Kratston Manor was an incredible sight to behold. Majestically sitting atop a large hill overlooking the town for which Lander Kratston, my father, was responsible. The Manor was a perfect reflection of my father's personality. He was all about looking down on those less than him. The Manor also reflected my mother, but in a much different way. The Manor and her were beautiful to behold, and drew the envy of those that looked upon them. That was important to my father, that others were envious of him.
I was my father’s firstborn son. My name is Elias and I have from my earliest memories felt as if I was a burden to my father. He rarely seemed to have time for me; he’d always been more concerned with maintaining his relations within the nobility, and displaying his wife – my mother – like a prized trophy.
I was sixteen years old when my family was travelling from the manor so that my father could attend an important meeting in the capitol. On the way back, our wagon had been attacked by a Necromancer who commanded several undead. My father barked the commands to the guards; they immediately responded to his commands and so, they circled around my parents, leaving me, who had been riding on my own, to be pulled to the ground. One of the undead abominations raked at my flesh. It's thick black talons tearing into my face. I felt nothing but pain as the vision of my right eye went completely black, even as it brought its dripping maw upon my right arm.
Hearing my screams Salavar Astorio, my Father's Captain of the Guard, broke ranks and rushed to my side. He swung his sword with such force that he cleaved the ghoul’s arm and head in one motion. He reached down and pulled me back to safety. I remember little more than my own screaming as blood poured from my face and arm. A burning sensation like I'd never felt before radiated from my arm. The Necromancer was forced into retreat with the remainder of his undead minions as I was rushed to the medical wing of my father’s Manor. They called for Jellena, the High Cleric, but I heard my father call her away to tend to his horse, who had been wounded in the attack when one of the creatures slipped through the opening left by Salavar. The words of my father etched themselves into my memory as he simply said, “A bookworm like you will get along just fine with just one arm. My horse has a deep, infected wound from the creatures attack that would prevent me from riding her. And I am sure you understand son, I paid an exorbitant amount of gold to get her from a breeder all the way in the capitol. I would hate to have nothing come from this trip.”
The wound in my arm was turning black, the corruption from the creature spreading such that the other Clerics couldn't stop it. They eventually decided they had no choice but to sever the rest of my right arm and remove my right eye that had been damaged in the attack, lest the corruption take root and spread until it killed me. The horse, however, had been saved, and for that Jellena and the other Clerics were praised by my father. Almost a week later, to the day, the High Cleric, Jellena announced that my mother was with child. My brother, Lemuel was pronounced the heir and dotted upon almost from the moment of his birth. My father excused me as not being fit to be his heir due to my grievous wounds, which, he told the people, was great tragedy. However, as soon as the manor doors closed again he paid me no more attention than before.
During a visit to the town who was under my Father's charge I suffered the first of a long line of humiliations at the hands of my brother, only a child of five at the time. He’d thrown a ball to me – whether on purpose or not – which I could not catch it with one hand. Though at first no one laughed that ended quickly, when my father chuckled, and told my brother to try playing with someone that could keep up with him. Then the people of the town began to chuckle because my father had. I was furious. Humiliated. The first of many in a long line of humiliations at the hands of my brother, 16 years my junior.
When my brother turned 16, the mark of a man's entrance to adulthood, my father organized a tournament in his honor. A gesture that was never considered when I myself came of age. At first I was excited by the prospect. I greatly enjoyed the jousting and attended every chance I got. The excitement quickly turned to dread when the tournament roster was announced, and there, in the first round of the melee, read Elias Kratston - Sword and Shield. I didn't understand, I had never competed in a melee before, and I certainly couldn't hold a sword and shield with one arm. Seeing the confusion and fear in my eyes, my father sternly told me that my brother had requested that all the Kratston's participate in the tournament, and that I had better be on time for every match; since I had not signed up for something on my own he had chosen an event for me.
As the tournament day neared I had started to come to terms with my predicament. Very few people cared about the early matches of the melee, and I would never advance past my first bout anyways. It wouldn't be the first time I had been forced to spar with one arm. My Father made sure that part of my education included training with the Manor guards. Though this would be the first time outside of the private courtyards of the family Manor. The day of the tournament came, and I was prepared for my first match. When the bell was struck to signal the start of the match I saw my father had come to watch my match, and I was resolved to put on as good a show as I could. Knowing I couldn't win was one thing, but the fury of my father if he thought I hadn't given my everything to the match overwhelmed my desire to end this quickly. Somehow I'd won. Fight after fight I seemed to be put against bumbling fools that didn't know which end of the blade to hold. I couldn't believe I was actually advancing. I knew that something was wrong, soldiers and knights in my Father's guard were losing melee matches to the one armed boy who had been disinherited. Men that had for all my life beaten me senseless in training, somehow couldn't keep their guard up. In the semi-finals I was to face off against Salavar, my Father's Captain of the Guard, who had for most of my life beaten the tar out of me in my weekly sparring "test" at my father's behest, much to Salavar's regret. As he faked opening after opening I slowly beat on him. Falling to his knees in what I knew was a mock surrender he whispered something I'll never forget, "I'm sorry Elias, your brother ordered that no one was to beat you today." And that was it. I was now to face off against my Brother in the Melee championship.
With all the eyes of my Father's estate and the entirety of the town watching. I understood what was going to happen. My brother wanted to show the entire city how much better then me he was. To prove to everyone why HE was the heir. This wasn't going to be a quick match. It would be drawn out as he proved undeniably how superior he was. For the first time I was genuinely hoping I was wrong, that he would at least make it quick. I wasn't. I had never felt a rage as powerful as what overcame me in the aftermath of the humiliation that was the tournament. For days I would lash out at the slightest thing, my father's staff would immediately become apologetic, though I knew this was only because of my last name. Finally I resolved to do something, to hire someone to solve my problem. Luckily for Lemuel I didn't know the first thing about hiring an assassin, and the thug that I did hire was quickly discovered and slain by my father's guard as he attempted to flee. This had an unfortunate effect of my father thinking that someone was trying to usurp his authority, and suddenly my brother was being guarded everywhere he went. My father continued to assure him that he would always take care of him and keep him safe until he was ready to take over the household. The next day, Thalwyn, my father’s Wizard and Sage Advisor, approached me and told me he wanted to speak to me in private. I feared that Thalwyn was going to confront me about hiring the assassin, as if he had somehow magically known. And perhaps he did; but when he spoke to me, he never mentioned it. But standing next to him I felt he could peer inside of me as if he knew my dark secret. Instead he offered to teach me magic. When I told him I only had one arm. He told me that there was plenty of magic that could be cast with one arm, or even without any, as long as I was dedicated enough to learn. Under his guide and study, for the first time ever, I felt as if I belonged somewhere, that someone had wanted me to be alive and around them. He taught me how to forge magic by building; manipulating mundane objects in such a way as to actually touch and mold the very fabric of the Weave around them. Through his teachings I was able to create simple devices, the first of which was a small orb, that when I wore it around my neck and focused on it, was able to manipulate objects with the precision of a hand. For the first time in years I was able to perform actions that needed two hands.
Through years of training and study I was able to manipulate the magic in objects to create replacements for my lost eye and arm. A small gem that projected a constant illusion to mimic the appearance of my lost eye, and the ability to manipulate a suit of metal armor to ebb and flow into the shape of my missing arm. As a part of the training, Thalwyn ran me through exercises to help me understand magic and how to use it under stressful situations. Focusing my anger and frustration into determination to learn. Then coming to a new sense of calm and purpose. I always managed to stay calm and in control during Thalwyn's exercises, that is until the day he used illusions of ghouls attacking. I froze in panic at the very sight of the creatures, completely unable to think or act. “You need to learn to master the fears that have devoured your soul,” he said, gazing down at me as he helped me up. “You have used your ability to replace you eye and arm that you lost in the ghoul attack; but there is a hole in your soul that can not be so easily repaired. As long as that is there it will fester and grow and eventually kill you. The time has come for you to venture forth. Find yourself, because your place is not here. And in doing so, face that which you fear, and master it. You will become far more powerful by doing so.” It was strange. Bidding farewell to my family; this was the first time I saw my father concerned about me. Keeping me under his wing, it was easy to dismiss me, but he always knew where I was. Perhaps he needed me to make himself feel better, and now that stone was being removed. Or, perhaps he genuinely did worry for me. I hugged him farewell, regardless, and turned and walked out of the beauty of Kratston Manor...