| Mason Trewether|
|"I have no interest in being a hero. They tend to die...foolishly."|
I'm not sure why my past is important to the Order. You can tell that I am a person of good character, otherwise I wouldn't even be here talking with you, and my past does not define who I am now. With respect, I find this an entirely unnecessary exercise.|
Oh, very well....
I was born and spent my childhood in Grimaud in Sellador, as you know well. My parents were both weavers, and they got on well enough to provide with all that was necessary, and a little extra. My youth was uneventful, as I see it: I grew, I studied inasmuch as my duties in the shop and my time exploring the lands around the town allowed. I remember getting into the odd bit of trouble as a lad, but nothing that caused more than the occasional frustraton of my mother and father. I was the youngest of three; both siblings were several years older than I.
My brother, Nethyn, was to be the scion of the business, and follow in my parents' footsteps. He started out well enough, I guess, but he took to drink, and last I knew was still a burden and a drain upon our parents.
Issika, my sister, the middle child...no one ever really knew what to make of her. Not even she did, I think. When she came of age, she cast about for some respectable employment that suited her temperament, and she worked hard, as I remember it, but nothing seemed to hold her interest. Nothing made her feel like she was doing something worthwhile. So, just before I came of age she left Grimaud; said she wanted to see whether a life of study or service in the military might fit her better. We didn't hear from her much after that. The letters that she sent home via the Post were sporadic, and often somewhat confusing. The last communication we had from her said something about her going to the Free Nations, heading to Kiergard, but she didn't really say clearly why she was going. That was more than five years ago, and I don't think my parents have heard from her again since.
My parents wanted me to stay in Grimaud, help my brother with the weavery, but I had no interest in being subservient to him. He had not turned hard to the drink, but his work was already shoddy and he had no idea how to guide others. I tried, for awhile, like a dutiful son, but it was soon plain that my talents were not for weaving, and that I chafed under Nethyn's leadership. The monks of the Abbey Of St. Planchet took me in, as I sought a life of service, and I spent a good year of hard work, study, religious devotion there.
But the good clerics felt I was too...adventurous, for a life of cloistered devotion, and felt that a more active role in doing good works would suit me better. Apparently, they saw it that I spent too much of my free time wandering about the fields and forests outside the town. An intinerant cleric had apparently told the Abbot of the foundation of a new order--the Order of the Even Hand--over the sea in the Elven lands, and the Abbot, new to his position and eager to promote the ideals of compassion and acceptance, sent letters to the leaders of the new order. They agreed to take me on, and I was shipped across to the Chapterhouse.
Really, you and the Order know the rest. I don't see the need to revisit all of this...
Well, you know that I was groomed almost from the first to become a paladin of the Order. You apprenticed me to Timaeus, and throughout my apprenticeship we worked well together. Too well, some in the Order would say, since we exceeded your designs. In the last year and a half of my apprenticeship we became lovers. There is little to say on that subject. We remained professional, and if anything he became more strict with me about my duties than he was before. Perhaps he wanted to avoid any sense of favoritism, perhaps he saw more potential as grew close. I don't know. I do know that it was perhaps the happiest and most fulfilling time of my life. He was kind, and caring, and earnest about his work. But he still knew how to laugh, to have fun. I had never known anyone like him.
And then it happened.
There was the report of suspicious activity across the water in the village of Ilranner, just after I started what was supposed to be the last six months of my apprenticeship before being raised to a full member of the Order. You sent us over with a small crew to investigate and deal with anything out of the ordinary. We arrived just in time to see the village being overrun by necromancers and their undead thralls. We rushed in and gave battle, but half the village had already been destroyed, and the other half was soon to follow. We fought until we reach the turning point of the battle. Right then was when Timaeus heard the old woman screaming. He abandoned the line we had formed, from where we were driving the undead back out of the town, to save this tottering old crone. He easily dispatched the zombie bearing down on her, but his attention was so locked on saving her that he didn't see the three of them rounding the corner of the building. Didn't see them until they were tearing both him and the old woman apart.
Without his strength and leadership, we couldn't hold the line. It collasped, and we were forced to retreat in orderto save any of the villagers' lives. Even still, well-nigh two thirds of that village didn't survive the night. That was six months ago.
How do I feel about it? Why does it matter?
Well, it was a heroic, stupid thing to have done. If he had stayed where he was, if we had kept the line, more than half that village would have been alive the next morning. Instead, we failed, he died, and most of the village died with him. He was brave, and foolish, and too rash.
If you think that means I shouldn't be admitted to the Order, then so be it. I've seen the results of that blind heroism. I know it's deadly. I know it's stupid. And I know that I won't make the same mistake.
|Place of Origin: Sellador|
|Mason Trewether is a member of the Order Of The Even Hand|
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Contributor: Chris Schuettpelz