Look, I’m not gonna give you some dramatic, poetic backstory where I grew up under moonlight learning swordsmanship from some wise master with a tragic death. No. I crawled out of the mud like the rest of the bastards who weren’t born in silk. And I earned every scar on this body.

Mercenary life? Brutal. Bloody. Addictive. You either get good, or you get dead. And me? I got very good. Reputation followed me like a bad song. Calder the Red Blade. Calder the Ghost. 