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About Kytes of IomedaeKytes of Iomdae
Kytes worked as something of a freelance farmhand in the area, the various farms working out who needed the extra help the most during which times of year. As such, Kytes developed a sense of "home" being less a specific location and more the community one belonged to. In truth, several of the farmers who raised him grew to feel somewhat shamed as the years went by and Kytes grew into one of the most upstanding lads they'd ever had the pleasure of knowing. By the time the boy was 12, the insular community loved him like he was a son to all of them, and became extremely defensive of the boy to any outsiders who made negative note of his ancestry. When Kytes was 14, trouble struck the small collection of farms he called his home. A group of bandits, setting their sights on a bigger mark than the average defenseless traveler as well as a comfy retirement, started using a combination of thuggery and (poorly) falsified land deeds to force the farmers off and take control of the farms themselves. Taldan law enforcement, busy being used as a political instrument for any number of scheming nobles at any given time, could be little bothered to deal with the problem. It was during one of these regular attempted shakedowns that Tove, the patriarch of one of the farm-owning families and one of Kytes' many surrogate fathers, had finally had enough. In disgust and frustration, Tove shoved the bandit leader and demanded he vacate the property. The leader took this as an infringement too far, and an outright fight broke out. Tove was an ox of a man, with a physique the product of decades of fieldwork and barn building, but he was no trained warrior, and he was not armed. The bandit took what licks he needed in order to outmaneuver the burly farmer and plant a dagger squarely in his neck. Kytes and the rest of the farmers found Tove the next morning, the bandits having sacked his home and vanished into the night. The incident was finally enough to wrest a constabulary detachment from the city, but the bandits were crafty and went to ground. The constables, their hearts hardly set to a task they considered a waste of their time, did poorly in their efforts to smoke the bandits out. The evening of Tove's funeral, Kytes could not sleep. Instead he sat outside alone, a few feet from Tove's crude headstone, utterly bereft. Other than the occasional passing bigot or spoiled crop, the young Half-Orc had not experienced much in the way of tragedy or loss. He fumed at the ineffective constables, more concerned with standing than with justice. He raged at the craven evil that led these bandits to harass and kill good, hardworking people. He despaired as his good heart understood the underlying tragedy of a world that caused people to believe they must resort to such cruelty to secure a good life for themselves. As dawn pushed away the darkness of night, and the sun crept up over the horizon, a sharp glint from far across a field struck Kytes' eye, causing him to blink. Had Tove left some equipment out in the field? Gone unretrieved since he was slain? As Kytes made his way across the field to the source of the glint, the sun crept higher. He heard a keening screech from above and look up. A hawk circled lazily in the sky above, no doubt searching for breakfast. When Kytes reached the source of the reflective glint, he was stunned by what he found. Planted firmly within the earth of the field was a finely crafted longsword, the most exquisite thing the Half-Orc had seen in his entire life. The last few inches of the blade were buried in the dirt, but the rest of the blade was flawless, gleaming steel. The hilt was wrapped in perfectly cured, supple leather that look brand new. At the center of the crossguard was the stylized emblem of a sun with the blade of sword emerging from it, wrought of pure electrum. The sword was a thing of beauty, but minimal in its ostentatiousness. Kytes recognized the emblem: it was the holy symbol of Iomedae. The boy had little practical education, and the farmers who raised him all mostly worshiped Erastil, but The Inheritor was at least familiar to him. As Kytes was pondering this, suddenly the hawk circling above let out another mighty screech and dove straight for him. It changed direction at the last moment, shooting over his head before letting out its wings to slow itself and alighting nimbly on the crossguard of the sword. The hawk cocked it's head curiously, looking Kytes directly in the eyes. The young farmhand felt what he could only describe as a presence in his mind, |