The dark void outside the taverns window would occasionally erupt with a display of lightening that reflected briefly off the torrential down poor that never seemed to relent this time of year. The Eye of Abendago never allowed much time to pass between its assaults on the mainland, nor did it show any sign of mercy this night. While the shackles had never been a place of comfort, the freedom from governance more than made up for the hardship the locals were forced to endure from its harsh weather.
On this night, in particular, a young woman by the name of Yolanda Redington found herself at the mercy of the Shackles and its residents. Pregnant, strung out, and ready to give birth, the young woman laid bare upon a shoddy table within one of the many drinking halls that made up a majority of the Shackle’s business front. The foul weather, be it wat it may, was the least of her concerns while severe pain ignited throughout her entire body. Because of her past abuse of drugs, nothing seemed to dull the pain, which was beyond anything she had ever experienced. Her screams blended with the thunder as both continuously echoed in tandem. Soon the scrams stopped just as the storm passed, reveling in its wake a new life and then taking another. Yolanda gave what little life she had giving birth, which was in some small way a blessing. A child born to the Shackles, now a ward to those who witnessed the event. Some say the Eye of Abendago christened the birth, other say it was a curse. Either way, the child, who the locals named “Henry the Red”, was thought to have some sort of higher calling. A fate linked with the Eye of Abendago in some way.
Born to a life in the Shackles, Henry found himself beholden to a vast number of locals, who supported and raise him. No single father or mother, but a large community of family who continuously indulged in skullduggery. With a strong back and a sense of survival, Henry not only survived, he thrived. While growing stronger by the day, it didn’t take long before he found himself aboard one of the many ships that frequented the Cove. From ship to ship, whether it was out of loyalty to someone he knew or to simply earn some coin, Henry work diligently and earned a reputation of being a worth crewman. A crewman that didn’t seem to mind an occasional run in with piracy or theft. After all, life in the Shackles sometimes required one to step over normal moral boundaries to survive.
One night, after a long week at sea, Henry overheard a couple locals talking. One mentioned his childhood legacy, something about it being connected to a tavern called the “Formidable Maid”. After a long vouge, he felt a pint of ale and a good story might make for an interesting evening, so he sought out the tavern and ordered up a pint while he waited for this so-called destiny to present itself. Pint after pint, they kept coming as the night rolled on with nothing standing out as being significant or destined. Before long he lost track of how many pints he consumed, which brought about a night of swirling thoughts and vague memories.
