Reimian Empire

The steady beat of horse hooves echoed dully along the dry country road, kicking up clouds of dust and fine sand. Throughout the entire journey, only once did a silent rider encounter an old cart creaking toward him, loaded with some kind of junk and driven by a hunched old man with a grey goatee. Raising a tired gaze toward the unexpected traveler, the farmer merely shook his head slightly and sighed, continuing on his usual path until he completely vanished beyond the sloping horizon of bleak grey clouds and pitch-black earth.
It was already evening when the trail turned sharply west, rounded a small hill, and, winding between deep ravines, led to an old village lost amidst the endless fields of the Empire's northern border. Somewhere there, perhaps, began a vast lowland sloping down to the waters of the Northern Ocean, but Seliad, to his regret, had never once seen that coast during all his time living in these parts.
Slowing his pace, the rider slowly made his way along a wide, deserted street toward the center of the settlement, looking around. Many huts had long been abandoned, as evidenced by the dark windows, sagging roofs, and fences destroyed by the weather, but life still flickered in a few places; light smoke billowed from chimneys, and sheds were filled with stacks of firewood. Seliad remembered these places as being quite different, but in recent years, people had increasingly left these small border regions. However, unlike in neighboring Larian, the local Darkirians did so for slightly different reasons. While the motives of the former were driven by constant oppression from landowners, the latter were simply unlucky enough to be forgotten, ground down by the ruthless state machine of the Empire due to their unfavorable location, a climate prone to frequent crop failures, and the drifting away of trade routes. Such "failure settlements" occur, undoubtedly, in every single state, but that made it no less unpleasant to find oneself among them. The nearest garrison of government troops had been moved several miles to the east, so even in the event of an attack by some Barbarians, no one would come to defend these places. On the other hand, what enemy in their right mind would dare come here if even the local authorities didn't care about them? Seliad smiled slightly at his own curious thoughts.
In recent years, only a few old men and women remained in the village. Men left to serve in well-funded imperial military organizations, subsequently moving their families to more prosperous regions of the duchy, as the art of war remained the primary asset and source of income for every self-respecting Darkirian. Seliad, certainly, was no exception here, and the unique techniques of wielding a two-handed sword, which his father had managed to partially pass on to him, had proven useful to him many times in his later life. His father was one of the few people in the entire world of men whom he sincerely respected and loved. Being a magnificent warrior and a man of firm spirit, although he did not achieve great heights in service, he managed during his lifetime to gather loyal and interesting comrades around him, who became a second true family to him. "Let the careerists handle the careers," he always said. "Can these orders and medals bring genuine happiness? Is the meaning of life found in untold riches, luxurious palaces, and crowds of servants? What if I am perfectly satisfied with my life right now? Don't chase false values, son; instead, build conditions around yourself so that every day brings you satisfaction, understand?" Seliad would nod silently and understand. His father truly was a happy man, satisfied with life, and died as a true warrior should—in the heart of the fray, fighting side by side with loyal comrades and best friends. What more could a simple man dream of?
His mother, however, was of a somewhat different nature. Now, years later, he could call her simply a foolish simpleton who, within her modest capabilities, sincerely wished the best for him, but was, alas, unable by virtue of her intellect to explain this to her own child. After the father's death, she quickly squandered his few savings, and when the family suffered a catastrophic lack of money, she brought another man into the house. Seliad, then still very young, was deeply wounded by this event, causing him to harbor a grudge against the whole world. He began to disappear from home for long periods, behave indecently, be rude to adults, and get into fights, abandoning his training. The situation was exacerbated by the fact that his stepfather, who loved to drink, quickly grew bold and began to "educate" the hooligan in the very obvious form of beatings. After another family conflict, the boy allowed himself to strike back, knocking the drunkard off his feet. Terrified by his stepfather groaning on the floor and his mother wailing in tears, Seliad hastily left the house, and had not returned there once in the following two decades.
A familiar gate awakened old memories in the warrior's mind. Jumping off his horse, he slowly removed the rusty bolt and entered the yard overgrown with dry grass. Instead of the tall tree where the marks of the sword from his training should have remained, there was only an old log structure. The western wall of the hut had partially collapsed, covering the ground with shards that crunched under the heels of his boots, and the front door was partially torn off, hanging by a single bent hinge. Standing at the threshold for half a minute, as if gathering his thoughts, Seliad finally dared to enter.
The interior state of the house differed little from the scene of that ill-fated evening when he decided to leave this place forever, which now stood so clearly before his eyes. Except that the corners were covered in a thick layer of cobwebs, the ceiling had leaked in places, allowing rainwater over a long time to destroy the plank floor, leaving behind rotten pieces of wood mixed with damp earth. Now, distant stars peeked through these holes, illuminating the hut with a faint turquoise glow. The old table seemed to dispel the surrounding darkness with its own blackness, and the kitchen utensils still lay unwashed near an overturned trough.
Carefully crossing the room, Seliad headed toward the bookcase—the only thing in the entire house that seemed untouched by the ruthless grip of time. Many books, whose torn covers were hidden behind a thick layer of dirt and dust, seemed to joyfully await an old friend capable of freeing them from the many-year captivity of this dungeon. Mostly, these were historical and military works, which he had loved so much in childhood. Having learned to read haphazardly from his father, he had then eagerly set about studying the small home library, greedily absorbing new knowledge about the world surrounding the Empire, the victorious conquests of the past, great campaigns, and famous commanders. Subsequently, while serving in the army, he did not abandon this passion, spending all his free time reading literature, which greatly helped him distract himself from the bleak reality. Undoubtedly, he understood how easily history could be manipulated, but despite this, he always found a certain pleasure in studying various historical events and figures. He valued only memory more than archival information, which, in his opinion, served as the true source of power and knowledge for the development of civilization.
It cannot be said that he was a great patriot of his country, but he simply did not know how to live any other way, and sincerely wished to follow in his father's footsteps. Fortunately, Darkiria was always ready to provide enough military entertainment and monetary rewards to those who craved them. However, Seliad failed to achieve any particular success in service: restoring and, even more so, improving the close-combat techniques abandoned in childhood proved to be a difficult task, and he possessed almost no leadership qualities. On the other hand, his simple nature helped him get along easily with people and make acquaintances, albeit with ordinary soldiers like himself, but that was quite enough for him.
Setting aside another old book, the warrior sighed heavily. When the childhood traumas were forgotten and life gradually began to return to normal, entirely new unpleasant circumstances intervened. Military tests were conducted everywhere at the time, and often, for the praise of their superiors, local leaders rushed faster than anyone else to prove the effectiveness of their developments for the benefit of the Empire. Incidents occurred almost monthly, but no one cared much for such trifles when the possibility of obtaining absolutely new types of weapons was at stake. It is difficult to explain what happened to an uneducated person in simple words, but as a result of non-compliance (or rather, the complete absence) of safety regulations during one of the tests, almost his entire platoon perished, including friends and comrades. Moreover, the resulting fire quickly spread to warehouses containing red erinium. In horror, calculating the possible losses, the leadership threw the soldiers into extinguishing the devilish flame until the situation was brought under control at the cost of several more human lives. Several years had passed since those events, but Seliad had still been unable to find any documents or records of what happened. Gathering his few savings and belongings, he wanted to leave the lands of the duchy and try his luck in some large trading city, like Calvad. Before that, he finally decided, after twenty years, to visit his home settlement and meet his mother, but, as it seemed, he was too late.
An unexpected object caught the warrior's attention on the far shelf of the cabinet. Pushing aside a couple of reference books, he reached for a small medal. On one side was the emblem of the Empire; on the other was depicted a serviceman with a weapon and an engraved inscription for combat merit. Seliad smiled slightly. It turned out his mother had not sold all of his father's awards. Placing the medal in his travel bag, he cast one last glance over the empty structure and walked toward the exit with a confident stride.
From the neighboring house, an elderly woman wrapped in a thick fabric shawl stepped out cautiously to meet him.
—If you're looking for them, dear, it's too late. —she wheezed. —Gone five years now, may they rest in peace. —The graves are over there, I can show you, if...
—No, thank you. —Seliad shook his head. —Another time. Thank you.
On the way back, various unpleasant thoughts occupied his head. For some reason, only now, and not during his years of service in the army, he unexpectedly felt the proximity of death. But no, he was not particularly afraid of the end itself; on the contrary, he considered it quite foolish to fear the inevitable, but he only occasionally regretted one thing. He regretted that throughout his entire life he had not found anyone who could remember him after the end, as he remembered all his fallen comrades and friends. He had not found someone who would come to visit his grave. He had not been able, like his father, to build his own true family.


Characteristics:
Strength - 40
Intelligence - 10
Will - 25
Agility - 25
Perception - 10
Wisdom - 10
Charisma - 10


Origin:
Duchy of Darkiria
+access to the "Radiant Sword" skill tree.


Skills:

Radiant Sword

+1 to accuracy for each unit of strength
Counterattack if the opponent misses.
+10 to health for each unit of agility.
+2 to movement speed.
Seismic Wave (x2)
Deals 80% damage in a 3x9 straight line, destroys obstacles. Characters who fail the strength check (against the character's strength) will be paralyzed for 1-3 turns. In case of a successful strength check, their speed will be reduced to three units for 1-3 turns. Cooldown: 3 turns.
Warmth of Light (x2)
The character restores 30% health every turn for four turns (starting from the next). Physical and magical damage resistance +25% during this time. Cooldown: 4


Inventory:
Two-handed sword, Heavy armor, Helmet, travel bag with belongings and savings, father's medal, healing potions if possible at start.