Hi, This is my first Majesty fic. I first came up with this idea when I was playing Majesty. I got quite attached to a warrior character. After I had finished the game, sort of bid farewell to him (In my own twisted sense). Then it occurred to me, to write up this characters history (for I had made it up while I was playing). What better way to honour this character than putting up his past history on the net, so here you go, my first Majesty fic.

Chapter 1

You know, in times when you feel death is certain, it is strange the things you tend to think of. Like now, as I hear yelling in many directions. From my left I can hear the words "I'm done for!" In the corner of my eye I see a wizard, one whom I have only met for a few moments, fleeing from the three oncoming dragons. He was known as Faldor the Sage, wether or not this was his real name I knew not, nor did I care. I held little regard for Wizards, fighting from afar, and hightailing even when the odds were in his favour. On my right I heard the distinct sounds of a Paladin blessing herself. Her, I knew very well. She was known as Dian the Righteous; I turned my head to see that her face betrayed no emotion. It was none too reassuring to know that this powerful Paladin was just as scared as I. Yet, the one thought that is ceaselessly coursing through my head is "I wonder how my brother is getting on?" As I said before, it is strange the thoughts that come into your head when you feel that certain death looms before you. My name, if it's of any consolidation, is Duric.

I was born on a farm, far from any city. My father was a peasant and my mother was a peasant. From as early as I could remember, I believed that being a warrior was my eternal calling. I can tell you that right now, my feelings on the subject have differed slightly. But if I live through this, I sure will have something to tell my brother, his name is Garreth. Last I heard of him, he was following the family business of peasantry in some distant part of Ardania. When I was young, my parents believed that my fancy of being a warrior was only childhood playfulness. When I wasn't cleaning, helping on the farm or running an errand. I was always fending off imaginary monsters with my wooden sword. My parents became concerned when my uncle moved in with us, in my sixteenth year. We would always fight, him with his pitchfork and I with my wooden sword. It was my Uncles dream to become a Palace Guard. Fortunately for both him and me, his chance came. One day, when the sovereign was inspecting the farms, he was set upon by a group of marauding goblins. The guards where out numbered, three to ten. With a priest commanding the goblins, there was no way that the guards could win, and they knew it. Their salvation came in the form of a man in his twenties wielding a pitchfork. He had read on the many monsters of Ardania and knew that if the Priest was killed then the rest of the pack was most likely to dissipate. From fifty feet, My uncle (Greskon was his name) threw the pitchfork, hitting the priest square in the head. The other goblins ran away, believing the hills to be infested with headhunters. After his heroic effort, the king offered, as thanks for saving his life, anything he wanted. Naturally, all that Greskon wanted was to be a Palace Guard. Though, he later told us that the Sovereign was only too happy to oblige. That, was the moment I realised that my dream of being a warrior was not mere myth.

After reaching my eighteenth year, I put all my worldly belongings in one pack. I said these exact words to my family. "Mother, Father, You have raised me well, and for that I thank you. But it is now time I leave to follow my destiny. The next time you see me, I will be armed, armoured and proudly wearing the crest of a renowned warrior's guild." With that, I left. Even though I could not hear them, I knew that they were laughing. They expected me to return in a few days saying that I could not find my way. But I was determined never to return to the farm life. I had trained with the sword every day of my life. I was sure I could make it, little did I know that there was much more to being a warrior than that.

Every guild I came across, high end and low. I was scorned for not being born a noble. Not only did they linguistically barrage me but they also denied me membership. After being rejected from some fifteen guilds I regretfully made my way back home, realising just how silly my dreams were. Along the way, by some twist of fate, I came across a training camp for Palace Guard. You see, it turned out that my uncle, even when he was training, always was in some way superior to his peers. He was so good that after a year and a half of being a Palace Guard, and killing two minotuars single handedly, he was offered to become an instructer. While passing the camp, Greskon spotted me from the ramparts. He invited me in for the night, and I told him everything.

After explaining to him my predicament, he told me that he knew what it was to come home to be proven wrong. He said that he would do everything in his power to have me instated as a palace guard, thus helping me along the road to warrior-dom.

Authors Notes:
Well, My first chapter, I hope you had fun! By the way, I actually did see a Palace Guard kill two minotuars by itself (the truth is that the two minotuars were busy attacking a wizards tower). I hope to continue this, and tell you more about the life and times 'Duric Keenswing'.