Viktor Conrad, Son of the Stormlands

Once known as The Son of the Stormlands, Viktor Conrad was born into humble origins. Born and raised in the small village of Darkmoor, a small but flourishing city settled on the frontier of the Stormlands, Viktor was born as the second son of a local smith. The second son, and what would become the third child of five, Viktor was raised by a crude yet effective father and a doting mother. Apprenticed to his father's trade at an early age, Viktor's strength blossomed to the ringing cry of an anvil and the constant weight of a craftman's hammer. Noted as a strong and sturdy lad by his father and peers, Viktor toiled most of his early life away over the searing heat of a forge. Yet, his heart cried out for every spring when his Uncle Eric would visit. A trapper and hunter by trade, Uncle Eric would descend from his cabin within the frontier and its mountains every spring to visit his brother's forge. There, Uncle Eric would stock up on supplies while selling his year's work, yet all the while he enchanted Viktor and his brother with tales of the unbroken wilds and the creatures that stalked it. It was through these tales that Viktor's earliest passions for the wilderness and the hunt was planted, grown over the years by his uncle's countless tales and their treks through the surrounding woods.

By the time manhood came, Viktor had become a seasoned survivalist in his own sense. While he had yet to see the frontier, Viktor had spent countless afternoons and nights traveling the woods. Day after day, night after night, Viktor observed in silent contemplation the countless patterns of nature, the nature of the animals that skulked the woods and the the traits of the local fauna that grew. By the time manhood came, Viktor had all but decided on his trade. His elder brother would succeed his father and take over the forge while Viktor would follow his uncle's trade. Viktor readied himself throughout his final winter in Darkmoor for his uncle's return in the spring. When his uncle arrived, Viktor discussed with his uncle his plans. Initially cautious, his uncle agreed that he would Viktor on one condition. First Viktor's father, and Eric's brother, would have to consent and give their blessings. Solemn, Viktor agreed. He was dismissed as a fool by his father and begged to stay in Darkmoor by his mother. Arguing with them both, Viktor was turned aside time and time again while his uncle merely reminded Viktor of their bargain. As long as his brother refused, Eric refused to take Viktor with him. By the end of Eric's visit to Darkmoor, Viktor was no closer to winning his father's acceptance than when he began. Angered, Viktor watched his uncle leave as he was left behind in Darkmoor and seemingly condemned to a life at the forge. Years passed, and as Viktor grew closer and closer to his twenties, his father began to sicken and age. Even then, his father continued to work at the forge on the days his body would permit. There he stood beside his two sons, overseeing Viktor and his brother's work. So time continued until finally one autumn morning Viktor's father passed and Viktor's elder brother took over the forge. Brendon, was a honest man. A son who took after their father's ethics, but a man possessed by horrid temper and tendency to drink. For almost a decade, Viktor and Brendon had worked side by side at the forge without conflict beneath their father's supervision. Yet, ascending to ownership changed their relationship. The brothers fought and clashed, shouting and feuding for almost a year before it climaxed in a bloody brawl outside the smith over something as petty on the quality of an axe made by Viktor. In the end, Viktor stood over his brother, bloodied but victorious. Scowling down at him, Viktor damned his brother's forge and quit to seek out other work. For a short time, Viktor tried to entertain the idea of working within town. For even a shorter time, Viktor was taken on as a farmhand just outside of Darkmoor.

But, time has a tendency to change everything.

The arrival of a small troop of mercenaries was the catalyst for Viktor's departure. Foul-mouthed, colorfully dressed, and possessing plenty of coin, the thirty or so strong band of mercenaries quickly became the talk of the town, a colorful colorful change to the normal hub drub and gossip. The men were in town for a short while, they proclaimed. The mercenaries announced they were heading north and to the frontier to route out a group of bandits that had been plaguing the Stormlands. There, they sought to find great fame and pay beneath the writ of the king. They mentioned all this to hammer home a single fact, they were taking on fresh recruits and guides into the frontier. It was the perfect opportunity to Viktor, who gladly signed on. It was meant to be an easy trip, one that would finally take him to the frontier for honest work. Once there, Viktor even considered seeking out his uncle and begging to become his apprentice once more. Instead, it became a massacre and Viktor's first battle. Deep within the frontier, far beyond even Viktor's knowledge and expertise, they found the bandits. There they delved into their hideout and found their victory, but it was a costly one. Nearly thirty hardened mercenaries and a handful of fresh volunteers and guides delved into that cave, but only twelve ventured out. They outnumbered the bandits, but had stumbled into a trap. Isolated, panicked, and attacked from all sides, the mercenaries had barely recovered. It was only the heroics of a guide which saved the day. Unarmored and wielding but a craftman's hammer, Viktor waded into the fray, a powerful combatant who sent his foes reeling from his barbaric rage. Stepping to and fro, Viktor attacked like a savage bear and it was only by his ferocity that the mercenaries had time to recover. He was lauded as a hero on their return to Darkmoor. Bandaged and aching, he returned to his hometown a hero, celebrated by the mercenaries who drug him into the local taverns. Thus, came the first reports of a man who would become a legend.

Throughout his life, he had fought wolves and bandits and goblins and orcs, managing to overcome them each time while venturing further and further into the woods and the frontiers only to return from the frontiers with a cart-full of trophies and pelts and belly-quaking tales of adventure and mirth. And so the legend continued for many a year as Viktor continued his life, trapping on the frontiers of the Stormland and ever seeking greater prey. That was until Viktor's final tale, at least. Word reached Viktor on the frontier of a savage troll that had descended upon Darkmoor. A bestial glutton, the troll had trounced the town's meager guard and killed them all, forcing the town to its mercies. At once, Viktor rode to his town's return. There he fought the village all but abandoned, only a few refusing to leave for fear of what might happen to the captives the troll had forced to serve him. A legendary figure, the Son of the Stormlands ventured towards the inn he had returned to bandaged and injured as a hero. And there, a battle befitting any legend's end was fought. Man against beast fought within that tavern, a brawl that continued on by the minute until it spilled outside. There the duo fought within the heart of the town, Viktor's arrows soaring through the air and his blade slashing every which way while the troll snarled and swung its massive club. In the end, the hero narrowly triumphed. Diving towards the swing of the troll's massive club, Viktor risked his own life to take the creature's own. Gutting it with his sword, Viktor claimed his victory and burnt the body to ash. While the legend of the Son of the Stormlands ended upon that day, his life hardly came to an end. Instead, a legend merely settled down. He purchased an inn which had served as a beginning and end and there he lived, his business thriving. A successful merchant and trader whose inn laid lined with trophies of a lifetime within the woods. There Viktor Conrad, the Son of the Stormlands, settled down, marrying and fathering four children of his own.


But, time has a tendency to change everything.

Viktor's heart and soul belonged to the woods and the adventure that awaited. He had grown fat and happy over the course of almost three decades and fathered three children. His wife had passed and his children come to age. His sons had grown into men and transitioned into joint ownership and operation of their bar while his youngest child, his daughter, had already wed and brought a bouncing grandchild into the world. It had left Viktor with nothing but to sit by the fire within his old bar and to consider the past as drank and talked with old friends. Life had gone on and Viktor had grown fat and complacent, but his heart ached to return to the woods.

He had once stood as the master of the frontier and known as the Son of the Stormlands, but now a new adventure awaited Viktor Conrad. The Gyrmfre laid between him and a brand new frontier, and the Saharra was seeking mercenaries to guard its passengers to the foreign port. With a small grin, Viktor departed, leaving but a note for his sons and daughter and a crude message to his elder brother. Viktor had taken the finest pieces of his brother's forge, and set off, promising to return within a year with new wealth and countless new stories.