Atrus

''In the tribe of Bjorkgarr, Atrus Volsung was the last of four born to the leader of his father Ciceroix’s tribe. During his birth, his mother had been more than twice as wide as she was tall, and the process of delivery took one month and three days after it had begun. It had taken a toll on her own health and was slowly killing her. Like the majority of his tribe, Ciceroix cared very little for his wife and much less for his offspring. The villagers were startled, when he declared that he would follow the tradition of following his beloved one to the end. They had not thought they were particularly in love, nor aware that such a tradition existed. Still, the people were grateful, for the little drama alleviated their boredom, which was a common problem in the dull and heavy thicket of forest and dirt. His father was of Human-race and his mother, a halfling.''

''Ciceroix gathered his household staff and his five fat, bawling little heirs in front of him, and divided his estate. To his son Enoch, he gave his title; to his son Targus, he gave his fortune; to his daughter Lydia, he gave his army. Ciceroix’s advisors had suggested that he withhole the inheritance for the better of the tribe, but Ciceroix did not care for his advisors, or the tribe, for that matter. Upon making his declaration, he drew his jagged dagger across his throat.''

''One of the caretakers, who was rather mute, finally spoke as Ciceroix’s life ebbed away. My liege, you forgot your fourth child, little Atrus. Ciceroix groaned. It is difficult to try and concentrate with blood squirting from one’s aorta. The tribal leader tried in vain to think of something to pass, but there was nothing left.''

''Finally he muttered under his dying breath, irritably, Atrus should have taken something then. Ciceroix, upon his last words, choked on his own blood and passed away. A babe like Atrus, but a few days old was expected to demand his rightful inheritance was unfair. But so Atrus Volsung was given his birthright with his father's dying breath. Atrus would have nothing, but what he had taken.''

Childhood
''Since no one else would have him, the mute caretaker, whose name was not disclosed, took the baby home. It was a decrepit little hut, and over the years that proceeded his birth, it became more and more decrepit. Unable to find labor, the caretaker sold all of her furnishings in a desperate attempt to buy food for little Atrus. When he was old enough to walk and talk, she had sold the walls and the roof as well, so they had nothing but a rotted wooded floor to call home.''

''The caretaker neglected tell Atrus the story of his birth, that his two brothers and sister were leading prosperous lives with their inheritances. She was hurt due her lack of proper speech, in fact, that whenever he asked any questions about where he came from, the caretaker would cry and run away. That was more or less her answer to everything, to flee.''

''Atrus learned how to run almost as soon as he could walk. He couldn't keep up with his adopted mother at first, but in time he learned to go toe-heel if he anticipated a short but brisk sprint, and heel-toe if it seemed she was headed for a long distance marathon flight. Atrus never did get all the answers he needed from her, but he did learn how to run.''

''The tribe of Bjorkgarr had, in the years that Atrus was growing, become quite a place of chaos. Tribal leader Enoch did not have a bank, for Targus had been given that; he did not have an army to protect the people, for Lydia had been given that. Furthermore, as he was but a child, all of the important decisions went through Enoch's corrupt tribune. It had become a land of taxes, rampant murder, and frequent raids from neighboring kingdoms. Not a unusual situation for any kingdom in Aegis, but an unpleasant one nonetheless.''

''The time finally came when the taxcollector arrived to the caretaker’s hovel, such as it was, to collect the only thing he could – the floor. Rather than protest she ran away, and Atrus never saw her again. Without a home or a mother, Atrus did not know what to do. He had grown accustomed to the cold open air in the caretaker's shack, but he was hungry...''

An Unfair Birthright
This book has yet to be published and distributed to a village/town/city.