The young boy listened intently as his father spoke.
"Put your trust in your own two hands, Irian. In the people around you. Those you love and who love you." Irian's father did not look up from his stitching, the worked leather in his hands forming the outer layer of a saddle.
"These gods and their followers have power, I don't deny. But I deny them, son, and you should too. The only power they have comes from the zealots who follow them. No matter what they preach, each God is just a power-hungry despot looking for a larger slice of the pie that is humanity. My grandfather was such a man, and he nearly brought his family to ruin and despair. My father, your grandfather was a broken man, a shattered spirit whose torment came from his father's God. Never forget that, son." Irian's father's voice never rose, but he could hear the anguish and bitterness. Irian's grandfather hadn't lived to see Irian born, the only son of his only son.
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As Irian grew into a teenager, he blossomed. Blessed with his father's strength but his mother's slender build, the young man had no trouble making friends. He was athletic and social, always doing well at sports but knowing how to laugh off defeats when they occurred. The only downside to his day were the hours he spent in his father's shop, learning the trade of a leather worker. Or to Irian's father was a good man, and the teen loved him, but he had no love for the work. Irian spent that time in boredom, his head filled with dreams of becoming a heroic soldier, the kind who turned the tides of battle on their own. Whenever he would bring it up to his father, the older man would solemnly shake his head, saying "Such talk is the foolishness of youth. These men you speak of don't exist...they are the bait used to trap the young and idyllic into a life of service."
Heedless of his father's warning, Irian signed up for the Magnimar guards, thinking it a proper beginning to his dreams and goals. They would provide weapons and mail and teach him how to use them, and perhaps he would even go on campaigns against regional threats. His father was disappointed, but wished Irian luck.
Several years in the guard left Irian as disappointed as his father. While he had been provided training, he spent most of his days settling domestic disputes or escorting drunks to the local jail to sleep off the night's revelries. His fellow guards were little better, most of them lacking in ambition, their laziness having long ago turned whatever muscle they had into flab. Their dispositions were little better, the cruelty of some so great Irian had had to step in on behalf of criminals to curb abuse. Some of these were men his father had spoken about, openly wearing holy symbols of their professed deity while behaving nearly as badly as the criminals they captured. When the end of his term came, Irian did not renew.
Irian spent a few nights with his parents, trying to sort things out after his service. Much as he might like to, though, he knew that a life of leather working was not his desire. It was with a heavy heart that he bid his parents farewell again, this time leaving Magnimar in his search for adventure and fame.
