History
As written by Pondiuk the Squire
Milord was born in Ivorian, the first son of Hyrium Brannagh. Even from the womb, milord was exceptional. He emerged from the womb with a full head of hair, and a manhood that made the women in the room blush. Many attempted to wed him before they'd wiped the gore from his body, just to ensure they got their chance when he became a man. Of course, the wetnurse fought them off and swaddled milord in only the finest fabrics that Ivorian offered, carrying him away, silent, from the clucking hens.
Milord has never cried. Not as a babe, nor as a man. Instead, as a suckling baby, he observed the world with his bluest eyes, taking in every detail. He was speak at two seasons, walking at an arc, writing full sentences by two and wooing the other toddlers by four. Milord came into this world a winner, and he continued that throughout his life.
He grew quickly, becoming the beast of a man he is now, only smaller. He was strong. Once, the wetnurse told him he must go to bed before he was ready, and he punched her so hard, she woke up the next morning. Two arcs, and already, milord was sweeping women off their feet. He's impressive, and he always has been.
He began his sword training as a boy of six, learning first to wield a wooden sword. Of course, he was magnificent at it, and was battling grown met who used steel swords within an arc. He beat them all, at the same time, because he is destined to be the greatest knight in the world. Of course, the naysayers would say he took his lumps, but never once did a sword or hand touch him, and the rumors are just jealousy. Those men are brigands and ne'er-do-wells.
But, I think, milord's greatest strength is his compassion. Oh yes, even as a boy, he cared for those less fortunate than himself. Often, he would demand the scraps of his dinner be given to the tramps of the city. He would shave the hardened bark from the prime cuts of beef that were roasted for him, and would throw them from the window to the hungry below. One piece would allow a scamp to gnaw for a trial. Milord would give his outgrown fineries to the poor. Once, he gave his stitched up cloak to a woman who was freezing in Cylus, by tossing it onto a fire to allow the fire to burn for two more bits. I am constantly amazed by milord's generosity... Even as I write this, I swell with pride at being his squire.
And when his true military training began, milord was the fastest rising soldier in the militia. He joined as a Euralcalus, because of his immense skill and noble, virtuous birth. He rose within a cycle to the rank of acting Aethestium. So swift was his rise that others began to plot against him. Political rivals cropped up like weeds, and they began to sow discord among his supporters. Milord chose to step down before their lying and besmirching could bring dishonor to Ethelynda and her good name. Still an Aethesti by standing, but a Euralcal by rank, milord was given permission to leave the city and set out on his own adventures in the name of Ethelynda. Should he be recalled, he would gladly serve the noble city of Ivorian again, make no mistake. He would change the tide of battle simply by riding onto the field.
In truth, he isn't even a lord. His true birth is lower than my own! But somehow, he has convinced many that he is a Brannagh, and has been afforded the respect that name entails.
From what I have gathered, he was born Marbett Esqualib. Ever heard of the Great House of Esqualib? No, because it does not exist. A Phaesti from the low city, Marbett was born into relative squalor, and his father, a baker, found him to be a repulsive and agitating boy. Often, Marbett would pretend to be a lord and would order his parents around, and no amount of beating could remove the instinct.
As a boy, he was precocious, but as a young man... He was unbearable. His father demanded he join the militia of Ivorian, to make something of himself. Marbett, thoroughly a lecherous coward, refused. One day, he found himself without a home, and chose to do as his father wished... At least the militia would house and feed him.
His first real taste of combat, though? It scared him shitless. He turned tail, stole his Euralcal's horse, and fled from the battle. In the saddlebags, he found a writ of nobility denoting the Euralcal's status, and after a few failed attempts, he altered the document to forge for himself his new identity. It wasn't until after this that I was pledged to him, but it is not until later that I discovered the treachery. I will remain true to my word, but one day, Marbett with get what is coming to him. When I am a knight, I shall have him arrested and hung for him crimes.
Housing
An inn room. Milord must remain humble.
