Atrum Gallus

Background Story

• Our beginning

  I remember the cool breeze, the bright sun, the blue-hued sky, and the echoes of our laughter. Seagulls chirped their mindless banter as I - son of Martin Gallus - playfully nudged around the sand. Vas-Mora. We loved it there - my brother and I. Here we were born, and here we thought we'd die. Our father held an office so that we'd lived well. Even so, he could not change the drunk sailors and greedy merchants that populated Vas-Mora's streets; staying and leaving over the course of a few weeks. A true resident of Vas-Mora is a rare sight, so it was just us. But we liked it that way.
  
  Our days were simple. We spent hours setting our gaze upon the horizon watching as the distant specks slowly grew into the giant conglomerations of wood they call ships. Some days our father would call in the local scholars to educate us, and others we would wander the beaches as we pleased. There was no second that I would spend without my brother. We played, we learned, we ate, and we fought. I lived this life - this idealistic life of a child. Perhaps it was too idealistic. Some say that life is based on equivalent exchange. One day you live your dreams while another your nightmares. Soon, I found, my nightmares would become a reality.

• Parting ways

  Summer in Vas-Mora is hell. My brother and I would often linger outside even after the sun fell, hoping that the night would bring with it a cool breeze. One night during a typical summer, we napped along the quiet shore, away from the sailors who seemed eager to blow their earnings on mediocre booze. I remember awakening in a panic. Father disliked our habitual stays in the night. I awoke my brother and together we walked home.
  
  The dark smoke permeating the sky; the radiating amber aura - we recognized the fire immediately. My gaze locked onto the burning home, our burning home, and I merely stared at the grim scene. The shock and confusion overcame the best of my logic. Why was this happening? How? I spent too much time wondering. A horde of the city's fire fighters gathered as they attempted to control the flames.
  
  Through a sudden burst of adrenaline, I foolishly dashed into the collapsing manor. Instinct, the instinct to find my father, compelled me. Sweat dripped down every inch of my body even in the minutes I remained in the house. The cackling of burning wood and the dark smoke made it difficult to navigate around the interior.
  
  I eventually arrived in my father's living quarters. There he laid; bleeding and motionless. I desperately ran to his side, almost feeling overwhelmed by the smoke at this point. Yet my father was not injured by the fire. His skin was spared from the burns, but unmistakably lacerated by the edge of a blade. I clenched his hand as I stared at his quivering lips. Blood seethed from his teeth as his hand gripped his wounds. I knew not what to say nor what to think.
  
  "Live."
  
  Those were the last words he exhaled. Those were his last demands. Perhaps if we had decided against napping, or even if we awoke sooner than we did, our lives wouldn't have fallen apart. Tears of desperation streamed from my eyes. I had never cried for my father; not until that day.
  
  A dark, hooded figure unveiled himself from the flames. I remember his nearly inaudible chuckle. I clenched my father's lifeless body as I stared at the unknown assailant. A similar, motionless figure was slung around the hooded man's shoulder.
  
  He had my brother. My brother must have followed me and was taken without my knowing. And I could do nothing. For the first time in my life, I felt absolute worthlessness and despair. Why did he do this? Perhaps this man, or the man he worked for, was jealous of the power my father held. Maybe my father associated with the wrong people. I don't know. As a wooden pillar fell from above and my sight turned to black, I took one final glance at the sly smirk that graced his lips.
  
  I will never forget that face.

• A promise

  I awoke in a small infirmary some days later, yet I could not move. My leg was broken and my chest suffered from severe burns. The infirmary demanded payment from a man who just lost it all in a fire. I soon found myself in the streets. Wounded and struggling to recover, I quickly realized that these streets were merciless. They didn't care who I was born from. Nobility comes from money, not blood. Without any money, I was practically a commoner. I only continued with life because of my father's final words.
  
  Through years of struggle, I learned how to survive Vas-Mora's unrelenting streets. The town that I once considered a haven became my hell. I learned how to fight, cheat, pickpocket, manipulate, and sneak within the shadows. I learned how to live like a scum. I was lucky enough to be accepted by a group of veterans. They helped me as I recovered, and taught me as I grew. But that night never left my mind. I always thought about the hooded man, my brother, and my father.
  
  Equivalent exchange, some people say.
  
  I suffer today, but I will ensure that he will suffer tomorrow.
  
  As the years passed, my ambitions grew. I did not want to live like this forever, and I wanted to search for my brother. I hoped that he'd been spared from the barbaric life I lead. I learned how to use a blade and began making a name for myself as a sell-sword. Some people bought me merely for a single brawl, while others demanded that I protect them in bandit-heavy roads. I didn't care. I could now afford to travel. Ten years passed since the incident, and I finally left Vas-Mora. I traveled across Rayneth, scouring the land for any evidence of my brother. I hired artists to draw pictures of both my brother and the hooded man. I trained, fought, and killed for the sake of this search.
  
  Today, three years have passed since leaving Vas-Mora. I've just arrived at the capital. Perhaps now - now I will find him.
  
  Let's return to Vas-Mora, brother.
  
  Let's return to our old haven.