Caius Reckenmark

Backstory

The Reckenmark Academy

Atop a plateau overlooking the plains of strife stand the halls of Reckenmark since time untold. It is home to the greatest college of warfare the region has ever witnessed. We were the anvil on which the defence of nations was forged. Our ways brought forth an age of stability and safety for the kingdoms served. We were instructors of the generals of legions, the field marshals of mighty campaigns and the captains that led the vanguard against orc, elf and beast, demon and dragon.

Alas, that was many generations past. The great wars of our ancestors proved too great a challenge. Time and again we capitulated when proud kings begged us to send more to fight in their futile wars, seduced us to deliver to them what little we had left and abandoned us when we were bled dry. Spent and disgraced we we forced to become little more than a mercenary force. Our brilliant splendor wasted over the years and our martial wisdom lost on the battlefields defending nameless marshes or charging unassailable mountain passes at the heel of some glory crazed monarch.

Behold the Academy of Reckenmark, still the finest mercenary company in the lands, but little more than a training ground for soldiers now. The once grand halls stand in disrepair and ruin touches the once great walls of the keep. The barracks and training grounds are well worn, but functional. In what was once the courtyard we practice and train, working hard to one day regain our honoured place.

The Reckenmark Family

I am the third of my line and, I am afraid to say, the biggest failure in the eyes of my kin. “The battlefield has little use for the fanciful” or so my mother, Mordread the Warden Matron of Reckenmark tells me when I once again entreat her to look beyond brute strength and educate our charges with the valorous knowledge of old. She is a mighty warrior, respected and feared by all in the Academy. Standing a full head above me she commands the respect of all, regaled in mighty full plate and bearing the ancestral GreatSword of Reckenmark, she instructs and inspires those who remain.

My sister and brother, work hard to one day equal her splendour, each a mighty warrior themselves. Kitria and Vulheim, both more receptive to my words, but more brutal in my physical training. They seem to delight in defeat in the training ring. Tormenting me for my weaker stature. I fear they see me as unworthy of the Reckenmark name.

My sister Kitria the Reaver, wielder of the great-mace Midnight is a storm in battle. Absolutely frightening both in combat and out. She seems to believe that only unrelenting attack is the way to victory and she might be right. Save for mother, no one has been able to defeat her in the Duels. I can no longer count the times she stood over me, Midnight raised in the killing stance used to end the life of defeated foes. In command she is brutal and hard, but also respected and loved by those she leads.

My brother Vulheim the IronBreaker wields Shatter the great-maul. More methodical in his assault than my sister, he works to sunder and weaken his foes until they can no longer stand against him. It is him that mocks me loudest for my preference of the shield, calling it a futile toy. Countless times it fell from my grasp, my arm battered and numb from precise impact after impact. He is the most quiet and brooding of us three, spending more time gazing out over the distant fields with a look of longing I attribute to his covetousness for battlefield glory.

The Reckenmark Life

I have no friends, at least not for long. Soon after they realise that association to me brings nothing but derision and being singled out for extra training, few remain close. In the evening hours we at times play a game of dragonchess, until they find out I remain mostly undefeated. I try to instruct those who will listen and try to incorporate the lessons of stratagem I have learned from the old tomes. I sometimes wish I could teach them more of the old ways, I am certain they would benefit greatly from its wisdoms. When I can take no more of the tedium of constant drills I escape to the stacks where the old Tomes lie. It is a dusty, forgotten place under the keep. Surrounded by the statues of my ancestors and the tapestries that tell tales of the ancient battles. Over time, as I returned and read more of the Tomes, I discovered clues to something different, something deeper, more profound. The hidden sources of the stratagem of my ancestors. I have decided to name these principles The Canticles of Valor.

Perhaps it is indeed my fancy, but I feel that there is more to these canticles.