Memoir

“I, Sir Isaac René have been rouge for the past 3 years trying to purge this world from corruption. “
 
That's how I’d start my novel. A real hook. Something to grab the reader. I’ve always loved exciting action story’s and the way they would fill the mind with wondrous images. I don’t expect anyone to feel like that when reading this, hell, I don’t even expect anyone to read this. I’m no poet or writer, but writing this so-called novel is a nice way of freeing my mind while I’m traveling.
 
Where should I start? I guess all the way back to my childhood. There’s not much to say. I lived most of my life in the city of Toulouse. Like any other kid I spent most of my time being no good with my friends. Well until my father stopped us. My father was a blacksmith and my mother stayed at home or helped around the town. She would always be helping people, she did everything she could from helping at the orphanage, to cleaning father’s workshop. She was an angel. I hope she understands and sees the good I’m doing. My father on the other hand was the opposite. He wasn’t cruel or anything. He just had his own way of doing things. He was a rough and very simple minded man, but had a good heart. I think that's what my mom saw in him. I saw it too. Even if he didn’t show it. I spent a lot of time with him at the workshop. He wanted me to learn how to be a real man. I could use a sword before I could use a pen. I remember him helping me with the kids that were mean to me. He told me if they wouldn’t listen to resen. Don´t ask them again. Just hit them as hard as you can and they'll never bother you again. Mother said his lessons were flawed. But they worked. He taught me many life lessons and values. Though I never picked up the art of being a blacksmith.
 
When I was a young man the *Army* was recruiting able men in Toulouse. I was of course at prime age and eager to explore what the world had to offer outside of Toulouse. So I joined the army. I didn’t explore as much as I thought though. I spent a good chunk of the first year at a training camp. There I learned basic combat tactics and skills. Even if it wasn’t as fun as i expected I did learn a lot that I am grateful for today. Then, after a year of training camps and guard duties the *Battle/war* was upon us. I was just one in a dozen foot soldiers. They gave us a sword my father wouldn’t even try to fix and armor that wouldn't even stop a letter opener. But still I kept my head high and my heart full of hope. None of that was left after the battle. I think I lost a little part of my soul that day. So did all my fellow comrades. Those who survived at least. We weren't ready for this. After all that training and reading of war. Nothing can prepare a man for that much bloodshed. We returned victorious, but no one celebrated. It was the kind of silence that pierced your ears louder than any noise could.
 
Writing this is proving to be harder than I thought.
When I returned home I was met with a city drenched in sorrow. The war had spread more than we were informed. It had hit numeros cities and towns across *the lands*, including Toulouse. It was clear this attack happened a few days ago but my terrible gut feeling had me running through the streets towards my house. I arrived at my father’s smithy, it was unscathed. Small relief came over me, but I had yet to find my parents. I searched the forge but they were nowhere to be found. But upstairs there was blood on the floor but not enough to be fatal. Clearly there was a fight. I followed the blood, increasing in volume. It led to my parents room. A pool of dried blood crept from beneath the door. I knew then and there what would meet me on the other side. I still remember that feeling. I was still so numb from the battle. I just sat down. I didn’t open the door. I just sat there. When I finally had the courage to open the door. Inside layed my mother. Her pale skin contrasted the dark red pool she layed in. She was so graceful. My father was nowhere to be seen though. In the following days I never heard from him or what happened. I just assumed the worst. I buried my mother on a hill, with a view of the city. She really loved this city. She always saw the best in everything. Even in death.
 
I tried to maintain the shop with the little I know, but believe it or not there’s not much demand for weapons in the fallout of war. I had no income and no plan for my future. I was going to lose the house and end up on the streets at that rate. Then father Nicolas came to me. Offered me shelter, food and a job at the church. So I closed up shop and sold the house. Nice bloke too. Garath or Barry. Something like that. He cared for the forge better than I ever could.
 
For the next couple of years I served the church of Christianity. Even started studying the faith. Not long after I was given more responsibility. Few years later I became a priest, Even earned the right to be called sir. Though I don’t use it as much as I should these days.
Life was good. I was at peace. I was happy. Ignorance really is bliss. I was so naive. I was so focused on looking out to the world that I was blinded to the evil that was inside the church. I remember there was this man, the hopeless kind who would never change for the better, Even after all my attempts. He always got in trouble for stealing. And everytime i’d give him shelter and all the food he could eat. Still he ran away and ended up back on my doorstep every other week. But one week he got into more trouble than usual. I saw him get carried away by our church's paladins. They were taking him in for murder. I wasn’t as shocked as I was disappointed. The shock hit when I caught him wandering around town a week later. I confronted him and asked why he wasn’t imprisoned. I remembered how he laughed in my face. Saying he already paid us. Confused, I took him to our church. There I was met with a priest that said he’d take care of the thief. I didn’t believe him but I couldn’t turn on a fellow priest. So the other priest took him. Truth be told I can’t remember what happened to the thief. After that I had a choice, I could´ve forgotten what happened that day or I could find out what was going on. Guess some of my father’s stubbornness carried over. When I found out what was happening in the church my heart dropped. Paladins turning a blind eye, priest guiding criminals and for what? Money. I couldn't believe it. I went straight to the High Priest. And to my surprise he told me to lighten up, to get in on it while I still can. It’s funny how it started. The fever, the feeling of powerlessness. The rage takes over. I often think about what I did. I don’t regret it. It had to be done. But the people won't believe me. So I ran. Set out to find a better place where I can make a difference.
 
I traveled across the Gulf of St. Vincent to the land of Majula. When I arrived everything seemed fine on the outside. But just as my church had fallen into greed so did this land. Corruption could be found in every town hall, every church and every corner of this vile land. Has everybody lost their faith!
 
I know now what I must do.
My “Long term goal” is to rid these lands of evil and corruption. It will be an uphill climb, and it may not even be possible. But it's still worth fighting for.
In the meantime I have grouped up with a band of weird and random misfits. But they seem to hold up their own and for the time being, we share the same “Short term goal”. To take down the evil that is the Church of Yorshka.
But these idiots do have potential. With enough time and effort I think I can shape them to do the right thing and help me in my quest. Turning these boys into men will be my “Mid term goal”.

Even though I am a man of faith, I have secrets that I’m not proud of. The people I have hurt and killed in my quest. I did it in the name of God, purging the evil from this world. But that isn’t the only reason I did those things. I did them because I enjoyed it. I liked doing it. Something evil lives inside of me and sometimes I just need to let it out. My hatred towards these men. These monsters. Even though what I do is terrible. I figured out a long time ago, you have to fight fire with fire.
I have met countless people over my travels but only a few I’d call close friends.