Red

My father was a human knight. He never lived for any renown, but he was always the first to come when our Lord called for his banner. He died during a cavalry charge in a big bloody battle. I was there with him that day across the field. He knew what he had signed up for.

You live by the sword, you die by the sword—he said that for a reason.

My mother was a city elf. My father would visit her when he returned from battle, seeking a bath or mend his wounds. They fell in love and were happy for a time. Their plan was to have me in secrecy and then elope to some far-off land. Unfortunately, my mother died giving birth to me, and no such vacation ever took place.

To the dismay of his peers and the common folk, my father was not bothered by raising a half-elf son. He saw a lot of my mother in me. He told me that he wanted to make sure I was prepared for the world and how cruel it could be. I thank him dearly for that. His wisdom and his skills are the only reason I’m still alive today.

After the demise of my father, seeing only a lost cause around me, I deserted. I was labeled a traitor and fled from my homeland while distant relatives squabbled over inheritance that would seem a pittance to them. 

I now wander with a witch and make whatever money I can with the skills my father gave me. My Red cloak would stand out on the field. My companions came to use it as a nickname and it stuck. 

Its a hard road; it cuts to the bone, but I've fought all my life, and im still here..