Borkul

Borkul was born in the foothills of the eastern Dragonspine mountains to a lovely family in a lovely village. One day a group of traveling gypsy’s camped outside of their village, throwing extravagant celebrations every night. They had dancing and shows, ale and bards, it was very luring and exciting.

One night Borkul and his brother had snuck into the barrel tent and snuck a few mugs of ale. Borkul, being a young lad, found himself overwhelmed and fell asleep in the caravan.

He awoke the next morning half a world away, near the port of Solhaven. Quite unsettled, he frantically tried to figure out a way to get back to his village and his family. He approached the gypsy’s and asked to speak with the head of the caravan. The head of the caravan looked him over with an appraising eye, and told Borkul that he would not return him to his village. Instead, he was to pay service for the ale he had stolen by joining the swordsmanship act.

Though crestfallen, Borkul agreed, and worked in the service of the gypsies for 3 years. On the day of the 3rd year, the leader of the caravan came to his wagon and asked him to come for a sparring lesson. Borkul had never sparred with the head of the caravan, and was confused, but out he trudged.

The leader of the caravan told Borkul he was to fight him for his freedom. If Borkul won, he would take him back to his village to live the rest of his days in peace. If Borkul lost, he was to work in servitude for another 3 years, in which time he would be granted another chance at his freedom.

Borkul fought the gypsy with all his heart, his longing to see his village again putting the fury of Kai into his blows. But the gypsy was too fast, too seasoned, and he triumphed. Borkul was crushed, but there was no other option.

Borkul served another 3 year indenture to the gypsies, at which time the same man came to him and asked him to duel. Again Borkul lost. This went on twice more, and on that last fateful morning, Borkul nearly killed the man, his hate towards his situation more than he could stand. But before the killing blow landed, the man looked at him, and told him that he had given Borkul an amazing gift and skill, the skill of combat. Borkul was struck. He had indeed gained an amazing amount of skill under his indenture to the gypsies.

They honored their agreement, and headed back towards his home. The more he thought about what he had learned, and knew that he was going to his home, the better he felt.

As they neared his village, Borkul’s anticipation was skyrocketing. He hadn’t seen his family in over a decade. How he had grown! They capped the last hill before the village, and darkness clouded his mind. His village was nothing more than ruins now. Grass had grown over what was left of the homes, charred wood jutting from the ground. Though the gypsies tried to console him, Borkul was shattered. He would never again be in the company of family and friends. Everyone he knew was gone.

Borkul stayed with the gypsies, having no other option. They traveled to the Elven Lands, and were quickly run out. They then made the long trek to Wehnimer’s Landing, where Borkul met an old warrior in the town. The warrior spoke of a destiny awaiting him, and Borkul sought it out. He joined the order of Voln, and the rest, my friends, I am sure you know.