Brennus Rassam’s family fled their homeland a year before his birth, seeking shelter from the wars and rampaging giants grinding away at the civilized world. Perhaps had Brennus’ birth not started upon the doorstep of Onóir, they might have continued traveling, but the mother could travel no further. And so, into war torn Onóir was born the heir of Rassam, and his father named him in the tongue of the place, for their destinies were now entwined.
Brennus’ earliest memories were idyllic, but soon after his eighth birthday the purple cloud appeared on the horizon. His father bought the safety of his family with his life, defending the town in its last desperate hour, as they descended into the darkness below. Days after the fighting had stopped, Brennus’ grandfather, knowing well that the time to pass on the legacy of the Rassam was nigh, spoke of their family’s history and revealed the armor of their founding ancestor.
The boy, still mourning after his father, despondently inspected the tarnished bronze armor. He wasn’t impressed. Still, his grandfather taught him the histories, of writing and hunting. As the years passed, and the pain faded, Brennus bore the name of his family well, using that knowledge to teach and protect the other members of his underground community.
As material for armor grew sparse in the underground, Brennus recalled his family’s own armaments. His grandfather once again presented the armor, and as Brennus touched the moldering trim, the lamellar trembled. Then it flew above them, and in a burst of light the armor reflected the memories of all that had worn it. The memories shown about the cavern walls for only a moment, then retreated back into the armor, filling it, shaping into the likeness of a man. The specter looked down upon Brennus and his grandfather, its expression softened, and it smiled as its form wavered out into nothingness.
Yet, the armor still floated there. Brennus glanced over at his grandfather, but the old man only shrugged in disbelief. He held out his trembling hands, and the panoply floated down into his arms. When Brennus stepped out into the common area, among the remaining survivors, it was as if something was whispering just out of sight, a word that seemed a lot like hope.
