Character idea

This is a back story for a character i wrote. I think it's a bit cliche, but i still like it. I'm not sure what's going to come of it yet though. It's supposed to be told as, say, a campfire story or the like.

 

My name is Rahne; Rahne Irvine.  I had a normal life growing up, living in the town of Fardun.  You won’t find that town on any map, but not because of it’s size.  I’ll get to that in a moment.  I was an apprentice to the local wizard, Orzog, I think he was.  Orzog the Great, but his name doesn’t matter.  Anyway, I was apprenticed to him, in the study of magic.  It was in my third year of study that things went awry.  It was a warm day, pleasantly warm, and sunny.  I made my way as usual to the tower of the mage, and the day went by as normal.  I helped do research, I helped with experiments, I furthered my own studies.  All normal.  And then he asked for help on a new experiment.  One he had been working on in his studies for a while.  He was working on transmuting the properties of magical beasts into normal creatures.  The sigils were set, the proper spells in place, the material components set where necessary.  Everything was perfect.  My master started the incantation; the words of magic flowing in and around the room, weaving a brilliant tapestry of light and power throughout the room.  It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.  And then… the melodious sound of the magic fell off key.  At first, I thought it was nothing; one note out of thousands out of tune. It was not even noticeable.  But more and more notes began falling out of tune.  The once glorious tune began to fall into a discordant dirge.  With shrieks and groans of protest, the tower began to rend at its seams.  As my master began to strain with the pressure of keeping the spell under control, I cast what defensive spells I knew around myself.  I knew I couldn’t shield my master; he was too far woven in the spell.  I watched in horror, behind what flimsy walls I could conjure, as the world warped and crumbled around me. 

With a wrenching scream, the stones of the tower crumbled inward, forced into the engulfing maw that was my master and his life’s work.  All light, sound, the very air, began to be swallowed by the whole in reality with growing intensity.  Tears streamed down my face as I silently screamed.  My life was being ripped apart at the seams, and there was nothing I could do but watch.

 

I cannot say how long it took for the whole in reality to crumble into oblivion, but it seemed like days; watching the very fabric being forcibly pulled apart.  With a final shriek of protest, the tower came apart.  With a violent explosion, the gaping hole in reality blasted outward, completely obliterating the tower and taking the town and most of the surrounding countryside with it.  The strain on my shields was too great; I lost consciousness.

 

I awoke; my mind, numb; my body, broken.  When the pain lessened to the point where I could think, I realized I had been thrown from the tower.  I spent days out in the elements, in constant pain.  Though I seemed to be healing inexplicably fast for the grievous injuries I had sustained.  Despite my miraculous healing, I don’t think I would have made it, had not a group of monks been making their way to our village this time of year.  They took and bandaged my wounds, and took me with them to keep an eye on me as I healed. 

 

For years after the incident, I spent my time with the monks at their monastery.  I tried to pick up my magic again, but something in me prevented it.  Even the simplest spells escaped me; the magic seemed to absorb into my being.  Instead, I learned to fight.  I trained under the monk’s tutelage; growing in their art.  As I grew in focus, I also grew in form.  My skin grew thicker, my hair longer; I became almost animal-like.  I think it was a result of the explosion from m y master’s laboratory.  I don’t know the extent of the changes that took place, but the ones I do know about make me seem almost not human.  But, back to my story. 

I spent a fair few years at the monastery, living a life of peace.  Every year, we would travel to the villages, far and wide, to bring what help we could to the people.  Always I would have to hide my features, for fear of someone thinking me a demon.  From head to toe, I had to be wrapped in cloth.  Needless to say, it was not the most fun thing. 

Anyway, we would journey to outlying villages.  It had been some time since I had been back to my home; ever since the explosion and my physical… changes, the monks had not let me out of their sight, and, I suppose for good reason.  Anyway, on one of our such outings, we were attacked by a group of marauders.  We were sorely outnumbered, but we fought as best we could.  I saw more and more of my friends being cut down; my new family.  I would not lose them as I had lost my old friends and family.  A rushing sound filled my ears.  Something inside me snapped.  I lept upon our attackers with newfound fury, destroying everyone that stood in my way; they would not take me from my family.  My vision became red with fury, I could no longer think clearly; my mind lost in bestial rage.  I was a creature born of vengeance, of justice, of hate.  I should not have succumbed to my rage.  I should have kept control.  I should have… I should have done many things.  I did not.  In screaming fury, I slew our attackers.  My mind a tumult of emotion. 

            When the slaughter was done, none were left standing.  Not my friends, not my enemies.  I was alone. Everyone was dead.  For the second time in my life, everything I knew was gone.  Everyone I knew, dead.  Then the irony became apparent; this was my old home.  I recognized the features of the landscape, changed as they were by time. Some of the bodies looked familiar.  I was lost to grief.  At that moment, I vowed never again would I let that happen. Never again would I let those around me die; and furthermore, never again would I lose control of who I was, who I had become.

            I buried the bodies of my family and friends; those who had become so dear to me.  They would have rest.  They would have peace in death, as they had known in life.  So too, I buried the bodies of my enemies.  I had not known them, nor had I any love for them, but they were a product of my failure.  They could have been changed, reformed.  I had not given them that chance.  I marked each of their graves with a memorial stone; said a prayer for each in turn. I tied a piece cloth from the robe of my master around my head and picked up his staff.  I took what I could scavenge and carry from our meager possessions, and the destroyed town and began, once again, down the road into a new world.  I had already had two chances at life.  I had failed in both respects.  I would not fail a third time.  Never again would I lose control.  Never again would others suffer for my shortcomings.  I would not let that happen.