Oliviero di Galeotto, (former) itinerant fencing master

Every day, new ships come into the docks of Port Ffirst, carrying a new batch of settlers for this strange new continent. Adventurers, rovers, exiles, and everything else in between. One family -- a husband, a wife, and a ten year-old girl -- quietly picked up their belongings and got off the ship as soon as it docked. Underneath the thick winter cloak, the husband was dressed in a sombre royal blue doublet, dark leather hose, a black chaperon hat, and buckled boots, all of fine quality, which clashed with his scruffy beard. He wore an exquisite two-handed longsword and dagger on his belt and his bag carried more weapons, all of which he took care to polish and sharpen during the journey across the sea. It's easy to mistake him as an adventurer, but those types don't usually come with family of their own. He kept to himself for all those months on the ship. Brief conversations with the wife suggested that they came from Suzail, the capital of the fabled Kingdom of Cormyr.

The family of three did not tarry in Port Ffirst and immediately made their way towards Daring Heights. They camped away from the road at night in the winter cold and reached the frontier town in the early morning. The Three-Headed Ettin was what the husband remembered being recommended to him before they sailed to Kantas, and sure enough, it was not difficult to find the large tavern/inn in the centre of town. 

"Welcome to the Three-Headed Ettin! If my gut is right, you must be new arrivals. In which case, welcome to Kantas!" Coll greeted them. "How was your tri--"

"Room for three," the husband interrupted curtly as silver coins cluttered softly against the wood of the bar.

In the privacy and security of their room, the couple finally began to relax. The wife laid her sleeping daughter down on the smallest bed and sat on the edge of it, sighing and tucking her blonde hair behind an ear. "There are lots of jobs here. I saw posters on our way. I could be a washerwoman, or a weaver, or a maid, help you pay for food and the roof over our heads," she said in the Chondathan tongue.

The husband grunted, peeking out the window behind the unwashed curtains. "You should not work if you do not have to. Being a sellsword pays well. I can provide for all three of us."

"You're being prideful as usual, husband. I can manage it. Besides, I shall find friends in that manner, and I can bring Caterina with me." She stroked the sleeping little girl's hair. "Let me help you."

"Fine. As you wish." He took off and tossed his hat aside and ran his fingers through his short, black hair. Then he knelt down and began unpacking their bags. She followed suit to assist him.

Moments later, the husband found, amongst his wife's clothes, a few manuscripts. The Art of the Sword by Oliviero di Galeotto, the Wandering Master. He flipped through the pages of instructions and illustrations of swordsmen in various stances -- at times stabbing, slashing, grappling, hitting, and wrestling one another -- and a nostalgic smile formed on his lips.


"Ammalia. I didn't know you kept copies of my manuals," he said, turning around to face his wife.

Ammalia turned around as well. Her eyes fell upon the manuscripts and she pursed her lips. "They belonged to Niccolo," she replied softly.

His smile faded. He quietly offered the manuscripts to her, and she took them and pressed them against her chest. A heavy silence fell between them, which was broken when Caterina awoke and declared that she was hungry. Ammalia scooped her up into her arms with a bit of difficulty, and all three of them went downstairs into the tavern for a long-awaited breakfast.