Trace of Breath
Camden Young II
A young sailor with thunder in his veins... literally!
Camden grew up in the small, boisterous, and generally disreputable port city of Syklos on the Island of Resen. Camden was born to his father, Daniel Young and his mother Lilith Foster Young, but he was primarily raised by his grandfather Camden Young I. His father and mother were privateers and spent most of Camden’s life at sea on his father’s vessel Son of Syklos. Camden the first was Camden’s primary caretaker. While Camden resented his parents for often staying away for so long, he loved them dearly and greatly appreciated there time at home (which would be three or four months out of the year when Camden was age 3 to 11). While his parents had never missed returning in time for Camden’s birthday before his twelfth birthday, on the day that Camden turned 12 his parents did not return to Syklos. Two years passed and Camden feared the worst. Camden’s grandfather was a doting old man who was skilled in a primal magic known as Stormweaving. While Camden was by no means the prodigy that his father was at harnessing the power of their family’s lineal aptitude for Stormweaving, he learned the trade well enough to become a helmsman at the young age of 13. While aboard the smuggling vessel Port o’ Call Us, the quartermaster, an old friend of Daniel Young’s, taught Camden the art of navigation, how to read, and how to use his Stormweaving for more lethal purposes.
Camden adventures to explore the world, find love, and discover the fate of his parents. His biggest regret is running the Port o’ Call Us aground because the captain made a crack about Camden’s parents being pirates. For better or for worse, that ship was Camden’s home and he wore out his welcome.
2nd Rest 8.1208 (A month before the campaign)
Camden sat with his hands folded in front of him on the old round table. The table could be rocked slightly with the gentlest shifting of Camden’s lithe arms. Camden leaned back ever so slightly, testing the weight of the uneven table. It would do. In a pinch, it would do. Camden thought. The man sitting across from Camden was an imposing man with a thick black beard, leather armor, and a pair of longswords strapped to his back. The man’s hands were currently filled with a large tankard of ale and a hunk of hard biscuit. The man spoke with a thick accent and a full mouth of biscuit “Vee ’ave the most reliable network in zay ’ole region. Vee vill find them if they are ’ere.” Camden’s scowl showed that he was not impressed.
“The Old Young and I are not satisfied with the services you’ve provided. You will receive no more payment without results.” Camden calmly said as he brushed the brim of his hat. At this the larger man’s face turned red as he gave a pompous laugh.
“You don’t get to choose ven vee get paid. Vee always get paid.” The mercenary said between biting into his biscuit.
“Not anymore.” Camden calmly stated as he unbuttoned the top button of his white linen shirt. While Camden was the smaller of the two men at the table by a considerable margin, and unlike the dirty man sitting across from him, Camden was not wearing armor, just a heavy duster, the large man’s eyes widened in shock and a bit of horror at Camden’s chest. Across Camden’s shallow ribcage was an intricate pattern of glowing blue veins that resembled, well they resembled an abstract representation of a thunderhead cloud. The glow was not consistent, but seemed to ripple as if there was an electric current coursing through the lines. The mercenary set his tankard down and made a quick wave. Every person in the crowded tavern stood and faced Camden. Many nervous hands went to hilts and handles of weapons. Camden grit his teeth. Killing had started as something he only did to survive. A monster charging him in a cave, an angered drunk that can’t be subdued. Then it became something that Camden did to make progress: making good on a threat, asserting his dominance over a mutinous crew. Camden knew that the work that he was doing was important. Even if the means were not always ideal, the results were good. He was a double-dealer for the Gatekeepers and a good one at that.. And now he was here, in the den of thieves tipping his hand prematurely.
As Camden surveyed the situation, he began thinking of how he got himself into his current situation. Work with this group of ruffians and mercenaries had been his own choice. They were said to get results through any means necesarry and with the Gatekeepers taking so long to get anything definitive about his parents or their ship, Camden had opted for the more expeditious route. A decision he was now regretting. Camden counted the number of people in the room. If they fought, he’d die. He knew it as plain as day. The only solace for the outmatched sorcerer was that he was the only one that knew that. He had started most of the rumors himself. After a few nasty turf wars had ended in both sides destroyed, Camden saw an opportunity to start rumors that would bolster his reputation, and in situations like this would hopefully pay off. The rumor went that a young man whose description closely mirrored Camden’s had been under the employ of one of the gangs to destroy a rival. The man went to work and the gang was eradicated. Upon returning to his employer they decided that his services were not worth the astronomical fees that he was charging so they attempted to kill him to tie up the lose ends. They all were wiped out with methodical swiftness. Perhaps the rumors were part true, Camden didn’t know for certain how two vying factions of Kinsmet’s up and coming crime syndicates were annihilated in a single night, he had just used the opportunity to give himself a reputation for the future. Now, he wasn’t so sure it was paying off. The man at the table with him looked down at the floor. Defeated he remarked “Okay. Vee vill let you go without paying for now.”
Camden fought back a sigh of relief and grinned. “Very well then. Enjoy your meal” Camden said as he walked out of the tavern. At the door, a bawdy middle-aged woman whispered into Camden’s ear “Are you really him?” Camden flicked his fingers without breaking stride and a thunderclap erupted in the center of the tavern. The table he had been seated at was reduced to splinters. Camden couldn’t help allowing himself a boyish grin as a wind of his own devising whipped his coat about him in a way that he hoped looked as bad-ass as he felt.
So… That’s that for now.