Kingdoms of Amalur: reckoning is the property of Studio 38, I am in no way profiting from this work, it meant only to entertain.

One would have thought that his journey would be over. Gadflow, the usurper King of the Winter Court, was dead. Tirnoch, Gadflow's false goddess, was resealed within the depths of the earth. The Tuatha were being driven from the land and peace was no longer some far-fetched dream. All of the things that the Fateless One had set out to do those many months ago had been accomplished. He was bored. Ymir of the Varani, known to some as the Fateless One, and to most as the Seigebreaker of Mel Senshir, had lived a life of excitement and danger since his resurrection in the Well of Souls. He'd slain demon lords, wild beasts, fanatical cultists, and skilled warriors. He had become King of the House of Ballads, Champion of the House of Valor, even Archsage of the Scholia Arcana, and now, after all that, he was bored out of his skull. A person could not go from that kind of life and be expected to start a farm somewhere in the Faelands. He craved excitement. Arriving quietly on an unassuming ship in Rathir, he rented a room in the Seafoam Tavern and crawled into bed. Before drifting off to sleep, he made a plea to Thydron, god of war, and his patron, for a purpose, something to give him meaning. Months later, he'd look back on that night and come to a realization: Thydron, though he had answered his prayer, was kind of a dick.

In the morning, Ymir found a note pinned to his door. It was a recruitment notice for the Alfar Merchant Navy. It was a little vague on what they wanted, but if nothing else, it was an adventure. He met with Commodore Garrick in the main room of the tavern and after gathering his supplies, made his way to the Quays to find his ship. He'd never hunted down a pirate before and was eager to get started. It seemed Thydron worked fast. At the end of the dock there was a rickety-looking tub, a man who appeared to be one of the Almain sitting on the ground, and a rather cheery Ljosalfar woman. She was rather beautiful. While she had the soft curves and slight build of most women of her kind, it was he face that he found most intriguing. He cheekbones were high, giving her eyes a rather exotic look. In his travels across Amalur Ymir had taken some time to appreciate the female form and sample the fine selection that the world had to offer. From the Ljosalfar beauty Menri Togh in Canneroc, to the high-class Dokkalfar noblewomen of Rathir, the widowed Rikka Egest in Gorhart, even the Gnomish alchemist Nanne Hanri. Each one had their own unique charms, both physical and mental. After listening to this particular woman, who was apparently the infamous Rast Brattigan mentioned by the Commodore, he realized she was startlingly different from any of his other travel companions. She was upbeat and rather casual about things most would consider morose, and had sense of wonder he would almost call child-like. As he helped raise the anchor he couldn't help but wonder what new surprises this journey would have for him. It was yet another instance where he would later realize that Thydron was a dick.

A/N: This is my attempt at a Reckoning story. As always I appreciate any and all constructive criticism.