Father,
I realize we have not spoken in months, but I wanted to keep you abroad of the situation. As I’m sure you are aware, House Thrune has been posting flyers around town seeking aid in dealing with the vegepygmies harrowing the forest. After much consideration, I have decided to take them up on their offer. I don’t want to drag you into this, so please don’t try to dissuade me. I feel that this opportunity cannot be ignored. If this menace can be put down then maybe I can restore the flow of reagents from the forest. I will contact you once we have completed our task.
I hope this letter finds you well.
~Roden
Roden grew up in the relative peace and safety of the town of Longacre. His mother passed away when he was very young and his father owns the Gnarled Root, a small shop that sells all manner of herb, unguent, elixir, and remedy. Roden was happy to help out at his father’s shop when he was a boy, and his father did well and his business thrived. Roden quickly picked up the ability to identify foreign plants and herbs. They would play a game where his father would quiz him on the identity of the items as they stocked the shelves. Things were good. Unfortunately, that didn’t last. The Whisperwood - his primary source of ingredients - changed as rumors of creatures breaching on to the surface from the Darklands began to swirl around town. Supply was low and he struggled to meet demands. The constant pressure to keep his doors open weighed heavily on his father and he became more of a boss and less of a parent.
This all came to a head one morning when they were cleaning the shop just before opening. Roden was mopping up the stockroom and knocked over a large ceramic jar of extremely rare (and therefore very expensive) powdered verucca root and it shattered on the floor. He watched in stunned horror as the powder absorbed the soapy water, rendering it’s magical properties inert. His father rushed to the back to investigate the noise and lost control. His arm snapped across like a steel trap and hit Roden so hard that he tasted blood. He didn’t cry. He didn’t flee. And he certainly didn’t fight back. He knew that he had done wrong, so he just looked up at his father, struggling to retain consciousness while bracing himself for another strike. Luckily, the strike never came, for his father had realized what he had done. He stormed off without a word, and after a few moments Roden hurried to clean up the mess, but his relationship with his father was never quite the same after that.
Despite that fair setback, the Gnarled Root still managed to keep it’s doors open. When Roden wasn’t working at the shop, he would venture off to watch the Hellknights patrol the western edge of the Whisperwood. He would watch them from afar, trying to learn anything he could by observing their techniques. One time he worked up the courage to approach them directly, but they quickly chased him off, dismissing him as a country bumpkin.
While he hung around the knights more and more, months would pass before he got a chance to stop by the shop, and when he did, his father was distant and often spoke in vagaries.
Roden was looking for a chance to prove himself. To break free of his father’s shadow and become his own man. To gain control of the regents flowing from the forest and in doing so, have utter control of his father’s livelihood. Roden didn’t hesitate in volunteering himself for the expedition.
