Name: Rufus Penda
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Race:Human
Birthplace: Gogledd Bryn, Brython
Deity:Tempus
Biography: Born in Gogledd Bryn, a large village upon the northern edges of Brython, Rufus grew up in the home of his father, a lord among those lords who ruled the tribes which strived for survival in the Brythonic forest, and his mother, a daughter of the lord of another of the tribes. He spent his early years running about the village and forests, with the innocence of a young child, until he was ten years old. Aged ten, his father began to take him on hunting trips, and train him to wield sword and spear, as a man of the tribe.When he was ten, playing in the forest, he came across a white deer, drinking from a pool. He grabbed up his spear, thinking he could bring it down. As he charged wildly from the bushes, the deer fled, directly past him, panicking Rufus, leading him to trip on a root as he backed off, knocking himself unconscious on the ground, and twisting his ankle.
He woke, an hour later, soaked to the skin, as he limped back through the forest, towards his home. As he neared it, he saw the hall of his father blazing, as the men of the village attempted to defend their homes, arrows striking them from the trees. Various silver-clad peoples leapt forth from the foliage, striking at the men, throwing torches into homes, and advancing towards the rest of the defenders, across the bodies of their foes.
Rufus threw himself down, watching from a distance, as one of the silver men cut down his father, as his mother fled into the woods, with the remainders of the women and children, as the men were struck down, one by one, their shieldwall breaking.
A few of the men fled the shieldwall, running to the back of the hall, escaping on horseback, as the silver people broke the line, cutting down those who hadn't run. Rufus lay in the undergrowth silently, waiting until it all stopped. The elves marched past, the village blazing behind them.
Rufus crept past, as they left, to the ruins of the village. He crept through the fluttering shadows beside burning homesteads, to the ruins of the Hall, the roof still blazing. He darted inside, running to his father's room. He grabbed up the cloak of his father, a small bag of gold.
He darted outside, past burning timbers, to where the remnants of the shieldwall lay. He grabbed up his father's helmet and sword and shield, fleeing from the ruins, into the woods.
He found his way through the woods, passing various burnt out homesteads, until he reached a village to the south, where he found his way to a tavern, and slept, weary from the ordeal. He woke, climbing down the stairs into the street, where he met a man who saw the kind of state he was in, looking pitiful, and after hearing his story, he took him into his home. Rufus grew up in the homestead of the man, becoming a young man, learning poetry and song. Aged seventeen, to travelled to the old city of the human kings, to an academy in Ayleshire, where he learnt of the poems of old, and learnt much of Brythonic lore, and of lands beyond. This caused him to become restless, after a couple of years, dreaming of travelling between the lands far across the Sea of Ahdsur, where his ancestors came from long ago. He left the academy, travelling between towns, from tavern to tavern, from inn to inn, singing songs of old, and performing poetry, for but a little pay. After around four years of this, he returned to Ayleshire, buying a set of three franciscas, throwing axes of the northern tribes, and donning the cloak and helm of his father, he boarded a knarr set for the Dragon Coast, sailing off into the ocean.
Seven days later, he arrived in a small town, upon the very edge of the sea, the boat dragged up onto the shore.
He jumped down from the ship, wading through the wet sand, towards the town. As he reached it, he quickly found himself a place on a cart headed inland. He boarded, as it rattled its way through the forests, into inland Sanctimonia. A short way in, bandits leapt from the trees, waylaying the cart. Rufus leapt overboard, fleeing into the trees. The cart was burnt and robbed, the bandits cutting down the remaining passengers.
Suddenly, a whistling noise was heard, a bandit falling with a gurgle. A group of men leapt from the trees, letting loose a hail of arrows, and sword-blows, cutting down the bandits, as Rufus watched from afar. The lightly-armed men who cut them down, quickly searched over the bandits, taking gold and anything light enough to carry. Soon after, they left, heading across the path, into the other side of the forest.
Rufus crept out, searching what remained of the cart, and bodies. Suddenly, he heard a noise, as something swung past him. He spun rapidly, unsheathing one of his franciscas, swinging it. it embedded itself into the shoulder of a bandit, who had struggled from the undergrowth, grasping a sword, his other hand upon his bleeding side. Rufus pulled back the axe, swinging it into the man's leg, bringing him to the floor, before finishing him off with a blow to the head. He looked over the dead man, finding that he was wearing an old, battered mail shirt, and his pouches contained various small pieces of food, and gold. He pulled off the man's hauberk and belt, pulling it onto himself, tying the belt around his waist. He attached the man's pouches to his newfound belt, creeping into the undergrowth.
He travelled for around three days, alongside the road, towards the city of Surna, he'd heard of back on the coast.
He arrived at the city, seeing it on its promontory of rock, walking past the river alongside it, up the hill to the gates. He stepped through the gates, travelling through various streets to a tavern on the corner, in the center of the town. From outside the doors, he heard some mumbled voices, before a cry of 'tiffen taffen!' echoed out into the street, confusing him somewhat. He stepped inside, walking to a table, looking at the tavern's occupants. There seemed to be a motley assortment of people within, from mages, to traders, to warriors and mercenaries, even to barkeepers with a penchant for speaking nonsense and a fetish for geese.
He let out a short laugh, before falling asleep at his table.
Skills:
Moderately good at wielding a sword, or using his throwing axes.
He can sing, is educated enough to be able to read well, and is somewhat fluent in the old Brythonic languages, and the common language of Sanctimonia.
Inventory:
Worn iron helm, faded blue horsehair plume,
Rusted hauberk of mail,
Short sword,
Three franciscas,
Red Tunic ,
Blue Tunic,
Stale Bread x3,
Turnip x2,
Collection of parchment, and a leather-bound book,
Wooden Shield, blue and white patterns.
