It's only at the turning point that you find out how you fight...

Aykin is an only child who was born and raised in Bree by his parents and trained in the ways of the Woodsman by his father from an early age, becoming proficient with axe and saw alike. He worked with his father on the local business supplying wood and leather to the local crafters for a small profit which kept them comfortably in house and food. Aykin practised making bows and began to teach himself how to use them, often having his father set up makeshift targets along the fences of their homestead and on sunny afternoons Aykin honed his skills with bows he made himself. Gradually as his proficiency in the ways of the wood increased his father gave him more responsibility and even allowed him to start selling the bows, weapons and wooden trinkets he was crafting and allowing him more and more interaction with the merchants and crafters to gain the necessary skills to tend to the business when his father decided to retire and hand it over, oh how a simple life can be so easily turned on its head...

It was about two years ago when his father became ill, the change was gradual at first and resembled nothing more than a bad cough and cold, but that got increasingly worse, then about six months after that he started to become increasingly weak and frail, like his body was using every ounce of muscle, every pound of flesh to fight a battle of impossible odds, he became stick thin, skeletal almost, in appearance and none of the healers knew what was wrong, least of all how to cure it. Sure, some of the potions and salves they tried eased his every increasing pain, but only for a short time.

Then the inevitable happened, it was about a year ago, a sunny autumnal afternoon, Aykin was outside practising with a new bow he'd just crafted for a customer, making sure it was the best he could make it, when his father hobbled outside, hunched, with a pained look in his eyes, but smiling nonetheless. Aykin smiled and waved as his father sat down in the chair and pulled a blanket over himself. Aykin went back to his bow, glad his father had come out to see him, it felt almost like old times. When he had finished he packed up and walked back toward the house, as he got nearer he noticed his fathers eyes were closed, must be sleeping he thought to himself. Then as he got closer, he noticed his father was motionless, not breathing, tears welling in his eyes he dropped his stuff and ran back to the house, calling for his mother.

They burned him two days later, the funeral pyre smouldering as the heavens opened, it seemed even the gods were mourning the passing of his father, the pyre burned for two days and two nights and when finished Aykin went and gathered the ashes together in an urn made for him by one of the Bree metalsmiths and placed it on the mantelpiece above the fire in what was now his mothers home.

The days turned into months and Aykin, although doing his best to keep his fathers small business going, just didn't feel right doing it by himself and with the increasing number of bandits and "other" creatures, the trade routes were becoming unsafer which each passing day. Aykin was spending more and more time away from Bree, trading his wares where he could, but also helping out the travellers and townsfolk he met, where he could. He knew something wasn't right with the land and he could feel the darkness crawling over his skin, he knew sooner or later it would reach him, but what if he met it head on first? Could he make even a small difference, play a small part in holding it back? He didn't know, but he would try. So after a long talk and a lot of reassurances and promises of regular letters that Aykin set off from Bree to see what he could do to help.