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- Benjamin Carver + (My father was a butcher, a man who sang me … My father was a butcher, a man who sang merry diddies while he cleaved the heads from fowl on the tempo, a man of simple mind and unwaveringly iron spine. My mother was a cook in a noble house, a woman whose shoulders were perpetually slumped for the weight of the world on them, a woman with a whip-smart mind and nearly no spine at all. Was. My father butchered my mother, an act discovered when the people of the lower boroughs woke to find her parts hanging from the meathooks in the bloody front window. His name was lost to history and he became only the Butcher of Crow's Lane. The Inquisition took him first, and who among us can blame them? The scene was so heinous. When they were through, the public had their spectacle of him. He sang his cheeriest song while he was drawn and quartered and spilled his vitals to the street. For their substantial flaws, I learned a great deal from the both of them. I learned to loathe the status quo. I learned of anatomy and how to create a consomme to satisfy the most refined palate from little more than a soup bone and onions. I learned that a person with no vision for the future, no grand dreams, will die in their soul long before they do in the flesh. It would have been quite easy to follow the lead of my departed parents. I could have given my life to food and a simple, quiet existence, but I had also learned that I had no desire to lead such a boring life as them. As a boy of fourteen with very little to my name even after the shop was sold, I traveled the world by one of the most famously popular means available to the poor; I signed on with a merchant ship. I was assigned to help a cook who could burn water with infuriating ease. But wait! How does being a cook's assistant take you away from the culinary course you ask? There was more than a cook aboard that ship, of course, and it was there that I met Osric, an old and saltwater weathered barber surgeon with one eye who had lost most of his teeth to scurvy. I had never before, and never since, seen hands so steady. He could sew a man's wounds in perfect crosses and knot it with the tidiest bow, all while the ship was tossed around by storms. He is the one who saw my potential and my time on the ship put towards applying what I had learned in my early years to this new vocation. After some years, when I tired of the sailing and had amassed some funds for myself, I began to travel alone. I had seen most port cities already, so I began to roam the interior of Arvum. There was always something new to see, some new custom to inquire about, some new cuisine I had never tasted. Life has no shortage of fascinating experiences and opportunities if only one is willing to step beyond their front door and seek them. It was while traveling in the west that I first provided my services to the Champion's Guild, and eventually found myself in their employ. And now I find myself in Arx again at the behest of the guild, though I admit I was happy with the request; drawn by nostalgia, perhaps, or the niggling sense of home that even I have not been able to leave entirely behind. Much has changed, and yet, nothing. It is good to see you again, old friend.. It is good to see you again, old friend.)
