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[Sarian]

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The cold, soothing ale splashed against his tongue. The final droplets trickled from the neck, his hand shook the bottle empty. He slammed the empty bottle down on the table, gently enough to not cause commotion, but hard enough to feel victorious over the brew.

Sarian sat alone in the North East corner of the Silver Bow tavern. Three bottles of empty ale sat boringly in front of him. The dry climate and overwhelming heat on Nujelm Isle always left him parched. The tavern was rather quiet at this time in the afternoon, he practiced his visits on a strict routine. It was unknown to many, that the over-confident young warrior, preferred his privacy.

Sarian extended his legs, causing the wooden chair to lean on its hind two legs. He teetered back and forth ever so slightly, humming quietly. It was mildly entertaining. It'd been sometime since the young warrior had participated in a Protectorate training. It'd also been sometime since many people, aside from the Regent himself, had seen the young man.

After his first defeat to another warrior, Sarian had not hesitated to lay low. A part of him enjoyed and savored the fact that there was someone his equal, even slightly better than him. It had bothered him however, that he had lost his title. Bitter and arrogant, he had purposely skipped the last tournament. Allowing his victor to continue holding the Sosaria Champion title.

Over the span of a few months, the young warrior had come quite far. Teetering on his chair, Sarian chipped away at his memories. Being raised in Bucceneers Den. Losing his parents to a vicious territorial battle. Working for his Uncles so called shipping company. The other "shippers" took turns training him in the arts of warfare. Sword play, field tactics, how to use the environment. By the age of fourteen Sarian had been trained well enough to be let into his Uncles organization. A small mercenary crew, using a shipping company as a front. Years after that, he found himself sleeping in the pits of Jhelom, broke, weak, and homeless. That's when his life began to make an abrupt turn around.

Beowulf had found him, the white haired wizard was looking for natural talent to join the ranks of the Moonglow Army. He had taken Sarian in, clothed him, fed him, suited him with armor and weapons. An agreement was made that the young man would serve for Moonglow and protect it's citizens, Beowulf would pay him. It hadn't taken long for Sarian to claim the Moonglow Champion title. Shortly after that he clobbered his way through the first Protectorate tournament. Within two months time, the twenty-two year old had found himself out of the ditches and champion of Verity Isle and Sosaria.

The Lord Regent offered Sarian a place at his side. He would protect the Regent himself. Wine and Dine with Lords and Kings all over Sosaria. Live the life of a Noble, all for exchange of his natural ability to use a weapon.

His legs extended a bit too much and the chair lost its balance. Sarian quickly regained balance after waving his arms frantically. He stood quickly, shoving the chair backwards with his left leg and stepping out from the table with his right.

It was time to make an appearance again. The Isle of Nujelm and the palace walls were almost becoming a bore. It was time to take this title back and to make his mark in Sosaria.