opposite ends of the house being walled off to serve as bedrooms. There was a long table in the center of the house and a grand fireplace that heated and lit the home. Outside there was a small garden where the family grew potatoes, a wooden shed with a low roof where they kept sheep and one old cow who still managed to give a bucket of milk a day, and an outhouse.

"About time," shouted Ashled "the boy needs 30 minutes to do some push-ups and grab some food." then he chuckled, put his flagon to his mouth, and threw his head back draining the remaining mead.

"Alexander dear, would you bring those over here. I've got the fire at the perfect heat." called Alcedonia to her son. She had taken up cooking after coming to the island as a way to bond with Ashled's mother when she was alive, and she had grown quite good at it.

"Yes mother." Alexander lifted the bag of fish over his shoulder and walked through the house toward the fireplace. On his way across the home he greeted the other members of the Bjornson clan. At the near head of the table sat Breela, conversing with her husband Grundvick, who took the name Bjornson when he married her. He was a simple man with broad shoulders and thick limbs that sported an assortment of scars earned in battle. He worked as one of the most successful mercenaries in the Gryphons. Next to him sat their daughter, Alexander's cousin, Arla, who was now fifteen years old and every bit as ferocious as her mother. She was a short-tempered, confrontational, and absolutely brutal warrior with unmatched loyalty to the Bjornson name. Her limbs were thick and hard, her hands thickly calloused, and her hair entirely wild and unkempt with the exception of her hanging battle braids on either side of her face. The two of them had gotten into countless scraps with the Jurgikssen boys. Next to her sat Brutus Servilius, a twenty one year old imperial who was, much like Alex, one of the few on the island. Brutus's father, Marcus, was one of the only men who lived on the South side but worked on the North side. To worsen things, he worked as a monetary advisor and accountant to the Northern Stirk Justice Department, which was directly controlled by the Serpents. Though he was not technically affiliated with the Serpents, he definitely worked for them. As a result his life was made difficult by Southerners who didn't like that he made a fair bit of coin, and Northerners who looked down on him for his place of residence. The only way Marcus was ever to live peacefully was to become friends with the head of the Bjornson family, and so he did. Ashled found Marcus to be something of a genius as well as a comedian. Due to this his family was always welcome in the Bjornson home and Brutus was raised alongside Alexander as a close family friend. Brutus's mother, Helga, was strong and mean like a bear. She served under Breela during the great war and longed to see the battlefield as soon as she returned. After three years of being a mother to Brutus, Helga couldn't take the mundane family life any longer and attempted to flee the island to work as a mercenary in the ongoing conflicts between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Alik'r warriors of Hammerfell. Before she could leave, however, her intentions were discovered by a few members of the Serpents and she was killed by a volley of arrows on her way out to sea. This left Brutus hating the Serpents a bit more than the average Gryphon. Brutus was a broad young man with a striking appearance. Though only just reaching his twenties, the young man was already bald in the top of his head and thinning everywhere else which, as you can imagine, made him the target of a fair bit of light hearted teasing. Brutus stood out not for his strength or intellect, though he had both in spades, but his outstanding charisma. There was something about Brutus that made people want to be friends with him. Across from Arla and Brutus sat Hephaestion. Hephaestion was, without a doubt, the person closest to Alexander. If Alexander told Hephaestion to kill himself, before Alex could finish his sentence, Hephaestion's sword would be buried in his own stomach. Hephaestion never met his parents, nor was he ever told what happened to them. He presumed they must have been mercenaries as he was raised by the members of the Gryphons who lived in the guildhouse. For the first years of his life all he knew was scraps for dinner, the loud talks of drunk mercenaries, and nights spent on the hardwood floors of the guildhouse. This life, as one might expect, toughened him and forced him to grow up much faster than other children. He was as tall as Alex and likely stronger though the two were far too close to ever properly test this. Without much effort he was one of the strongest one the island. On command, the boy would rip off his clothes and flex his rippling muscles like a bodybuilder, and though strange, the act was quite intimidating. Hephaestion didn't feel warmth towards anyone as no warmth had ever been shown to him. The guild members were not cruel or negligent, but in a house filled with the strongest warriors of Stirk, appearances must be kept, and warriors could never be soft or loving like a child needs. Hephaestion was also a bit socially awkward. He knew only the yelling and jawing of warriors for the formative years of his life, and as a result, only spoke with intensity of a warrior. This intimidated other children, leading to him remaining silent most of the time. His first friend would come in the shape of a six year old Alexander, who, as the son of the guildmaster, made frequent appearances at the guildhouse. Now old enough to start physically training, Alexander did just that along with some other Southerner children. Alex clobbered them all with his immense size and natural athleticism; except for one boy. A six year old Hephaestion not only took Alex's blows, but had seen how to counterattack before when watching the warriors spar. At that moment Ashled's face looked impressed, not with Alex, but with Hephaestion. From that point on Alexander had a training partner and intense rival in Hephaestion. They grew close through their rivalry, and as the pair got older they found themselves accompanying each other whether they were training or not. Be it carrying boulders up a hill, helping neighbors with chores, or chasing girls, the two were inseparable. When Ashled finally connected the dots that Hephaestion was the same boy he had heard about who was living in the guildhouse he invited him to live with the Bjornson family. Since then he has lived with them, only occasionally spending the night in the guildhouse. When asked if he wanted to take the name Bjornson Hephaestion refused, not because he didn't feel like part of the family, but because he didn't put any stock in family names.

"Way I sees it, a rocks a rock no matter whatcha calls it. Besides, I've made it this long without one." said the fourteen year old Hephaestion.

The rest of the table was reserved for Ashled, Alcedonia, and Alexander. Baby Breela usually sat in the lap of Alcedonia and was breast fed after dinner was over. The dinner was massive, as usual, with the majority of the food being protein to build up the strong arms of a Bjornson. Every person in attendance was given a few split grilled leeks and two full roasted salmon. Mead was served to everyone regardless of age as there were no drinking laws in place on Stirk, and the large men and women of the Bjornson clan hardly noticed any effects from the alcohol. Alexander, in addition to his meal and mead, was required to finish an entire gallon of milk before he was permitted to leave the table. For generations it was a custom in the Bjornson family that the children had to finish a gallon of milk as it would ensure they grew sturdy. It also ensured the children would inevitably be called a "milk drinker" (a common nord insult) at some point in their childhood, teaching the children self control. To be built like a Bjornson was to wield the power to kill with one's bare hands, a power that cannot be unleashed without great consideration.

Upon the completion of the meal, Ashled and Alexander would say goodbye to the guests and begin cleaning the tableware. After Alcedonia had finished feeding Breela, Alex would often take her back into the room the two children shared and put her to bed. He made a habit of humming to calm her. It was often the very song his mother hummed to him when he was a baby. It was personal and soothing to both Breela and Alexander. After Breela had fallen asleep, Alexander would return to the table where he and his parents would converse about their days and Stirk's goings on. Ashled usually had some news about the state of the guild, how he had helped around the island that day, as well as some sort of lessons to discuss with Alex, who would discuss what kind of training he had done with the guild that day. Alcedonia told of her daily activities which usually consisted of maintenance of the family's home, garden, and livestock. She also kept track of the family's money, deciding how much of the money made by the guild would go to the family and how much would go into community projects. On this night, the talks would be interrupted by a messenger. A boy with short blonde hair knocked on the door and was greeted by Alex. By his look Alexander decided he was about twelve years old, and judging by his expensive tunic, was most certainly from the Northern part of the island.

"A message for Mr. Bjornson!" exclaimed the boy.

"Which one?" grumbled back Alexander.

"I uh… I'm sorry Mr. Jurgikssen made it sound like there was only one." replied the boy with a shaking voice.

"Probably dad then." Alexander looked back at his father "Wouldn't be for me if it was from Tor."

"Not likely," replied Ashled "Haven't heard a word from that old troll since the war."

"It, oh sorry I don't mean to interrupt," said the boy. Alex looked down and nodded to show forgiveness. "It was from Mr. Torson if that means anything."

"For the love of Talos he's sending letters now?" growled Alexander. "Give that here." he said as he snatched the letter. Sure as the sun, it was a formal challenge to a duel. Alex told the boy he accepted and sent him on his way before sitting back down.

"Something the matter dear?" asked Alcedonia

"He doesn't know when to give up. This is the third duel this season and for what? The man's 22 you'd think he would have grown out of this petty conflict by now."

"Petty conflict, surely you don't mean the clan war right? Just the petty conflict between you two?" inquired Ashled expressing dissatisfaction in his tone.

"Of course I mean the 'clan war.' it's quite childish don't you think? I mean what have you gained from it over your life besides enemies?" Ashled's brow pinched together and his lips pursed as if he had tasted sour grapes.

"It goes deeper than what is to be gained, boy. We're generations deep in this conflict, to turn our back on it now would be to scorn our ancestors."

"I suspect our ancestors would be saddened to see us throw our lives away for something so silly." said Alexander, now leaning forward in his chair and furrowing his brow. This wasn't the first time this had come up. Ever since Alexander was old enough to question, he had wondered what it was his father hoped to gain by staying locked in this conflict. He knew he was to hate the Jurgikssens but since he had first asked himself, he had never understood why.

"I think they would be saddened to see your wavering loyalty, boy." replied Ashled, as dismissive as ever.

"Perhaps you're too embarrassed to admit I'm right. You would hate to admit you had wasted your life as a slave to a conflict you didn't even agree to be a part of." Alexander retorted.

"You're not ready. You're still just a boy." said Ashled as he leaned back and relaxed his face in disappointment. This dismissal set fire to Alexander's heart. He took a breath to relax himself before standing up and walking back to his room. On his way he turned back to make vehement eye contact with his father and let slip

"Live by the rules you set for yourself, never do something you regret, and you'll live out your days the freest man alive."

Ashled's expression shifted again as his bottom lip stiffened and his eyes grew narrow. He looked over to Alcedonia but just as he opened his mouth to say something he was interrupted by

"I'll have no part in the squabbles between father and son. Let me save my strength for Breela's teen years." She then walked back into their bedroom to sleep. Ashled finished his mead and joined her