Albus Decimus

A character within Season 4 of ValheimRP.

Rothran Loyalist

## Beginnings:

Albus was raised by a strict family. His father drilled into him principles that he held to high regard; discipline, to do what must be done, must no matter what; courage, to stand for what you believe in, no matter the opposition that stares you down; and companionship, to love and be loved by those around you.

From a young age, it was also drilled into Albus that there were certain things in this world that must not be treated in jest; magic being the first that came to mind - Albus' father taught that it was not a toy, as those around him would have him believe. Magic and sorcery would be the end of modern society as we knew it, according to Albus' father - and no one dared say otherwise around him. Within his village, opinions on the matter differed from family to family, there were even a few known practitioners of the wizardry, though they kept to themselves - only a few people gave them time of day, most kept a cautious guard up toward it.

Albus' mother had a similar outlook on magic - though not of choice, for any discussion on the matter would quickly rise to argument with his father. She had great aspiration to be a weaver, and could often be found working fine yarns into clothing, or creating great tapestries that were found all around her local village. She was a very popular, albeit modest, individual.

## Cook:

The family trade was in blacksmithing, and Albus' father tried early on to get him involved - though much to his dissatisfaction, Albus had neither the talent nor the interest in working with heavy metals. His village, being situated on the coastline, had a thriving fishing industry - and often held great village-wide competitions, with prize money given to the person with the largest catch of the day.

Albus was a burly young lad - standing a good foot higher than most other folk in his village. He was a cheerful fellow, and loved playing with his dog, Tito, in the woods behind his fathers estate. When he was not found out in the woods, or helping his father run errands, he would be sneaking into the local cookhouses - beadily watching the town cooks in their preparations of great stews and casseroles, cakes and pastries. Albus had found his passion, and was eager to put his time into this profession - not just lug around the ingots and water buckets that his father would have him do all day.

It was very quick that one of the cooks noticed Albus, and shooed him away - though after the third or fourth time, they reluctantly invited him in, to view up close the marvels of assembling raw ingredients into a delicious meal - Albus was hooked.

Albus snuck into the cookhouses most evenings, where he was mentored by many of the elder cooks, all of whom saw a passion in Albus that many had once felt themselves - they could not help but entertain his desire to learn, and were very often rewarded with produce and delicacies that Albus had put his own spin on, reinventing common classics with his naive approach that he brought to cooking.

## Soldier:

Given a stirring political climate - Albus was drafted into his towns household guard, where he was mentored under senior footmen and tacticians in the means and methods of warfare. He was tutored in the barbaric ways of war, and how to use strategy, and weaponry, to combat an opposing foe. His time in the household guard often led him on marches to far reaches of the continent - and through inhospitable and rugged terrains. Despite the pains and strife of the everyday life of a footsoldier - Albus lived for it, and found himself feeling flattened when returning home after a great expedition.

His natural affinity for cookery made him very popular amongst his ranks, who often would seek him out with their rations to render them less bland and tasteless.

## Tito:

Albus had recently returned to his hometown after a month-long expedition. He was under strict orders to remain able to return at a moment's notice, however was told that it was likely he would have at least a week or two's rest.

It was the heart of summer, the air was warm and full of the smell of pollens and fruits. People spilled onto the streets after the inns closed, the festivities ceasing till early in the morning - all was merry and well in this small town within Rothran.

One day in the woods outside his fathers estate, a group of young folk were messing around - causing a ruckus and a general disturbance to all they came across. Drunks.

They stumbled through the woods until they got to the backyard of Albus and his family, where Tito out back was quick to rise and began barking at them, standing proudly, his leash taut, guarding over his family's perch.

The kids, humoured by Tito's arousal were quick to goad him and started to throw rocks and sticks at the dog - laughing as they further angered and frustrated the dog, whose leash by now was starting to tear at its seams.

The last stone thrown was enough for Tito's rage to grow enough to pull himself free of his post, and he hurtled down the yard at the source of the noise.

Tito, his ragged breath filling the cold evening air with plumes of steam, ran full pelt at them - rapidly closing the distance between them with every passing moment.

The collective eyes of the kids widened at this moment, as they froze in fear at the raging dog that charged them, bar for one of them - who raised his hand toward the dog before muttering a small incantation under his breath. A high pitched crackle emanated from his fingertips, then a sudden flash, sending a powerful bolt of light into the dog’s torso - landing with a heavy slap.

Tito yelped, his sharp cry echoing throughout the woods for a few moments, before it once more fell silent.

The beam of light dissipated, and a small amount of steam resided. Tito lay limp and lifeless on the ground - the kids stared in disbelief at what had just happened, the caster staring down at his hands.

"We gotta go" One of them muttered to the other, before they all turned and ran - disappearing into the woods around, leaving nothing behind but footprints in the dry dirt.

Having just turned the street corner and caught the end of the event from afar, Albus' heart was wrenched from his chest. He ran as fast as he could to the crumpled figure of his best friend that lay astrew on the ground.

Tito, the best friend a boy could ever ask for, lay dead in front of him.

Slumping over his body, Albus tearfully lifted Tito’s body into his arms. His eyes ran over the lifeless body of his dog in his arms, looking over the friend whom he had shared so many memories over his lifetime.

At first, his concern and sorrow welled as he clutched his dog in his arms - his body still giving off warmth. Not soon following, Albus' brow ruffled and his disposition twisted from sorrow to a raging anger.

It was magic that had killed Tito, and his father’s disdain for magic was suddenly made clear to Albus. The power to create, the power to so lacklusterly destroy; this was a tool that no mortal should ever wield.

Within that moment, Albus swore to himself that he would stamp out the flames of magic, once and for all.