Seven Kingdoms: Seowyn's Crossing
A young cloudy-headed half-elf who finds himself unexpectedly taught to be a warlock...
Can’t Miss I – Hit at least once in 3 consecutive rounds of an encounter.
I Will Smite Thee with My Mighty Blade I – Deal at least 15 hp of damage to a single target with a single attack.
I Will Smite Thee with My Mighty Blade II – Deal at least 25 hp of damage to a single target with a single attack.
Tristan’s the only son of Tillie Holdfast, daughter of Anna, who runs the Minstrel’s Tarry tavern in Seowyn’s Crossing. He was fathered by one of the guardian elves who’d spent a night at the tavern; whenever he asked about his father, a shadow would pass over Tillie’s face and she’d say, “Your father’s off traveling and doing good deeds, you know that, silly.” However, every once in a great while, a strange elf of few words would visit the tavern, and Tillie would tell a shy Tristan to shake his hand, calling him “an old friend of the family.”
Tristan never really fit in with the other kids in Seowyn’s Crossing, though truth be told, he never really tried. Not really human or elf, not interested in their silly stickball and pigtail-pulling games, he seemed distant and strange to kids his age. And considering that he usually appeared to be talking to himself, or at least nodding his head and shrugging a lot as if listening to one side of a conversation, adults and children alike figured Tristan was a bit touched. But his mother doted on him, and the boy worked hard gathering dishes in the tavern. And he had his books to read and quills to draw with, and mice he’d feed crumbs to in his room, so he didn’t really care what folks thought. The quiet whispers in his head told him they were all fools. Ignore them.
When he became a teenager, Tristan’s mother insisted it was time to start growing up and learning a trade, but try as he might, nothing worked out. His loaves of bread didn’t rise. His barrels didn’t hold water. He nearly burnt the blacksmith’s shop down when he dropped red-hot iron. And all of his employers complained that the boy seemed to be only half-listening, lost in the clouds. The local wizard took pity on the boy and agreed to mentor him, and oddly, this seemed to take. Well, somewhat. The simplest cantrips went wrong, but not disastrously so, and at least he smiled a lot and didn’t take the wizard’s exasperated tirades seriously. And he seemed to pick things up bit by bit… just not always in the way the wizard intended.
It wasn’t until he was a bit older, an awkward wizard in training on the verge of coming of age, that the whispers in his ears spoke up clearly for the first time. “Hello, Tristan. I am King Caudus, the last of the line of Tarmoore. I’ve been watching you every day since you were a small child, and you know my voice. We’re friends, you and I, and I’ve got so many things I can teach you. We can help each other, yes?” Tristan nodded and started to take notes in his sketchbook, listening carefully.