"He was sixteen when he graduated from the school of the Queen's Guard. Eighteen when he graduated from the School of War at the University in Felonstin City. Within a year he had led the army to victory in battle. Then a second, and third, and so on. A few months into his nineteenth year he formed his own regiment. The Regiment of the Swooping Owl. By twenty-two he had single handedly been responsible for the conclusion of three wars and more battles than he could remember.
"He would be called "a ghost, an apparition, a demon, a god". The unit came to be called "'a band of rebels, ' and 'a legion of angels.''' Stories would circulate through the camps of soldiers.
"I hear that the commander is immortal. That God blessed him with strength beyond humanity. Angels, demons, gods, whatever they are, they are not human." Their black cloaks, with silver patches of the owl with wings outspread, became the vine off which many fantasies and stories would grow. Many a soldier and barmaid would tell of the 'Black Braids.'
"They were called the Black Braids out of their hairstyle and their distinct clothing. Unlike the typical soldier at the time who donned the blue, white, and yellow of the Gradorian flag, the Swooping Owl wore long cloaks of black with a bright silver owl on the left shoulder and across their backs. Their hair was not close cropped as many lords or royalty kept theirs, nor was it long and dishevelled as the common soldiers' or peasants'. Nay, they donned elaborate braids with beads woven into the styling.
"The Lord Commander, as he came to be known, wore only black beads in his hair while a color was added for each demotion of rank within the entire unit. The lowest soldier sported many colors. He would take one away beginning with the white bead for each elevation in status until only the black beads remained.
"Their commander had no name. It was long lost to both himself and anyone who knew him. The lords and generals knew him as simply 'The Commander' or 'The Soldier.' To his men, he was typically only 'sir', which he preferred, or 'Lord', which he hated, hence why his men continued to address him as such. The name he came to be known by was not his given name."
"So gather round ye lads and lasses, pull your seat round the fire, bring ale to your lips, and hear my story of the nameless commander. The man who came from a land unknown and rose to be the subject of the legends I spill out before you. An orphan boy with a heart of stone, softened by a lady who made him flesh once again.
"What may tickle your ears may sound fanciful, impossible, or magical, but I speak these words in good conscience, without any hesitation, that this is no myth or falsehood, but every word I speak will be true.
"So open thine ears, my friends, to the story of the Regiment Men."
