[603 / 87 / ?]
Quoted By: >>6088912
>Year 1209, Great Tree Moon
>24 Years After the Conclusion of the Fodlan Unification War
You are Tristain d’Rusalka. Your entire life, you were told that you were the spitting image of your late father, Rex. A great warrior of the late Adrestian Empire, Rex had terrorized battlefields throughout the continent of Fodlan during the era of its warring three nations. Though you’d never met him, stories of his battles and deeds had hounded you your entire life. You’d heard how he’d ventured into the old enemy nation of Almyra, defeating their warlords and claiming a legendary spear. How he’d sacked the city of Charon, putting its rulers to the sword. And, ultimately, how he’d met his end just before you were born, in a fateful duel against his adopted sister, the Countess Blair. The bards of Rusalka at least had the common decency to refrain from performing that last tale in your presence.
And why wouldn’t they? For it was not just Rex’s appearance that you’d inherited. You possessed the same innate martial talent that had made your father so feared. You and your mother had been taken in by his slayer and treated like family. There was no expense spared in your upbringing. From an early age, you had an affinity for warfare. You’d attended the Officer’s Academy of Garreg Mach, where you were afforded a good education and a mastery of arms. You obtained a solid understanding of battlefield tactics and fundamentals. You’d even shown an aptitude for magic, which you had learned from your mother, an adept sorceress. Even with all these talents, the Goddess must have felt you were not yet a complete package, for you’d also been bestowed with two unique gifts: The Crests of Indech and Macuil. Though the nature of Crests was still largely unknown, you had the ability to call upon innate power that few others in this world could claim.
With all of these boons, it was no secret that you were destined for greatness. You had the potential to be the most powerful warrior Fodlan ever knew. A conqueror who commanded armies with strength and zeal, laying waste to all in his path. The Goddess’ perfect killing machine. Even your own father would pale in comparison to the deeds you would achieve.
There was only one problem.
You were born in an era of unending, ceaseless peace. It was this poor stroke of fate that found you now sitting alone on a merchant ship sailing on the high seas, drunk off strong, Almyran rum.
You winced as you took a swig from your faithful flask. Sure, peace was all well and nice if you were an olive merchant or a playwright. You were certain that the infirm and overweight also slept soundly at night. But what about the warriors?! Those who threw themselves into adventure and glory, treading where none would dare? How were you meant to find your place in this world?
>24 Years After the Conclusion of the Fodlan Unification War
You are Tristain d’Rusalka. Your entire life, you were told that you were the spitting image of your late father, Rex. A great warrior of the late Adrestian Empire, Rex had terrorized battlefields throughout the continent of Fodlan during the era of its warring three nations. Though you’d never met him, stories of his battles and deeds had hounded you your entire life. You’d heard how he’d ventured into the old enemy nation of Almyra, defeating their warlords and claiming a legendary spear. How he’d sacked the city of Charon, putting its rulers to the sword. And, ultimately, how he’d met his end just before you were born, in a fateful duel against his adopted sister, the Countess Blair. The bards of Rusalka at least had the common decency to refrain from performing that last tale in your presence.
And why wouldn’t they? For it was not just Rex’s appearance that you’d inherited. You possessed the same innate martial talent that had made your father so feared. You and your mother had been taken in by his slayer and treated like family. There was no expense spared in your upbringing. From an early age, you had an affinity for warfare. You’d attended the Officer’s Academy of Garreg Mach, where you were afforded a good education and a mastery of arms. You obtained a solid understanding of battlefield tactics and fundamentals. You’d even shown an aptitude for magic, which you had learned from your mother, an adept sorceress. Even with all these talents, the Goddess must have felt you were not yet a complete package, for you’d also been bestowed with two unique gifts: The Crests of Indech and Macuil. Though the nature of Crests was still largely unknown, you had the ability to call upon innate power that few others in this world could claim.
With all of these boons, it was no secret that you were destined for greatness. You had the potential to be the most powerful warrior Fodlan ever knew. A conqueror who commanded armies with strength and zeal, laying waste to all in his path. The Goddess’ perfect killing machine. Even your own father would pale in comparison to the deeds you would achieve.
There was only one problem.
You were born in an era of unending, ceaseless peace. It was this poor stroke of fate that found you now sitting alone on a merchant ship sailing on the high seas, drunk off strong, Almyran rum.
You winced as you took a swig from your faithful flask. Sure, peace was all well and nice if you were an olive merchant or a playwright. You were certain that the infirm and overweight also slept soundly at night. But what about the warriors?! Those who threw themselves into adventure and glory, treading where none would dare? How were you meant to find your place in this world?
