Editing Meamnar:For Mariah - Byron's Background

Byron should have been a Colonel in the Storm Riders by now.  In fact, he probably should have been Colonel from the first day he joined, but things just didn't work out that way.  Despite his prowess at riding, at swordsmanship, at all of the skills for which the Riders are known, he started out just like every other Rider.

In the Second Orc War, the Empire didn't even have a cavalry.  Several officers saw firsthand the capabilities of the goblinoid worg riders on the eastern front, though, and those that lived through that experience brought home a new respect for mounted troops.  An entire brigade was soon dedicated to the specialty.

When the goblins stepped up their raids once again two years after the war, the new cavalry proved its usefulness over and over.  In the battle of Stirling, with a violent spring storm at their backs, that elite brigade rode down the greatest of the goblinoid hordes, and slaughtered them in one fell swoop.  Thereafter known as the Storm Riders, these horsemen from across the Empire became legends overnight.

Byron, of Capulet, was one of the first to enlist.  He passed the initiation tests with ease.  Husbandry was in his blood, as a native of the Yoteran Hills.  In fact, his abilities were so exceptional, they saved him from certain discharge and likely imprisonment a year after his enlistment.

The Riders were engaged in several skirmishes with the goblinoids throughout the summer of 905.  One particular campaign kept them out in the field for over three weeks.  When they finally arrived in the village of Falkirk, the officers flooded the local tavern while dozens of kegs of ale were carted to the camp for the enlisted men.  Byron, having recently earned his stripes, was among those celebrating in the tavern that night.  They had much to celebrate, having routed three tribes in three separate encounters that week alone.

The men were drunk, of course, and full of themselves as soldiers are prone to be.  The colonel of Byron's regiment, a noble from Auranolis named Septron, was by far the worst offender, though, and had been making lewd, unwanted advances toward one of the bar maids most of the night.  Eventually, Byron saw the fear and anger mixed in her eyes, and realized that his behavior was finally having an effect on the poor girl.

He confronted Septron, and the ensuing fight left several men bruised and Septron bleeding from a nasty gash under his right eye.  Byron was set up to take the brunt of the punishment for that event.  Used to preferential treatment, the noble had no patience for a junior officer who'd just bested him in a bar brawl.  Nonetheless, the brigadier general, Unther of Callain, intervened, and had Byron transferred to another regiment.

Within a year, the goblins had fallen at Sterling, and the Storm Riders were reorganized.  Instead of an autonomous brigade, each of the regiments was attached to a Corps.  That is when Byron met Octavius, for he was the General in charge of the 1st Corps, to which Byron's regiment was assigned.

Two years into that assignment, Byron found himself in hot water again, this time for something more than a bar brawl.  Through ill fate, he was back under Septron's command.  The bastard was now a brigadier general, and Byron's regiment was attached to his brigade for maneuvers against the stone giants in Valeris.  Septron had his men marching into an obvious ambush in the Ebron Valley, and had the Storm Riders acting as rearguard instead of scouting ahead.  The colonel in charge of the cavalry regiment was a toe-the-line officer, and never questioned Septron's orders.

While they were camped at the east end of the valley, Byron, who was a major now, managed to convince a third of the regiment to ride off quietly in the middle of the night.  They rode all night, going to great lengths to circumvent the brigade via the south ridge.  Sure enough, at the west end of the valley, they found four whole tribes laying in wait.  One was on the north ridge, one blocked the western pass up the mountains, and two more were camped just above the treeline on the south ridge, waiting to close in on the brigade's left flank and box them in.

Byron's men stationed themselves further up the ridge, and waited.  As the sun was dipping behind the tall peaks of the Valeris mountain range, Septron's brigade came marching up the valley, oblivious to their predicament.

As soon as the giants attacked, the Storm Riders charged.  Moving down the mountainside, they caught the westernmost of the two tribes completely by surprise, and made short work of them.  Byron then cut across the treeline toward the other tribe, forcing them further down the slope.  With the ambush's effectiveness virtually halved, the brigade was able to perform an orderly retreat eastward with few casualties.  The hapless giants that were barely holding their own against Byron's cavalry soon found themselves in the midst of an entire brigade, and fell quickly to their swords.

A week later, Byron found himself in Octavius' tent, wishing he were back on the mountainside.  "If you don't mind, Major, please explain to me why in the Nine Hells you didn't at least send a message to the General, warning him of the ambush?" barked Octavius, whose normally fair complexion was as red as orc's blood.  Byron stood quietly in front of the General.  A long silence ensued, then Octavius looked at Septron, who was quick to hide his grin.  "Leave us," he commanded.  Septron looked perplexed for a moment, then hastily left the tent.  Octavius gave his aide a quick nod, and he exited as well.  Byron was now alone with him.

In a startlingly calm voice, Octavius asked, "Doesn't have any more sense than a gnoll, does he?"  Byron, who had been staring straight ahead, broke his military stance and gave the General a perplexed look.  "No sir," he finally agreed.

"You wanted to teach him a lesson, didn't you?" Octavius continued.  Byron nodded.  Octavius smiled then, suddenly.  "Well, then," he said, "let me teach you a lesson."  Fear crept into Byron's eyes.  This was it, he thought.  He was out of the army for good this time.

"As of now, you're demoted... to Captain."  Byron looked at the General, visibly confused.  "Furthermore," he continued, "you are to return to your regiment and select ten of the men who joined you on this little... excursion."

"I want you all to report back to me tomorrow for your next assignment."  Byron began to see where this was heading.  "Since I'm obviously going to need to keep you on a short leash, your little band is going to report directly to me - indefinitely!"  Byron let a smile creep across his face, which became a relieved grin when Octavius extended his hand.  "Good job out there, son," he said, shaking the man's hand, and grinning himself.  "Dismissed!" he said, returning to his formal posture.

As Byron was leaving the tent, Octavius stopped him.  "Oh yes, one more thing," he said casually, then looked the man squarely in the eye.  "I will be holding you personally responsible for notifying the families of the seventeen men that did not return from that valley alive."  Byron soon found that task to be the most difficult of his career.

Septron was furious, of course, but it was no matter.  Byron spent the next several years commanding an elite force of Storm Riders that completed all manner of successful missions across the entire northern frontier.  In that time, he never had to answer to anyone except Octavius, even when the General was appointed the head of the entire Northern Army.  He and the General came to respect each other considerably, though the two men often did not see eye to eye.  Brilliant and creative as he was, Octavius was still a military man, and Byron's tactics sometimes irritated him.  He always did his job well, though.

When Octavius informed them of the fire, Byron reflected on that difficult task he'd been given years ago.  Would those men that torched the Lower Ward do the same, he wondered.  Would they be drafting painful letters, going door to door, telling families how their sons, their husbands, and their fathers died?  Hell, these weren't even soldiers, he thought, but families themselves.  Would there be anyone's door to knock upon?

Byron always loved the Army, but he always followed a higher code - Octavius knew this.  If the old man said this was the right thing to do, then damn the Empire, it would be done.  He will fight today as he has fought every other, on the side of good.  That he fights today against the Empire, instead of alongside it, is of no concern.