Legends of Belariath
Durigon
Durigon Is a High Human born to a land east of Valencia called Banthyra, from the time he was young, He was shorter then the other boys in his village, though no matter how much he was told He could never be a warrior.. The desire for Battle and glory among his people always burned in his young heart.At age of 10 the Village Chieftain refused to allow his training saying a boy of his size will Never be able to grow into a proper warrior, or posses the strength to Properly wield a Banthyrian sword. Durigon was shamed by those words and was looked down upon by his peers, To further his disgrace he was Charged with the task of sweeping the floor of the academy he so desired to train in, to stand along His Kin and Peers as one of them, to belong.. As weeks became months he watched the masters train the other boys, His heart heavy but his mind focused, he Would be one of them.. even if it where forbidden.
The boy pilfered a Corn scythe and Fassioned a dagger out the blade and an ax handle he carefully split and fastioned the blade in the middle of the split handle with a length of fence wire and trained in secret deep in the woods every chance he got. Almost poeticly a year to that day.. the day he was publicly disgraced, a band of Barbarian Merauders attacked his Village in the small hours of the morning. The warriors, women and Children alike rousted from their beds by Bellows and screams. Many warriors scrambled about in a Wave of confusion, But the Boys mind held focus on only one thing, To Help Repel these invaders of his home.. Or die the honorable death he had been Told he would never have. Improvised dagger tightly clenched in his hand Durigon crept from his house, upon seeing the Clash of his people and the Barbarian Hoard he knew he had no chance of surviving should he run out at the fray bellowing as The warriors he had Grown to admire He crept into the night quietly. The boy moved around the battle Un-noticed By keeping low to the ground, And like a young Jaguar tasting his first blood he methodically Proceeded to Thrust his Blade into the back of one of the Brigands and with a primal Scream Young Durigon became a man.
Snarling with his eyes alight, the poise of a hunter over took his soul and he crept from Shadow to shadow slashing the and stabbing into the back of each Barbarian who was fool enough to ignore him. At last the day was won and the Barbarians repelled, though many of the village warriors now lay broken and bleeding out into the soil. Young Durigon was found repeatedly stabbing the corps of a his final kill howling and cursing in a fit rage. With the blessing of the village chief Durigon was then permitted to train with the other boys and praised for the Progress he had already made. And with a few years passage, he grew into one of the finest captans The village of Banthyra had ever seen.
By the age of 24 he had Masterfully blended the teachings of the army with the Cloak of shadow and steel he had employed ever since that faithful night and Had Shared his New way with others he commanded expanding their Military Excellence further. Soon the Banthyrian Military and their unit of "Shadow devils" as their enemies called them became feared through out the Barbarian Tribes surrounding them. But Their military success would soon shift fate against the village of Banthyra as fear slowly grew into hate. Suddenly The village found itself facing a hoard of Barbarians unlike anything ever seen in their history, The warring Barbarians somehow united by some unknown face or force... The destruction of Banthyra was alike a small village being engulfed in a Tsunami of blades. Men woman and child alike put to the sword.. Durigon like every other villager, soldier or civilian fought for his life and was struck down.. But The fates had not finished Him..
Durigon awoke the next morning, wounded and bleeding as he looked upon the Remnants of what was his home just the night before. Everyone Durigon had ever known lay broken leaking into the soil or missing all together and Smoldering heaps where stables, silos and homes used to be there was nothing left for him. after mourning His losses for a short time. he traveled west ward in search of a place to live out his life and one goal in his mind. "I will live out a lavish and Wonderful life.. for all of you" he whispered as he took one last look at the fire still smoldering in the distance. With time he soon ran out of Money to live on and the few meager supplies he was able to salvage soon became worn and useless. Knowing only the life of A soldier and the hunting, trapping and tracking techniques he was taught growing up He took the What little work he could find as a Mercenary In each town or village he passed as he Made his way west into a Dense Pine forest. Desperation soon set in as a week passed without passing a Settlement or town.. only the seemingly endless trees of the pine forest.
Barely grasping to hope of ever seeing another living soul again a glimmer of a chance presented itself to him in the shape of a large cliff. Two days passed as he forced himself over the almost completely vertical presuppose before he finally reached the top and his eyes gazed out over the land. A large settlement of some sort appeared over the country side. His hope restored. he set his eyes on Nanthalion. "The gods smile on me this day. I will keep my promise! I will live a life worthy of the Memory of Banthyra and her people"