Mattonte

The Early Years
As a young man Mattonte grew up in a small village of the Eastara Plains near the Black Swamp. The son of the village's Lord he was well known among the people. Despite being the son of the Lord, Mattonte wasn't given many breaks. His father, attempting to make Mattonte strong and ready for leadership, refused to give his son a silver spoon and instead insisted he learn the lessons life had to offer.

At an early age Mattonte took to the blade. His father already a skilled fighter taught him all he knew so that his son would be safe. Soon he was practicing twice a day in the art of combat. He learned not only how to handle the great sword but also mastered the art of stealth and the dirk.

Mattonte soon found another teacher. An old hermit who lived on the outskirts of the village. She would train Mattonte in a different form. One of the mind and of the spirit. He took from her lessons how to size a man up and know the measure of him. How to know if one was worth trusting and to understand the true drive behind someone.

It was at this time Mattonte came across a young redheaded girl of his village. Finding themselves of the same spirit they soon became inseparable. Mattonte soon fell deeply in love. Ignoring his studies in favor of more romantic pursuits. Soon the two became as one and all was well with the world.... until the red wave.

The Red Wave Invasion
One day while Mattonte's village went about it's tasks horror struck. A raiding party of red clad warriors rushed the village slaughtering all that stood in their way. Mattonte and the rest of the village guard fought as hard as they could but wave after wave of the conquerors flooded the town's streets. The invasion would claim the lives of the village leaders including Mattonte's father and the hermit that lived on the outskirts of the village. Mattonte was barely able to go into exile taking his new bride with him as the town burned in the distance.

The Aftermath
Falling into despair Mattonte found refuge in a camp with a tiny group of other refugees of the Red Wave. Blaming himself for the fall of his village his heart focused on one thing alone....revenge. Every day he practiced and built up the hatred in his heart. Pushing himself harder and faster than ever before the easy going and charismatic Mattonte had fallen at the village. A dark and spiteful Mattonte grew in his place. For years his heart turned to stone and to vengeance as he plotted the destruction of his enemies. One by one he saw their red armor turn crimson.

In the end it was his wife, the innocence she held onto even after the destruction of their village that brought him back. Seeing the hatred and anger consume him and realizing he was quickly loosing the only thing left he had in this world Mattonte turned from his rage...and towards the world.

The Wandering Years
Leaving the small group Mattonte and his wife explored the world. Traveling from city to city and country to country. With each now encounter and new town Mattonte found himself returning to his old self. The end of his world seemed to fade as he started to realize that the world was so much bigger than one village on the plains. Together Mattonte and his wife had countless adventures in the Old World and The New World. It was here that his legend started to grow.

Already a skilled swordsman his charisma and easy going style made him friends no matter what town he laid his head in. He stopped cultivating his anger and instead cultivated stories, adventures and friends. He no longer asked of himself "why" but instead asked the world "Why not?"

From the rolling highlands of the kilted lords to the jungle encrusted ruins of the ancients Mattonte sought adventure and excitement. Lending his sword, his ear, his food and his time where needed he quickly became apart of countless stories told across the world.

The Legend
After years of wandering the earth Mattonte and his wife settled in a small village on the edge of the Black Swamp. There they lived peacefully among the people not as Lord and Lady as they had in their home village but just as another family contributing to their society.

One day while practicing his great sword in the field three riders approached the village. Mattonte felt the well of fear in his throat as he tried to swallow the memories of the Red Wave. The three quickly made their way to Mattonte and encircled him

The leader of the group was no mere bandit. In fact Mattonte had of course heard of The Magnificent Kevin. With him was the young blade Ryan and the legendary Nate VonAxe. Mattonte inquired what would bring such a group to his doorstep. When they explained they had come for him Mattonte scoffed. The three challenged the now legendary fighter and his great sword to a duel. Which he graciously declined before suggesting the three leave.

''A challenge was issued by Lord Kevin, they would all fight him at once, and if one of the riders could land a blow on Mattonte, he must lay down his blade and submit to them. If Mattonte could strike them they would get on there horse and leave him be. However at any time of need if the village required assistance Mattonte could call on them and they would heed his request.''

After being agreed upon the three encircled Mattonte and drew their blades. Each taking strikes they could find no hole in his defense. Before they could close the distance his blade was on them and they had to retreat. Mattonte's blade found the wheat in the field like a scythe yet it could never find it's target.

''After many hours, all four men were exhausted, but unscathed. Realizing that the duels would never end they called it a draw. It was then agreed upon that if Lord Kevin and the other legends pledged to protect the village from here on out then Mattonte agreed to join their ranks.''

The Bridge of Lances
During the age of the northern invasion The Iron Hand was slowly marching towards their goal of conquering the lands to the south. Among these lands lay the Eastara Plains. As agreed upon The Legends held these lands under their protection and in alliance with the Hemartian Kingdom kept the peace.

The Iron Hand invasion force had been continuing their march and camped just north of one of the three bridges leading from the hill covered north to the flatland of the Eastara Plains. The Legends had gathered at the bridge itself in a scouting attempt. When it was discovered that The Iron Hand would be able to advance past the bridge before the Hemartian Legion arrived they knew something must be done. The Hemartian Legion did not know which bridges would be used as passage. If they chose incorrectly The Iron Hand could slip by them. If they split their forces to protect multiple bridges The Iron Hand may overpower them. They had to know what bridge to focus on. It was agreed that Nate VonAxe would ride to the bridge to the east and The Magnificent Kevin would ride to the bridge to the west. As soon as either legend found the Hemartian Legion they would ride back to meet the Iron Hand as quickly as possible.

In the meantime it would be up to Mattonte to hold the bridge.

The Iron Hand, both rested and ready for battle, had left their camps and marched towards the bridge. The thunder of their boots shook the pebbles on the ground as if tremors from an earthquake foretold their arrival. Over the hill the battalions marched till the bridge was in sight. The bridge had been abandoned. The wool, lamp oil and other goods that had been sold by nearby vendors left in their place. In the center of the bridge stood a single man, with a massive sword.

The general of The Iron hand along with a few of his guards slowly left rank and rode their horses onto the bridge, meeting Mattonte in the center. The two parties began to talk, exchanging their names and ranks before The Iron Hand started to posture. Claiming dominion over all they demanded he relinquish his weapon and step aside. Silently Mattonte just smiled at them and rested the tip of his blade on the stone bridge beneath his feet. Insulted by his disrespect the general ordered his guards to kill the man before he turned his horse to return to his troops. He had not even reached halfway down the bridge before the cries of the men rang in the air. Turning to see the man fall he was shocked to see all three guards lay on the stone bridge cut down alongside their horses. Standing silently in the middle of them stood Mattonte. The tip of his now blood red sword resting calmly on the stone bridge. Kicking his horse into action the general rejoined his troops and ordered a wave of soldiers to take the man alive. It was to be torture.

The foot soldiers charged hungry for battle. Their longswords glistening in the sunlight. They charged hard and fast across the bridge and just before they could get within reach Mattonte kicked his sword from it's resting place.....and it began.

The soldiers soon found there was no safe place on the bridge. Mattonte could reach them far easier and faster than they could get to him, and in a quick few moments they joined the guards in their fate.

Furious their general sent in a wave of some of his most skilled fighters only to have them reach the same fate.

"No more games" the general had declared and sent the full force at his command to the bridge. The narrowness of it's masonry causing them to funnel straight at Mattonte's blade. Wave after wave of The Iron Hand fell. They now had to climb over piles of their fallen companions to even get a glimpse of their target. Mattonte's blade swung with such precision and speed it seemed to be at every point of the bridge simultaneously.

Two days passed and still they could not advance. The Iron Hand sent in beasts and monsters they had brought from the the frozen north. Fitting as they quickly became cold and lifeless as they fell off the side of the bridge. Archers flew storms of arrows in the air only to have them redirected by the rush of Mattonte's swing.

The fifth day arrived and the bodies of fallen had started to weigh down the bridge. The stone masonry held but cracks started to form in the structure. Finally The Iron Legion unleashed their wave of lances. One wave after another came at the legendary fighter and one after another they fell to the side. However fighting for five days with no food and no water Mattonte had weakened. His blade was just ever so slightly slower and one lance found it's way through his guard striking his ankle.

The pain refocused his attention and he quickly sliced through one of the barrels of oil coating his blade. One spark from a strike on the bridge and his sword flickered with fire. Each swing now arched a wave of fire as he pushed the lances back. Further and further he pushed them back to their line. Looking back at the distance between himself and the other side of the bridge Mattonte knew there was only one option. With his broken ankle there would be no way he could reach the end before they regained their ground.

So he furiously swung and created a circle of fire around him giving him the space he needed. After his final swing he brought his sword in the air...and struck straight into the bridge.

The bridge already under immense pressure cracked and busted. Those still on began to panic and attempted to retreat but it was to late. The bridge crumbled beneath them and they began to fall. Like a cart dumping the harvest wheat the bodies on the bridge, the living soldiers as well as Mattonte plummeted the thousands of feet to the depths of the raging river below. Successfully halting the progress of the Iron Hand...Mattonte had fallen.

By the time The Iron Hand had found a way across the chasm they where met with the full power of the Hemartian Legion led by The Magificent Kevin and Nate VonAxe.

Ringing of the Bells
There is a long standing tradition in the Eastara Plains when their people loose a great leader or someone of significant importance the people will perform a ceremony called The Call. In an attempt to make sure the gods are aware of the important soul that is coming their way each village holds a ceremony involving bells. Ringing them as loudly as they can together to capture the attention of the Gods.

Once the Gods have been called it is the job of the harbinger to inform them of the importance in that moment. Speaking aloud the accomplishments of the deceased loudly to them that they may know the worth of their new companion.

In respect for his fallen friend, Nate VonAxe traveled to the plains to serve as Mattonte's harbinger. Performing The Call each night for three months.

The Unknown Island
Unbeknownst to the world the fall off the bridge did not kill Mattonte. In fact his unconscious body was carried down stream to the lake it fed. There he floated for two days before washing ashore on The Unknown Island. The natives discovered him as they fished and brought him back to their village. For a month they nursed him back to health. Placing a cast on his ankle, pulling the arrows from his limbs and keeping him alive on a broth. Many nights they believed he wouldn't make it to dawn but each day his breath held.

After a month Mattonte's eyes finally reopened. Confused at first the battle quickly came to back to his mind. Unable to speak the natives language he could only do his best to thank them for their help.

Over the following weeks Mattonte grew his strength back. Helping in the village where he could, he hobbled on a makeshift crutch as his ankle healed. He lived among them, learning their culture and even their language to a lessor extent. Each day wondering when he might be able to rejoin his family.