It was all I could do to show I wasn't just a pup, as the Tavern drunkards called me. I took on the task of Patroling in Llafair, and was ambushed twice by Dark Elf minions. Each time laid me up for a bit and my anger grew more. Funny how I thought at the time that this was all my Father's fault for not being there for me and teaching me the rudimentary parts of fighting. The irony that he should die in battle. After Mother died, I felt lost and tried to do many things that I thought would garner me some type of respect or acknowledgement. I got the acknowledgement, alright, but not necessarily a lot of respect. Even my advisor, my loyal friend Artemis, had some trouble looking at me in the eye at times. To feel that from a friend is like being outside in a heavy snowfall. I appreciated his gifts that he gave me in hopes that I would continue to grow in the right direction, but I never seemed to quite find my footing in that my attitude always got the best of me and my demeanor, therefore, was perceived as one of mischievous and untrustworthy. I think my Mother would be saddened by how things turned out for me but, truth is, we are the masters of our own destiny. We make the choices, we suffer the consequences. I enter into the Arena knowing full well that I may not come out of this alive, but I will have people know my name and that I left this world a man. To the onlooker, they might not know my story up until now, but I do. I tried to make my mark in a good way. Maybe someone will scribe that down and enter it into the History books for me.