Fredrinn

Born the son of Duke Vance, Fredrinn grew up into a gifted adventurer, but also the notorious 'money-grubber' in Los Pecados. The crystal in his chest had long merged with his heart. The terrifying scar would never fade, and Fredrinn never bothered to conceal it. All he had in mind was his search for his lost friend... "Be a darlin' an' pour me a shot of your signature drink," the drunken tramp slurred at the bartender. "An' I'mma tell y'all the truth 'bout that bastard Fredrinn!" People in Los Pecados had long since memorized tales about Fredrinn, but his name was still like a siren call, alluring anyone who'd heard it toward its source. "Two shots for our good friend," a young smuggler spoke up, tossing a handful of pennies onto the counter. "Ahh, mighty fine gentleman. I'll make it worth yer while I assure ya. This one's somethin' ya'll 'ave never heard of!" The tramp exclaimed. Everyone in the bar had their eyes on the grimy tramp, save for the man drinking alone in the hidden corner, a compass clenched tightly in his hand. "The story begins over a dozen years ago," the tramp commenced, sounding surprisingly sober after taking a swig of his drink. "After receivin' his fief, Duke Vance of Castle Grandrock opened up the seaborne trade route to Northern Vale. Merchant ships from the north…all laden with rare produce…and all tradin' exclusively with the Duke. Why, the old weasel was practically bathin' in profits!" The tramp took another gulp, looking around at the greasy faces eagerly waiting for the next part. "But riches and prestige gave the Duke little pleasure," he continued. "If any, this newfound wealth only served to stir in 'im an even greater desire: To climb to the very top of the Imperial nobility. The Duke began to discipline his children with stringent rules, punishin' any child who dared disobey his words." "For once, I'm damn glad I ain't some rich codger's son!" the smuggler interjected. "Aye, an' you wouldn't be alone," the tramp replied. "One of the Vance boys gave the Duke an endless headache. This young'n had no interest in the rules and etiquettes of the nobles, and had a hankering for freedom and adventure. The Duke didn't want the brat's nasty ideas infectin' the other children's minds. So, he arranged for the boy to study at the Monastery of Light." "Pretty convenient excuse to suck up to the Monastery's Archbishop!" the barkeep chimed in. "Well, you'd be right," the tramp replied. "As the Duke was in dire need of stronger political allies. The boy, however…had other plans. Havin' overheard his father's arrangement, the little rascal decided to sneak outta the Castle and sail off on a so-called adventure of his own." "I reckon the Duke wouldn't have much to worry 'bout, though," the smuggler butted in again. "Spoiled little brat like 'im, he'd soon be running back to his daddy!" "Aye, the Duke figured as much," the tramp responded. "Old Vance was bloody livid, but didn't even bother lookin' for his boy! "The brat, howeve