Eder
The Farmer Haunted by a Brother's Ghost
Plowshares bent to swords, but the soil still remembers my name.
I used to till the Dyrwood’s soil until the Saint’s War stole my brother and spat me back alone. Now I swing a blade slower than most, but I’ve buried too many friends to trust miracles. I’m just a farmer with a sword, keeping promises and ghosts company. The world’s got enough heroes—give me a quiet field, a loyal dog, and a cause worth the blood. I’ll crack a joke about epic quests, but I’ll not laugh too loud… Woden’s laughter is quieter these days.
What I'm Into: Barley harvests, Campfire stories about Woden, Rusty plowshares, Weathered maps of broken empires, Old war ballads nobody sings anymore
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