Bowen Blacksheep

Back story for Bowen - warrior of the mercenary guild "The Blacksheep"

My name is Bowen. I am a blacksheep. One of fifty or more…like my fathers and brothers. My upbringing was nothing close to normal. I grew up on the fringes of battlefields. Too many to count. Some of my first memories were of men beheaded or gutted and wailing in agony. My mother was a camp whore. I am not sure which one. Perhaps I should explain. Sometimes I forget the ways of civilized folk. I am a son of the mercenary guild known as the Blacksheep. All warriors of great renown revere them and fear them. They are an elite band, loyal and devoted only to two things, each other and their current contract. I was born on a snowy battlefield somewhere in the mountains north of the feywild. My mother was one of the many camp whores that trailed along with the Blacksheep. No one remembers which one she was and it matters little to me. Many children are born of the blacksheep and most are left untended to die with the many dead enemies in their wake. Rarely, a child will come along that is noticed for its strength or resiliency and taken under the wing of the band and assigned to the women for care. If he survives, he is allowed to serve as a camp follower, a youth of brutal labor and fighting for scraps to survive. When the child comes of age he is tested in battle, usually against one of his brothers and the victor is adopted into the band for training. His days of hard labor and serving come to an end, and his days of brutal and exhaustive training begin. Heavy makeshift armor is strapped to his body day and night until the weight becomes as a part of him. Daily combat training and exercise becomes more routine than eating and shitting. I have more broken bones than I can count and I have seen only few battles. I am a full fledged Blacksheep now. I have proven myself in combat and slain a worthy warrior in single combat. Sadly that was the day the Blacksheep died. We had taken on a lucrative contract with the Genasi Magocracy in their war to reclaim some worthless land from the Telkarion Empire. My brothers claimed the band had contracts on file from long ago that proved we had actually been employed by the Telkarion Empire in the taking of this land. Ironic that we would meet our end fighting to reclaim lands that we helped them lose. Our band had been employed to assist in a multi pronged assault on some riverside keep. The details are blurry as I was am but an initiate and new to the tactics of battle. Something went horribly wrong and we found ourselves cut off , surrounded with no where to retreat but into the rushing waters of the river. Our reinforcements were no where to be seen and we knew there was nothing to do but run the river red with the blood of our enemies until our last breath. The battle raged and my Brothers and Fathers fought and died well. A unit of cavalry charged our position and I pulled and knight in plate mail from his warhorse and we rolled down the bank to the river. In the struggle, I rolled on top and ran my sword under his arm and through his lungs. As I watched his eyes bulge and blood spew from his mouth someone slid down the bank and struck me senseless. I awoke sometime later washed up on the rocks far downstream. Through blood crusted eyes I watched vultures circle the skies above the battlefield in the distance. I returned to the scene and fought back tears I had never in my life allowed to flow. Every Brother and Father I had known lay dead upon the bloody banks of that nameless river. The enemy dead lay in great heaps. Apparently the reinforcements had come and taken the enemy in the rear but far too late. The following weeks became a blur of wandering and recovery from my wounds. I eventually made my way back to the town of New Gena where I reported to the office of the Magocracy to inform them of the downfall of my fellow Blacksheep, mostly in hopes that they had some news of survivors. I was informed that few of my brothers had escaped the brutal battle and they had collected their share of the contract and moved on to unknown whereabouts. I was stunned. Could it be that the Blacksheep were no more. Every facet of my life until now had revolved around the brave band of mercenaries and now my world was in shatters. I barely noticed when the Magocracy officer pressed a weighty bag into my hand and mumbled his thanks and apologies while ushering me into the muddy street. I stumbled to the nearest Tavern and ordered a drink. Opening the bag, I discovered the bag to contain a sizable sum of coins nearing 900 gold pieces in value. My survivors share of the contract. Could this be the price of the destruction of all that I know? I drank myself into a senseless blur of weeping and rage and after several days of self destructive debauchery, I pulled myself up. I decided that my duty as a Blacksheep was to carry on the ways of my people. As long as I survived, the Blacksheep survived. I found the best armoury in New Gena and commissioned a fine suit of armor, a sturdy steel shield and a gleaming sword with the last of my money. Somewhere out there were more warriors worthy of rebuilding the Blacksheep. It was up to me to find them and bring them into the flock. The next day I joined a caravan as a guard headed south for some distant market town called Titcos. I know not where the winds of war would blow me but I welcome it with abandon.

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