I was born Erik Donavon on September 13, 1644, the first of two sons to Liam and Rebecca Donavan, Duke and Duchess of Morgues County in the Highland Marches. My early years were spent in my family's ancestral lands where I began schooling in the finer arts of literature and music in addition to the more common highland warrior arts of warfare and martial skills. As firstborn son, I was expected to take over for my father when the time came and my very being was aimed at that goal. I enjoyed the fortune of a loving family as well, with a great deal of doting from both my parents and the servants of our estates, as I grew up before them. It was also a very exciting time for the Marches, as the Montaigne army had been forced out of our homeland and talk of unification under the beautiful young Avalonian queen, Elaine the First, spread like wildfire throughout our small island.
As fate would decree it, my father found himself the spokesman for a great number of the Highland nobles who opposed unification under Elaine. They respected him as a gentleman of high values and an excellent reputation amongst the people for honesty and fairness. In his own way, my father acted out of love for his country and dove headfirst into the task set before him, gaining a great deal of support from the powerful men and women of the High Marches that had yet to place themselves into the growing political camps.
On the other side of the issue was the young King of the Marches himself, James McDuff, who was pushing for peace between the isles and a central government capable of leading our small realm into the future before it. The people loved him as no king before him had been for many years, and the stage appeared to be set for more of the same infighting that had plagued the Clans for centuries before the common Montaigne enemy had set it aside.The first tragedy of many to come befell our happy home with the birth of my younger brother, Jacob. My loving mother died just hours after birth, leaving Jacob and myself, (now a lad of twelve years), very alone. Her death simply shattered my father, who had been away entertaining a potential ally and had not been there by her bedside. It is hard to explain the change that came over him, for in the eyes of loving son, many things can be forgiven a father. He became very distant and cold, now obsessed with his political games, with no time for his two sons. As I think back upon it, perhaps he blamed McDuff for mother's death, or at least his absence from it. An odd logic, undoubtedly, but the logic of a broken man is often strange to the interpretations of saner men.
Life did not end for either Jacob or myself, however, and I found myself adopting my father's role in the young boy's life. I did so without jealousy and with profound love for my poor brother, who was a sickly youth, presumably a side affect of his difficult birth. He was with me at all times, and I relished the chance to show him the world. We would spend hours on end tramping from one end of our lands to another. In turn, we became very popular with the villagers and townsfolk of the surrounding countryside. I began to spend less and less time at my studies, a fact, which my father chose to ignore in his obsession to destroy McDuff and his followers. His every moment was spent in secret meetings with hooded nobles or entertaining guests and lecturing them on the dangers of unification with Avalon. Whispers of rebellion floated through the ancient halls of our now strangely home... Choosing life over the stifling atmosphere of our ancestral keep, I began to seek out love, as would any young man of seventeen years. I found it soon enough in the angelic guise of Molly McDuff, niece of the very man my father lived to destroy. She was the perfect counterpart to my troubled heart. Gentle and loving, beautiful and witty, serene and steady, to the unsure clumsiness of a young fool. For many months, our romance was a secret, both of us fearing the reactions of our families. But as time passed and we became more and more deeply involved, our feelings for each other grew, and we both knew that the time had come to reveal the truth. I expected anger or worse from my father, but I was surprised by his strangely pleased reaction. He congratulated me on my fortune and for many days it seemed as if the rift of five long years might have been on its way to healing as we spent many long hours talking about all the things that we had missed together. Whenever talk shifted to politics, however, the by now familiar gleam of fervor overtook him and the conversations shifted to dangerous subjects. When it became apparent to father that I did not share his views on the world at large, nor his hatred for James McDuff and his ideals, the familiar coldness returned. Any hope of becoming close once again faded away to nothingness and in truth an even darker mood seemed to grip him. Perhaps he felt that I had betrayed him... Perhaps in some way, I had. Not knowing what to do any longer, I wrote to Molly, telling her to meet me by the sea cliffs where we had spent so many lovely afternoons together. I told her that I would be there in five days time, with all the answers she could be wanting of. In truth, I had no answers, but the time I spent away from her was too much for my soul to bear. I was willing to give up everything to be with her, and I could only pray that she felt the same for me. If I had to leave my home I would do so, and I made that clear enough in the letter. A fatal mistake, I would later learn, and one that I curse myself for to this very day... On that Theus-accursed day that I was to meet Molly and leave my old life behind, my father came to me as I was filling my pack. As he stood in the doorway, staring at me with those cold eyes, my spine shuddered with never before felt fear. The man who stood there was not my father any more. He was a hate-filled beast of a man now, and the startling realization that there was no longer any love between us crashed down upon me like a falling star. He made no move to stop me as I fled my home, only the faint play of a smile at the edge of his lips betraying any emotion at all. My legs carried me towards the crashing sea with anguished haste as the skies darkened overhead with boiling clouds. It seemed at the time that Legion itself was out in force to observe my fall from grace. The wind had begun to whip with stinging force as the heavens opened up and Theus wept from a blackened sky... I cleared the final rocky rise and looked down into the raging sea below. The jagged cliff side was suddenly lit in blinding brightness as a great fork of lightning tore open the night. What I saw below nearly stole my life right then and there as five figures danced a dance of death before me. Four men in heavy cloaks were circling a fifth, obviously frightened, and definitely female form. I knew in my heart, frozen in disbelief as it was, that Molly was down there... and that she needed me. My water soaked pack hit the ground, as my belt knife seemed to leap, first into my hand and then into the back of the largest brigand. He did not die noiselessly, as the others turned from Molly and drew their weapons to face me. My love for Molly fueled me with insane anger as I threw myself upon them, kicking, slashing, and screaming curses to all that would listen. I probably owe the next brief moments of my life to the shock and surprise that my whirling form must have at first visited upon the band of cutthroats. Their leader's skill proved to be too much even for my passionate assault as I soon found myself lying in the churned mud, my blood mingling with that of two more of their number. One still gurgled weakly as his final breaths had found a new place to escape in his mangled throat. The other moved not at all, my knife still sheathed into his shattered eye, it's final resting-place. The leader surveyed the carnage, his blade still pressed unwavering to my chest. He muttered something in the guttural tongue that betrayed his Eisen heritage and raised his sword for the killing blow.... What happened next will forever haunt me when I close my eyes. A woman's scream pierced the night as Molly flew out of the darkness. In her white-knuckled grasp, the heavy sword of one of the fallen thieves slashed through the air in an arc toward the bastard's skull. With speed born of desperation he twisted his blade in mid swing and parried her blow at the last possible moment. The sword flew from her grasp as he connected with a savage backhand blow that sent her reeling. She staggered back, her eyes meeting mine in a mix of confusion and sadness as she slipped over the edge of the cliff into the darkness below. She never made a sound... I awoke to a sharp pain on the back of my neck and a heavy weight pressing down on me from behind. As I stirred, the furious gull screamed its protest and leapt from my body. Its meal had decided that it was not yet completely dead.... I lay draped over the body of a large man; my hands still clenched around his cold throat in their death grasp. Confusion was replaced with sick realization as the events of the previous night suddenly came crashing down upon me in all their horrible truth. I stumbled to my feet; the mud that had formed up around me cracking into blood tainted dust. The wicked slash across my chest immediately tore at the movement and I could feel the sticky wetness beginning to run its course. How I managed to make it the many miles back to our manor, I will never know. Wrapped in the heavy black cloak of the Eisen that I slew, and covered with caked mud and bloody cloths, I may well have been the cause of a more than a few old wife's tales as I stumbled down the road that foggy morning. I was obviously not thinking clearly as I snuck into my sleeping household and made the agonizing climb up the stairs to my father's study. What comfort I expected from that man, I still do not know, but I was hurt, confused, and grief stricken to say the least. I collapsed there, in my father's heavy chair, uncaring of the blood and gore than must have been ruining its hundred-year shine, and cried myself to sleep. For the second time that day, I was startled awake. The sound of my father's footstep's ringing across the marbled stairs as he neared the landing and the door to the room that I had sought my sanctuary. I rose from the chair as quickly as my aching body would allow and had just reached my feet when my father strode into the study. He seemed startled, at first, but as my back was to him, I could only imagine what he must have thought. I was not prepared for the words that he spoke that morning. "So it is done then?" With a heavy thunk and the telltale chink of coin, a large purse hit the desk beside me. And again for a second time that day, a sickening realization pounded home to my troubled soul. My father only saw the Eisen's cloak. With my back to him, he had no idea that it was I that he spoke to. In a daze, I could only grunt an affirmative and nod my head as he began to move across the room and continued to speak. "Good then, that harlot's spell over my fool of a son will be dispelled and McDuff will be too concerned with looking for his precious niece to see what I have in store for him. Gather your men again mercenary, I will have need of you once...", his voice caught in his throat as he rounded the table and the cloak fell from my shoulders. We locked gazes for a split second, and he realized his folly. "Son," he whispered. "Father..." I answered, "What have you done?" A look of pure horror overcame him as he felt the venom in my voice and the purpose in my stare. His frantic eyes searched out an escape but instead fell upon my grandfather's sword that rested across the oaken mantle behind me. I could only shake my head as the entirety of my life came screeching to this very moment. A boy's love for his father replaced by the hatred of a man destroyed. All my physical pain washed from my body with only the lingering emptiness of a love lost forever rushing to fill the void. He made his move to my left as my clenched hands shot out for his throat; determined to do Legion's work yet again. As he moved past me, my arms enveloped his neck and locked tightly. His fingers scrambled frantically for the ancient blade, now just out of his straining reach. "Goodbye, father..." I hissed softly into his ear as my sinews tightened and the sickening crunch of bone shattered the stillness of the room. I walked away from Erik Donavon that day. For my brother's sake I had to disappear. The truth of my father's murderous schemes would have condemned my family to a fate far worse than death. If I vanished along with Molly, there would never be proof that we were anything more than two young fools that had ran off together, leaving the world and its petty politics behind. After the tragic death of Liam Donavon to a murderous thief and his eldest son's romantic elopement with his not-so-secret sweetheart, my brother would inherit our family's estates upon his eighteenth birthday. They are to be held in stewardship until that day. The separatist movement died that morning as well, with its figurehead's passing. The promise of a brighter future under a united Avalon was simply too much for the people of the Highland Marches to ignore. I lost myself upon the sea, first serving aboard various merchant ships and finally under Captain O'Reiley aboard the "Whisper Wind". I am William McCormick to those who ask. A simple man from a small and undistinguished Clan on the other side of the Marches. It is William McCormick that I must be until the day that I die. A day that I both fear and welcome with equal abandon as the mood takes me. I am a free man, with a love of the ocean and its secrets, and a respect for its power. I am loyal to my king, though he may not react out of love if he knew my true nature, and to my Queen, in whom I see the future of Avalon. Though now a simple seaman, my upbringing is noble in origin, and I in honor. Where the Captain takes me is of no course and I will die for this ship and her crew if called upon to do so.Only in sleep, when the ghosts of my past can be quieted no more, do I know true fear...