Sorry about the length though - but it can be hard to stop.
(Please notice that both parents were still alive when Xandax left
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Xandax was the child of farmers, born and raised to the age of 18 in a small hamlet outside Arberdan.
Xandax soon learned in his youth that he was different from others. He was a charismatic young boy, which in turn instigated jealousy from his peers because of the attention he drew upon himself.
This jealousy often resulted in brawls, which Xandax lost, due to his weak physical strength; regardless of the work his father had made him do in the fields.
Luckily the bruises and black eyes healed fast and Xandax was once again out drawing upon attention.
Xandax didn’t do it because he craved or even liked the attention from others, it was merely a means to his goals, and why not take advantage of your strengths, he often thought for himself.
One day though, change all this, Xandax had gotten to much attention from one of the young women at his age, or at least that was what her betroved felt. He, together with a couple of friends, was out to teach Xandax a lesson, one that would last him a lifetime.
Surrounding Xandax ,the gang of people was about to give him his lesson when he felt a surge within. It was unlike anything he had ever felt but tried to ignore it, but the feeling increased.
The surge suddenly manifested itself in a bolt of electric energy that sprung from Xandax fingertips – the gang froze, looked at each other, then at Xandax, after which they fled, yelling something about dark magic.
This was the first time Xandax had ever seen magic, well arcane magic, it was unlike the magic the priest at the church performed to heal the ill.
Xandax ran home and told his parents, he could see the terror in their eyes, not because they were afraid of him, more because they were afraid for him.
His mother turned to his father and said that it was time for Xandax to leave the hamlet, for he could not stay, the people would surly burn him at the stake. She then went into the cooking part of their hovel and started to prepare some food Xandax could take along with him. Meanwhile his father went to the attic and looked through some boxes and chests, and came down with a torn and blood-infested piece of cloth. He took Xandax aside.
“What I am about to tell you now,” he said “was something I hoped I would never have to speak out.”
“Your great grandfather, my fathers father,“ he paused for a while, trying to work up the courage to speak it “was a sorcerer, a person that could harness the arcane powers”. Xandax could see a tear in his father’s eye.
“He told, my father, you grandfather, whom on his deathbed told me, what I am about to tell you now.” Xandax listen carefully, hearing the seriousness in his father’s voice.
“There is a curse on our family.” Another tear had manifested in the eye of Xandax’ father.
“I don’t know the details, my father was to terrified to speak them, but there are dark forces haunting our family. We have been left in peace so far, because we, my father and I, were merely farmers and didn’t possessed the powers of the arcane, but now I see that the powers of my grandfather once again has been brought alive in you.”
His mother entered the area with a pack of prepared food. Xandax father continued.
“You must flee this place, now that the power have been activated again, the dark forces will come here looking for you.”
”If not the other farmers burn you at the stake first.” His mother intervened calmly, but Xandax picked up on the variation in her voice, which spelled sadness and fear at the same time.
“You must flee and keep moving, otherwise they will haunt you down and slay you” His father picked where he left off.
“Who are they?” Xandax asked.
”I - I don’t know – the only thing I was told by my father before he died was: Remember the Banshee, always remember the Banshee. And as he died this fell from his hand” His father gave Xandax the piece of cloth.
It had big stains of blood on it, and it was torn, it looked like claws had torn it. Xandax looked closer and could make out an insignia on the cloth, an insignia that looked like – it was a Banshee.
His fathers stream of words was interrupted as they could hear a mob getting closer, yelling.
“You must hurry, flee out this way” Xandax was lead to the cellar where all the vegetables was stored, and showed a trapdoor.
“This will lead to a tunnel that will take you out onto the fields, from there you can run for the hills, and get away.” He opened the trapdoor. “But remember my son, don’t trust other people, for if they find out about your powers, they will kill you. And keep moving so the darkness doesn’t catch you.”
Xandax could hear stones being cast at their home, while people were yelling outside.
“Find the meaning of the Banshee, it is your only hope.” Xandax was pushed through the trapdoor, and could hear his father stack things up in front of it. Then he heard people breaking down the door upstairs – and he started crawling fast through the tunnels.
After a short while, Xandax emerged at his fathers fields, and he looked back for a second, and then moved on out, heading for the nearby hills, and from there towards a small forest. In there he took a break and sat down.
What should he do now, he was all alone. He did not dare to go back to his family because that would most likely put them in grave danger, he didn’t even know what had happened to them when the mob broken in.
He took out the piece of cloth and looked at it; “Banshee”; “don’t trust anybody”; “sorcerer”; “dark forces”. The words entered his mind and he couldn’t focus – he started feeling the surge inside him again.
Xandax focused on the surge and managed to damper it.
He stood up, and started walking towards Arberden. He had to move, and this would be as good a place as any.
He was alone, hunted and would be feared and possible killed if people found out about his powers, what was one to do.
