| Relatives | relatives |
|---|---|
| Languages | languages |
| Affiliations | affiliation |
| Aliases | alias |
| Marital Status | marital status |
| Place of Birth | birthplace |
| Date of Death | deathdate |
| Place of Death | deathplace |
| Species | species |
| Gender | gender |
| Height | height |
| Weight | weight |
| Eye Color | eyes |
Marcus Valebright is (Information on your heritage/background/class)
The Man Built for Everything Except Joy
Marcus Valebright was born into a world where expectations were carved in stone long before he existed.
The Valebright name commanded respect, demanded obedience, and offered very little in return. Marcus was the youngest son of a house where duty was a religion, affection was a rumor, and lineage was a cage no one acknowledged as such.
His mother treated children as proofs of competence.
His father treated them as assets.
His brothers took their roles like fitted armor, each settling into a predetermined path that left Marcus the only one without a script.
He was educated thoroughly, but loved sparingly.
Gifted resources, but denied purpose.
Given freedom, but never direction.
Which meant the young nobleman grew into a man filled with all the worst kinds of hunger:
the hunger to understand,
to belong,
to matter.
He studied philosophy because he wanted truth.
He questioned tradition because he wanted meaning.
He craved connection because — in a home filled with people — he had never once felt seen.
Nothing in his life changed until he was thirty-two.
And nothing about his life ever recovered from what happened next.
The Golden Years
The First Shift
Garrett began training for military life — the kind that shapes boys into blades.
He thrived.
He liked structure, enjoyed the praise.
Marcus thrived only in the library.
He studied philosophy while the others studied sword forms.
He asked “why” while the others asked “who do we fight?”
Garrett found Marcus strange.
Marcus found Garrett exhausting.
But something unspoken connected them:
they were both boys trying to earn affection in houses that saw children as investments.
Garrett respected Marcus’s stubbornness.
Marcus respected Garrett’s discipline.
They would never say it out loud.
Ages 16 & 18
Trouble started because Garrett hit eighteen and suddenly decided he was a man of the world—or at least a man who deserved bad ale in questionable establishments.
“It’s not even a real tavern,” Marcus muttered as they walked toward the Broken Spoke. “It’s where farmhands go to pickle themselves.”
Garrett grinned, the grin that always signaled “danger, chaos, or both.”
“Exactly. No one important goes there. Which is why we should.”
Marcus wasn’t boring, but cautious people get miscast that way all the time. And Garrett had a gift for making caution feel like cowardice. So Marcus followed.
Inside, the Broken Spoke looked like it had given up decades ago and was still open out of habit. Half the chairs were wobbling through their last days. The air smelled like sweat, damp wood, and regret.
Perfect.
Garrett ordered ale with the swagger of somebody who’d practiced confidence more than sobriety. The barkeep judged them with the accuracy of a woman who’d seen every kind of fool.
“Don’t start fights,” she said.
They promised nothing.
Three drinks later, Garrett was louder, Marcus was lighter, and a drunk farmhand decided to identify Marcus as “that little lordling from Thornhaven.”
Marcus froze.
Garrett did not.
“He’s humble,” Garrett cut in. “Ridiculously humble. It’s almost disappointing.”
The farmhand disagreed. With a fist.
Chaos bloomed like spring.
Garrett ducked. Someone else got punched. A mug flew. The barkeep shouted something that sounded like a threat and a prayer.
“Run!” Garrett laughed, pulling Marcus toward the door.
They ran like idiots. Laughing, breathless, alive.
When they collapsed against the mill wall outside town, Garrett wheezed, “Tell me that wasn’t incredible.”
“That was the dumbest thing we’ve ever done,” Marcus replied—laughing, glowing with adrenaline.
And that was the moment Marcus realized:
Garrett was the first person who ever made him feel free.
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