Baron Champion Lore
In the more civilized corners of Teleria, ‘Baron’ is a title of nobility denoting influence and an honorable bloodline. But it is also the name of a man, one who was once a farm laborer of unknown ancestry, dwelling in a village that barely registered on most maps of its region.
As a young man, Baron was the sole ward of a drunken smallholder, and had worked crops and tended animals since early childhood. He had no idea who his true family was — a fact his adoptive father regularly reminded him of — which meant that he was destined to die either in obscurity, or at the hands of bandits who regularly raided his village.
Baron’s day-to-day life was one of hard toil, but when word spread of a contest of martial skill in the village square, hosted by the mayor himself, the farmhand could not ignore it. When the day of the contest came, Baron waited for his adoptive father to fall into a drunken stupor, and he went to test his mettle.
Wooden swords clattered against oaken shields, gloved fists pounded into helmeted faces. Weapons were covered to prevent serious injury, but the dueling was vicious nonetheless. Baron’s weapon of choice was a perfectly forged halberd, which he had found years before in a dusty corner of his adoptive father’s cellar. Many an evening, after that drunken man had passed out, Baron had taken out the halberd to practice fighting.
To his own surprise, Baron fought his way to the final duel of the contest, before which his opponent had bribed officials to arrange their starting positions so that the sun glared in Baron’s eyes. But years of toiling in fields in midday light allowed Baron to fight unfazed. After much feinting and parrying, his rival swung wildly, and missed. Baron brought his halberd down on his enemy’s shield and rent it asunder. All Baron had to do was knock his opponent off his feet to win the contest. At this point, as sudden as lightning, the spectators’ cheers turned to screams. Baron looked around. Bandits were attacking, and they cut down the mayor’s guards with ease. The villagers fled. Soon there was nothing but empty space between the mayor, who was frozen to the spot next to the ring in fear, and the interlopers — until Baron ripped the protective layer of his halberd and stepped in.
The bandits charged him. Baron charged back, running swifter than he ever had before into their midst. No matter how the bandits swung their maces or sliced with their knives, they only hit air. Yet somehow, Baron found his mark every time, as if he possessed some preternatural gift. Within minutes, Baron stood amid a pile of slaughtered bandits.
Word spread of Baron’s deeds, such that he was soon invited to the nearby city of Arkantis to be thanked for his service to the crown. Expecting only an audience with minor kingdom officials, Baron was surprised to find himself in the company of several Banner Lords. They plied Baron with questions about his early years. They were especially interested to hear how a peasant came into possession of such a well-made halberd.
Bewildered and confused, Baron was later shunted from building to building and stranger to stranger until he found himself in the city’s archives. There, a wizened old man unfurled scrolls, opened tomes, studied Baron’s halberd, and revealed to Baron the provenance of his weapon. It had belonged to a Banner Lord whose family were slain by a band of Siroth’s minions. There was only one survivor, barely older than an infant. This matched Baron’s dim memories — he was that child, who made his way to the nearest village, dragging the halberd behind him like a toy. He remembered being hoisted off the streets by an intoxicated man who probably sensed an opportunity to get free labor. Only later did the man call him ‘Baron’, probably after news of the boy’s family’s massacre reached the farm, Baron reasoned. In hindsight, Baron realized the man named him so out of a cruel sense of irony.
None of that matters now. Baron claimed his birthright: the Banner Lords inducted him into their ranks, his rags were replaced with a shining suit of armor, and an ornate helmet was placed upon his head. He came to wield his trusty halberd with great pride. It took some time for Baron to translate his amateur fighting skills into the finessed combat prowess the Banner Lords are famed for, yet he seemed instilled with an innate talent for combat, as if the blood within him carried some memory of his noble lineage. Before long, Baron was among the most exceptional and decorated Banner Lords to ever safeguard Kaerok from the minions of Siroth.