Legends of Belariath

Ronick Karamazov

Ronick Karamazov was born far to the southeast of Nanthalion to an extremely well to do clan of noble knights, warriors, and fighters who had chosen an almost isolated, simplistic lifestyle. A proud clan living on the outskirts of the Empire and owing their allegiance to none but their own, they had survived for generations thanks to the topagrpahy of the lands all but cutting them from most roads as well as through constant conflict and battle to maintain their independence. As one of the eldest sons to the clan it was his place to carry on the family tradition as the next head of the clan. From his birth he was groomed and raised carefully to be an instrument of battle, the first word ever coming from his lips being "Kill." The boy was taught combat tactics as he learned to speak and was brought up around weapons of war rather than toys of childhood. Kept isolated from the other children, he was raised to follow the Way, the clan's ancient personal code of honor and beliefs that laid down how he should live, how he should fight, and how he should die. His life was almost that of a monastaristic one, his days consisting of little other than waking, eating, training, studying, and sleeping. By the age of ten he had been trained in the arts of close quarter combat with various weapons and improvised implements along with survival methods for a variety of situations and military tactics. Discpline and honor were the foundings of his teachings but were soon to be broken and his life brought shattering around him. The clan's isolated compound had finally made an enemy of the local bandits and raiders to the point that they had rallied against them. The attack pre-empted by a poisons slipped into the stream that served as the clan's water's supply, instantly striking down over half of the clan's fighters and leaving the rest ill and fevered. While capable fighters the clan was simply overrun by the sheer numbers of their attackers, unable to fight with peak effiency to to the poison's potency. None the less the clan still held the line and keep for no less than nine days, making their invaders pay for every meter of ground with blood and death. The dead littered the halls of the great keep all the way up into the Hall of Wisdom where the council of nine who led the clan resided. It was said that in the center of the room the nine and their retinue of bodyguard formed a circle in the heart of the room, surrounded by enemy dead no less than ten deep in all directions before finally being overcome.

While only a boy during the invasion, Ronick's duties still forced him to the heart of combat until in the third day of the siege he recieved a critical stab wound to midsection, piercing clean through his body. It was at this time that the family knew their fall was all but iminent and the council made a deal with an ally of the clan Elrick Ericson, a wandering ranger who often came to their keep to trade supplies and deliver news. They arranged for Elrick to escort the wounded boy to safety and care for him so that the clan's legacy could at least live on. The old ranger agreed and carried the wounded boys through the underground water channels away from the battle. Ronick finally awoke from his injuries a week after the fall of his home, strill seriously injured he learned that Elrick had carried him deep into the Empire's lands. While Elrick offered to raise Ronick and raise him as a son, Ronick so strict in following the Way refused to accept what he saw as an act of charity and instead parted ways with the ranger during the night. Ronick Karamazov dissappeared from all records after that, his last words to the old ranger being, "I will follow my own Way now." No other information on the young boy known as Ronick Karamazov was ever heard about again.

A few years later a young man of some fourteen odd years by the name of Ronick Ericson was discovered by a mercenary company called the Crimson Fist. At first the mercenaries were hesitant to take so young a person into their ranks but enventually decided to take the boy in though it was hardly out of pity. Ronick would serve as a mercenary in their lower ranks, being expected to fight as well as any full fledged mercenary while only earning 1 mhl for every ten battles survived and this was only if those ten battles had no problems and he recieved no demerits for his service. The next few years of his life were an extremely harsh and cruel cycle of endless battles and meager living conditions. While technically only contacted, in many ways his life was worse than a slave's since slaves were at least appreaciated for their value while his own life held none with the company. By rod and whip the young human learned discipline for any failures or mistakes, punished cruelly to toughen him up for future trials. Many times his contract was sold to others for various jobs, sometimes being as simple as serving as a stable boy and doing field work while other times he would serve as a pleasure attendant to females of money. Ronick however felt most at home on the battlefield where he was forced to fight for his life, and soon inexperience was tempered in the fires of war and much of his training as a child begin to shine through. At the age of sixteen he was as competent as any other sell sword on the battlefield and became reknown for his ability to achieve any duty given to him. His fighting style grew more aggressive and wild, often putting his own body at risk so long as it gave him a greater chance of winning, showing his willingness to value victory over his life. During one of the battles against a rival mercenary band, Ronick ended up becoming seperated and surrounded by enemies. No one but Ronick knows what truelly happened that day but even his memories are blurred at best. Cornered and with no chance of escape, the young human fought like a trapped beast and attacked with everything he had. The brigands expecting an easy kill were caught off guard by the boy's aggression and more so by the wild fighting style that errupted forth. Blade, fist, feet, elbows, teeth... everything became a weapon for Ronick to fight his way to freedom. By the time the rest of the Crimson FIst found him they expected to be gathering salvaged gear from a corpse but instead found the boy surrounded by seven armed opponents, all dead and every single one had been horribly mutilated. One of the corpses had been hacked limb from limb until he resembled more a pile of meat and organs than a body while another appeared to have had his throat ripped out by the boy's teeth. He earned some respect from his peers that day and started to become known as the Crimson Wolf among the other sellswords. It was only a few months after this though that the boy had finally earned enough money to pay out his 'severence fees' to the company and set out on his own path.

At the age of seventeen he found himself on the verge of starvation when he discovered a small border town within the Empire. He enlisted into the local town militia to serve as a soldier and borderguard where he would find himself finally at ease for a time. The next two years found himself rebuilding the discipline and order that had been all but drilled into him at a young age. Ronick conformed quickly to rigid militaristic discipline and order, throwing himself fully into his training with far more eagerness than any other in his unit. When others would spend time with families or loved ones, Ronick would choose to train his body and run sword drills. When comrades would waste their pay in the bar to forget their troubles, he would instead spend his time studying military tactics and strategies. His own personal adaption of the Way impressed many of his commanding officers while his strict adherence to the rigid routines of the military lifestyle showed his spirit. His unbendable will though proved to be his downfall as he begin to discover corruption and plots within his own unit. It was one of these nights that he learned of a mutiny against the captain and left to warn the CO. The others would not have it though and attacked him brutally. Caught mostly off guard Ronick barely escaped from his former comrades and not without suffering some critical wounds. Barely able to stand he managed to load into a nearby wagon, applying a field dressing to his wounds before he passed out. While he was unconscious his prescence was mostly unnoticed by the merchants as they set out on their convoy. He remained unconscious for an unknown amount of time and traveled many miles, finally awakening to find himself in the town of Nanthalion without a penny to his name.

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