Warren was considered a miracle child by his mother and father’s standards. Fiorian, having had trouble for several years with bearing children, stumbled upon a mysterious vial in her bedside table one night, after prayers. Without hesitation, she’d drank the liquid, leaving but a few drops within the small container before stuffing it back in the drawer. Nine months later, a bouncing, beautiful baby boy was born to the world, and the two parents could not have been more overjoyed by such an event. Shortly after his venture into the world, Fiorian gifted another child to his father and thus, Altea was cared for alongside Warren.
Altea was a weak child, even from birth. She radiated beauty in her own way, but the girl clung to her shell with a death grip so strong, it took Warren going above and beyond to drag her into the adventurous and curious side of life. Unlike Altea, Warren was a rambunctious child, always roaming away from the farmhouse in such of mysteries and wildthings. He was not so scared of the woods, but knew better to wander too far into them without his father. So he took to climbing rocks, investigating plants and insects, and sparring Altea with tree branches that fell from their trunks after bad storms. She wasn’t much of a fighter, of course, but she had a spirit just like Warren that defied suppression.
As they grew older, Icuras took Warren out into the fields to help him farm and care for the craps and livestock they had. He was taught how to till the soil, bury the seeds, what would be good fertilizer, and how often to water them. It was easy work right up until the crops started to truly thrive. Then Warren would find himself baked under the sun, weeding and watering for breaks on end— and that wasn’t even all of it! Then there were the goats and chickens that had to be milked, fed, and watered. Occasionally, one of the goats would fall pregnant and Warren, reluctantly, had to help his father birth the young.
Altea was kept inside with his mother, practicing her sewing skills so that one day, she could help the town’s seamstress which was, for their neck of the woods, a very respectable job. The children weren’t subject to the roles gender defined, however, as Warren would come to find himself helping his mother sew a cloak or a pair of pants or a dress for Altea, during quiet, slow nights.
Fiorian would sing to her children too, echoing lullabies and poetry with sweet, soft rhymes. She would teach them to sing as well, though Warren never readily participated until pressed. He didn’t think he had a good voice and, instead, took up some kind of drumming to add to the music.
After Altea’s death, the family nearly crumbled apart. They’d strayed too far from their father during a hunting trip and, already suffering from starvation due to two arcs of bad crops, the children froze out in the cold. Warren was on the brink of death when his father found him curled next to Altea and it took several long weeks to recover from the severity of frostbite and malnutrition his body had endured. He had been close to losing a finger or two but, miraculously, the blackness diminished and they recovered.
Not much could be said about Warren’s mother. She became a recluse, delving into the darkness of depression and hiding within the blankets of her bed, never venturing from it to eat or speak or even clean herself. Their fields began to suffer, as did their income, and so Warren took to the town in search of odd jobs he could perform for gold to purchase more animals, seeds, and possibly hire a hand for his father.
This went on for a good few Arcs as the young boy grew to a young man and wandered place to place, experiencing a variety of life. It was one night he found himself in Cycres, eavesdropping on a rowdy bunch of troublemakers. They didn’t seem all too amiable with the barkeeper and tavern maids, from what Warren could gather, and before long, he had to interject himself when one of them began to pull at and harass one of the female workers. His size was intimidating, he understood, but the odds of winning the fight were small, if impossible. He was outnumbered.
Nevertheless, they all came to blows in a flurry of arms and fists, nearly dog-piling each other until a loud crack and heat caused all parties to halt their motions. It was then his sharp blue eyes turned onto the figure of a women, looking three sheets to the wind, with a blazing light shimmering down her arm. Was she wielding lightning?
Of course, Warren was arrested with the lot of them, but was released later when the victim confessed his involvement was meant to rescue her. The drunken woman, as he found out later, was a bounty hunter in search of that particular group and, after some time, invited Warren to travel and collect gold with her. The payout was too enticing and so, he packed his things and went along.
Another couple arcs would pass as he traveled and learned from his mentor, Cahlia, and her other traveling companion, Wanoco. They didn’t remain together, deciding to split off to track down different contracts for faster profits before meeting up for drinks where letters deemed it. Warren made sure to visit his father through his endeavors as well, always stopping in to give him some of the gold he earned and check in on his mother.
![[Approved by Bumblebee]](.//images/icons/cs_ok.png "[Approved by Bumblebee]"){kind=icon}
