I guess my first memory is of my father and me playing knights in our front yard. It was a cool, crisp day. The grass still held some of the fallen dew from the not so distant morning. The sun was shining, contrary to the coolness of the day. There were few clouds in the sky. I remember looking across the yard and seeing our humble home. It was nothing but a hut, broken down with a few holes in the thatched roof. But my father would fix it.
My father worked as a merchant so he rarely had any time at home. He sold goods such as pottery and wool garments from the sheep we raised. One of his most prized possessions was a coif and chainmail shirt made out of an iron and gold alloy and studded with diamonds. He let me try it on once when I was a child but the weight of it made me keel over, sending my father into a fit of laughter. My father was a good-spirited man by nature, but sometimes our financial situation got the better of him and I could hear him cursing the king in his room.
I remember my mother yelling from the doorstep for us to come inside so we wouldn�t catch cold. My mother was always optimistic. She cooked and cleaned and in secret, she taught me reading and writing. All of the children that attended classes were of noble birth. They went to colleges in the far North and some even went to Dera to learn the studies. My family didn�t have enough money to send me to the schools but my mother taught me all she knew, which surprisingly was a lot. I could read, write and I knew much about our feudal and geographical history. As high-spirited as my mother was, I would catch her crying sometimes, normally when my father had a bad day and didn�t make much money. Then he would come home from the tavern and rant for hours about how he just wanted to raise his son and take care of his family but the king wouldn�t let him make an honest days wages. I loved my parents and I still do. But my whole world changed on my fifteenth birthday.
The whole day my mother wore a solemn countenance. Finally, she sat me down and spoke the words to me that would carry me through the next years of my life.
�Nicholai,� she said in her heavy accent, �you must know something. Today is your fifteenth birthday so you are now old enough to know. The man you call father is not your father. You are the son of another man. A great and powerful man. I met him almost eighteen years ago. I was still married but this man offered me more. He taught me all that I have taught you. You are our child. It was a miracle and you are a very special child. Your name is not Nicholai McClain. Your name given you by your true father is Nashoba Raen Haeris. Your father is Arias Sciro Haeris. He is also the Vertigo of this world.� I was shocked and I ran. I ran all the way from my house to the sanctuary in the village. I looked up at the looming replica of the statue of Vertigo. Could that man really be my father? I didn�t understand it and a part of me didn�t want to. I mean how could my father be the Vertigo, the guardian, of the planet. Another thing that confused me was that if he truly was the Vertigo, why didn�t he use his powers to help me.
The Vertigo had the power to assist either good or evil. He could create vessels for souls and use the Soulsource to make them into people. The only thing he couldn�t do was create souls. I was but a na�ve child in thinking the way I did. I know now that the Vertigo can not interfere in the lives of men, lest he change the course of time, which was forbidden. Those were the laws of the guardians. As a child though I was confused and oblivious to how the world worked.
A lot happened that year, but through it all my mother and I held a silent bond. With time, I began to grow away from my father and we both knew it. The looks we exchanged were short and full of questions. But we never asked them. As it would be, my father died that year. He was executed for making shady deals. In exchange to go quietly, he arranged for my mother and my protection. I never forgot that even in his death, he took care of me, even though I wasn�t his son.
My father left behind some money for my mother and me to live on in his absence, but after the first five moths proceeding his death, the money started to run out. I told my mother I could get a job but she insisted that I continue my studies. My father had taught me some sword-skill as I child and I found myself attending regular youth tournaments at the castle. I wore my fathers chainmail and a hooded cloak my mother made for me to disguise myself. I didn�t win much at first but I began getting better with all the practice. With my money, I bought some leather chaps, a nice pair of ox-hide boots plated with iron and a beautiful sword to replace my old battered broadsword that I had found on a dead knight.
This new sword was light and easy to wield. My hand molded into it and it became a part of me. The hilt was flat and plain and on the pommel was the head of a lion. The sword tapered to a sharp point making it about four and a half feet long. That sword sparked my love of all swords and my respect of those who wielded them. My mother would always ask me where I got all the cuts and bruises. I would normally tell her that the kids in town didn�t like me.
Then came the eve of my sixteenth birthday. I sat in bed sore from a tournament the previous day. It had been but a year prior to that day that I had learned who I was. Sitting there in that room I resolved not to let my mother suffer anymore. I got up and dressed in my chain mail shirt, my coif, my boots and my chaps. I strapped my sword to my back and donned my cloak. I scooped up my tournament winnings, which added up to about five thousand gold pieces, and went down the ladder to the loft and into the open room. I could see my mother sleeping in the adjacent room. I left most of my winning and a note for her.
My Dearest Mother,
Thank you for everything. I will take what you�ve taught me and use it in the world. I have gone to find my father and my destiny. Here is some money. Do what you will with it. I didn�t steal it. I earned it just as you and father taught me. I love you mother. May Vertigo watch over you and keep you safe.
Your son,
Nashoba
Raen
Haeris
With that I left into the night.