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A young man sat atop a tall hill, looking down on the village of Scrapside. It was a tiny village - consisting of only twenty houses and an inn - but it was mostly populated by artisans, acting as a hub for farmers who worked the fertile land of the surrounding area. Near the eastern edge of Gracewood, it was a peaceful and out of the way place to live.
The young man had arrived eight years ago, a starving, dirty and scarred boy of fourteen. In the time since he had grown strong and healthy - courtesy of kindness, and later in return for his own efforts around the town. His unusual (for the region) black and curly hair, combined with his athletic physique, had made him a favourite with the local girls - and he was considering settling down for good.
When he had first arrived, he had wished - more than anything - to go home. He knew that his home no longer existed as it had been. His clan had been wiped out; the underage and harmless taken as slaves, the rest killed. His parents, and almost all adult members of the clan, had been put to the sword as he was loaded into a wagon.
Children were of little use as slaves to the roaming clans, so he had been sold off at a port. Even at nine years of age he had been strong, and so he was sold to a ship captain, and chained to an oar. He got to know that oar over four years - the slight indent made by years of rowers before him holding it as they rowed, the knots and patterns in the wood. He had hated that oar.
The ship had docked in the Duchies eight and a half years ago. Although the Duchies disapproved of slavery, visiting ships from other nations - the backbone of a trade network that linked the Duchies to lands both over the seas and through blights - were never carefully inspected. That year he had finally come of age. He had gained new scars - deep, terrible scars, that had worried his masters. But they listened to his excuses.
But the scars were the sign that the power of his people had awoken within him. His family's line bore moderate strength; but great cost. His people could channel magic to empower their bodies, with strength, endurance, speed, and more. In each the power was different - strong or weak; great cost or nearly none.
The cost of channeling was cuts, dug into the body of the channeler. For him, it was deep cuts - lines parting his flesh a full centimetre down. He bled profusely when he broke his chains, and broke the oar - but he was free. As the other slaves slept he had crawled out of the ship and into the icy sea below.
Luck alone was the reason he made it to shore, he knew. They had been heading along the coast, traveling between Norduchy and Souduchy before heading further up. A boy in rags, he had washed up on the shore in the middle of nowhere. It had taken him half a day to find a path up the cliffs and up to land, but after he found it... He felt truly alive, and free, for the first time in years.
He had foraged food for himself, and headed away from the coast, away from memories of the oar. His dreams had gotten better with time; and kindness from people he had met had soothed his soul. Only on rare occasion had he used his power; but it had cost him. Few of the scars he had came from the lash. After several months he had wandered almost entirely across two Duchies - and he found himself in Scrapside.
The owner of the inn - a incredibly kind man - had allowed him to take shelter there. After the boy recovered from his travels the innkeeper had put him to work maintaining the inn in return for continued lodging and meals. As the years passed, the boy continued working as a handyman and builder, repairing farmhouses, eventally even acquiring books to study and improve his skills. Now a man, he planned to travel to a nearby town within the year, to meet with the guild of builders based there and become recognised as a journeyman builder.
Then he would come back to Scrapside. It had slowly become home, as the years passed. More than half-remembered times on a different continent. More than the ship and the oar he was chained to.
The young man sighed as he looked down at the village. It was good to have a home again.