Derwood Greymoor
griswold@sosinet.net

Virtus Greymoor was a valiant and skilled knight in the service of King Arthur in his days of glory.  Many a crusade did he participate in and even more acts of bravery were accredited to his name.  But for all the honor he had brought to his family and to Albion, his career as a knight ended with little honor and even less glory.  It occurred one summer day near dusk while traveling along a small country road outside of Cotswold.  The kingdom was not at war, there were no bandits or shady characters within many miles of the area.  All was peaceful, almost too peaceful for a veteran knight trained for combat.  He was on a simple errand, a task if you will, for the head guardsman in delivery of a message to a nearby outpost.  Sitting relaxed on the back of his young steed, Virtus began to hum a melody he had heard a bard singing as he left the gates of Camelot.  At that moment, a large snake crossed the path of Sir Virtus and his mount.  The horse reared back suddenly, sending it's rider crashing to the ground.  Landing awkwardly, the impact of the fall shattered the left arm of Sir Virtus.  As it turned out, the injury to his arm was so severe that he was never able to recover full use of it, this in spite of the diligent efforts of the kingdoms best healers.  To sustain such an injury in battle would have been honorable or at least acceptable, but the embarrassment of falling from one's horse was much to overcome for such a decorated figure.  Now, no longer able to fulfill his duty as a knight, Sir Virtus accepted a position as the King's Weapons Trainer.  It now became his duty to train the young knights of King Arthur in all types of combat, be it swords, axe, or polearm.  In spite of the injury, Virtus became as skilled a trainer as he once was a knight, though the recognition of training others for combat never equaled the actual act of combat itself for Virtus.

Sir Virtus and his wife, Elizabeth, had two sons; Bellator the eldest, and Derwood the youngest.  Both were young boys at the time of the accident, yet were old enough to remember their father in his glory and tried to emulate him in every way.  Each of the boys grew interested in swordplay as soon as they were able to walk and both became quite accomplished with a variety of weapons as they matured.  Virtus enjoyed working with his sons in weapon techniques and their use.  He was a good trainer and a good father, for he taught his boys the laws and ways of the land as well, yet he worried about them greatly.  He knew that some in the kingdom, especially the youngsters, would ridicule his boys for his own clumsy accident.  "The Fallen Knight" they sometimes called him, and both Bellator and Derwood had to listen to such heckling and slander almost daily at school.  Bellator was quick tempered and fought often with these name-calling children.  Derwood, on the other hand, was always more tolerant and simply turned the other cheek more times than not, which did little to subdue the taunting.  It took great effort and discipline by Derwood not to strike out as his brother tended to do.

Upon the death of King Arthur, Virtus took his leave of Camelot and retired to their old homestead in the plains south of Camelot to enjoy a simpler life with his family.  Virtus took up farming and hunting, much to the displeasure of his eldest son.  Derwood, however, took right to it.  There seemed something wholesome about working the earth and hunting for your own food and skins.  His mother, coming from simple beginnings, also preferred life away from the castle and now had more time to work on her sewing and tailoring.

It was not long before Bellator grew tired of this lifestyle.  He was now a young man and had needs that could not be satisfied on a farm.  He left the family homestead in the plains late one evening and ventured out to the north.  No word of his well-being or whereabouts would ever reach the ears his parents again.  Derwood, now being the lone remaining son at home, inherited the chores and responsibilities of his older brother, yet never resented him for it.  With his father aging and still having use of only one arm, more and more did his parents rely on their youngest offspring to support them.

After only a few seasons, Derwood matured into a strong, young man, while his father’s health had deteriorated.  Young Greymoor was now charged with maintaining the farm as well as hunting for the family’s supply of fresh meat from the nearby forest.  It was during one of these hunting trips that disaster struck.  Since the death of King Arthur, the neighboring regions of Midgard and Hibernia had grown rebellious to the point that war was declared.  No longer living safely within the walls of Camelot, the Greymoor family became easy prey to a band of dwarven invaders one day.  Even in his weakened state, Virtus was able to fell several of the bloodthirsty barbarians before finally meeting his own demise.  Elizabeth herself fought valiantly, but to little avail.  She too was mortally wounded and lay upon the ground and left for dead as the dwarves carried off their own dead and wounded, then burned the structures and all the Greymoor belongings. 

Derwood, meanwhile, with a freshly killed hog slung over his shoulders, noticed the flume of smoke rising in front of him as he traveled home.  His pace quickened as he grew closer until he finally dropped his kill and increased to a full sprint.  Upon his arrival, he found  much blood upon the ground as well as an occasional broken axe and a single cloven helm that looked to be that of a dwarf’s.  He knew immediately what had happened and fear overtook him.  From the corner of his eye, Derwood noticed the body of a large man laying in the dirt among a row of corn,.  He could tell without going any closer that it was his father, though there was no longer a head upon his once broad shoulders.  Feeling ill, Derwood fell to one knee.  He had always lived a life of compassion and rarely allowed anger to fill him as it suddenly did now.  His knuckles became white as he clinched his fists.  He would have roared out in a rage of fury and cursed every living being upon the earth and above had he not suddenly heard a small voice call his name.  Surprised, he quickly darted in it’s direction and found his mother sitting against a water barrel, her clothes covered in blood.  Derwood embraced her and asked what he could do.  “There be not a healer in this entire kingdom that can help me anymore, my son.” Elizabeth whispered.  As his mother lay dying in his arms, she made Derwood make one final promise to her.  It was a promise not to follow the way of the sword, as she feared he would set off on a mission of revenge. Being a woman of great faith, she insisted that her son follow, instead, the way of the cloth. "Our land will need those that can bring faith into the hearts and souls of our fellow Albions during the dark days ahead." she explained. Reluctantly, he agreed to heed his mother's wish and swore to abide by his promise, just as the final breath of life escaped her pale lips.

Derwood, in great grief and confusion, wandered for what seemed ages until eventually a path appeared at his feet one day. For the first time since his parent's death, he felt the need to seek guidance and hoped this path would lead him to a village. What he found at the end of this lightly worn path was a small, weathered structure with a simple cross made of branches upon it's thatched roof. Inside he found a jolly friar by the name of Brother Chester who welcomed him in and offered shelter and food to the sorrowed wanderer. Derwood spent much time with this kind friar.  It was through his guidance and training that Derwood eventually began learning how to control and use the negative energy he stored deep inside his soul and to channel it into an almost magical energy of great healing and spirit enhancing effects.  At first, Derwood found it difficult to put his faith in a God who would allow his parents to be slaughtered in such a way.  And though his faith would eventually grow, it would always be lacking just enough to prevent him from becoming a pure and great healer of people.  Derwood enjoyed the feel of a weapon in his hand too much.  Noticing this, Brother Chester introduced Derwood to the chosen weapon of the friar, a wooden staff.  Having been trained in many types of weapons by his father, Derwood soon become proficient with this new weapon as well.  The staff has become much more than just a weapon to Derwood, however.  It provides him a means to vent his excess, negative energy when needed and allows him to focus better on his newfound role in life.  A few swift swings into the body of an aggressive being or attacker seems to do wonders for his morale sometimes.

Now, honoring the wishes of his mother, even if a bit reluctantly, Derwood has devoted his life to the helping of others and betterment of the land and people of Albion. However, though he may appear to be a modest man of faith, there will always exist the fierce warrior in him, hidden under the simple robes of a friar.

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