Xeresgate

The quiet, royal town of Xeresgate... a small plethora of homes, made of half-timber construction, seem almost to cower in the presence of the king's castle on the mount... Castle Xeres. No one knows how the castle got its name, but it has had it for generations.

The current king is King Michael the Magnificent (only called King Michael the Proud in cautious yet irreverant whispers)... an arrogant king, yet fierce in battle, his might is definitely what won him his throne. Subduing all nearby kingdoms and forcing them to rigorously learn the language of Xeresgate to absolute perfection, his tribute is paid in ego as well as gold. He rules with an iron fist, with the best trained army in the whole country of Illistria... even as he himself begins to rest on his laurels and enjoy the tempting entrapments that tenuous peace provides. It is rumored even that Michael is born of the Thunder Clan, which clan was all but decimated entirely by King Michael himself. Even though no evidence of his Lightning Mastery has ever been seen, the rumor stays the strongest (for whatever reason) here in Xeresgate.

That said, the people here enjoy a peaceful life. The taxes are mild, with most governing monies coming in tribute from other kingdoms, and the royal conscription happens but once every two years exacting but 5% of the population. In truth, most farmers tend to prefer working for a commander such as King Michael, as his exploits are widely known... and they are paid handsomely. Busy commerce with neighboring provinces makes for a bustling economy and magic is not outlawed here, only kept watch over by the Bloodhand Guard, an elite group of sorcerors whose mere presence tends to calm would-be hothead wizards.

It is actually to such a hothead wizard's household that you were born. You have no recollection of it, so I figured I'd let you in on the secret...

Your father died in an alehouse brawl the day before you were born... killed for unruly magic use by a particularly ruthless member of the Bloodhand Guard named Farnus. Farnus quickly quelled the alehouse uprising by causing your father's ribs to crack inward upon themselves. From all accounts, he died gasping for air, choking on his own blood, and cursing Farnus. The curse was redeemed, ironically, by King Michael who hearing of his heavy-handed ways, had Farnus drawn and quartered. (He may be proud, but most agree that he is a good king.)

Now, unbeknownst to your mother, your father had been casting secret incantations on you in the womb. He was a particularly clever wizard, and wanted to be sure that you inherited the family magics that he possessed... at the very least. What he didn't know, however, was the proper augmentations to be made to such spells when concerning an unborn child, as this sort of thing had never been heard of on this world. Tragically, when you were born (six months prematurely), you were invisible. Oh, the afterbirth blood and such was perfectly fine, but you were born invisible yet mostly grown. Your mother couldn't get over the fact that she felt like she'd had a child, but that the birth only seemed to bring forth the mildest of miscarriage placenta. She mourned your loss even as you grew in a neglected corner of her house, sustained purely by magic.

When you grew old enough to hunger, tantalizing smells drew you toward the market... and forever away from your mother, whom you've never met and who doesn't even know you're alive. You sustained yourself from that tender age of five and onward by stealing bits of meat, fruit, vegetables, and bread when the merchants weren't looking. Some merchants even came to regard Tressex Square as cursed, unable to explain the disappearance of their foods. As you grew, you came to understand the Xeresgate language, and slowly began to realize the futility of your plight, being an invisible lad in a city of "visibles". You became ever more self-conscious (even though no one really knew you existed) and began to sneak into clothing merchants' homes at night to try on fashionable goods while the owners slept. A pale reflection of nothingness from every mirror... every puddle... has created in you a growing resentment, and bitter despair for your plight...

This is where you find yourself today. You are standing in the middle of Tressex Square, surrounded by people bustling all around you. If they bump into you, it's so crowded that no one notices. The king's castle lies up the hill to the north, beyond the iron gates of the outer wall. All around you are various merchants selling their wares. You wish to understand yourself, but have no real idea how to begin.

What will you do?