Legends of Belariath

Targos

Targos was born rather lucky really. His family was not all that well to do, though they were respected among their village. No, his fortune was in his size, being larger than most other kids his age. It was quite an advantage in a society built upon strength, where for most matters a fight determined right from wrong, winner from loser. That wasn't to say he didn't have his fair share of losses, or come to know the pain of defeat, but such things were a bit less common for him when compared to the others around him.

He was well cared for, trained in combat from an early age and showing an aptitude for it. He was taught a little magic as well, but while he was interested in it, he did not seem to have the gift for it. He liked the thought of becoming a powerful Warrior-Mage one day, of mastering spell and steel and wielding both against whoever stood against him. As time passed though it was seen as the aspirations of a child, alongside dreams of glory and riches, things that are often discarded when one matures and starts taking a more realistic view of things. So instead he focused upon his mastery of steel alone, to become proficient in the use of a wide array of weapons to suit the various situations and opponents one might be met with.

When the time came and Targos came of age, he was gifted a hand crafted sword and sent out into the world, his strength matched only by his curiousity. He became a wanderer, moving from place to place, tavern to tavern, searching the land and learning of its various civilizations and ways of the many races that inhabited them. He never settled for long though, sometimes only a few weeks, on a rare occasion perhaps even a few months before he felt the desire to travel again, to go wherever his strong legs would carry him.

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