They say there's a black sheep in every family. Well, if it's true, I think I must be the black sheep of the Brooker family. Now before you start getting the wrong impression about me, let me explain. It's not that I'm particularly bad, or that I don't love my folks. Let's just say ... that I've never quite fit in at home, and that I've always seemed to have a knack for trouble. Here, let me tell you my story, and you'll see what I mean. I'm the youngest of five: two older brothers, two older sisters, in that order. Dad is a guard in Port Hempstead, and mother does cleaning for some of the noble families there. They've never come out and said it, but I think they were hoping the gods would stop blessing them after four. Brent and Garrett are seven and five years older than me, and Claire and Grace are four and two years older, respectively. That meant that by the time I was toddling around, Brent and Garrett were old enough to be off playing all the games I wanted to play, and right from the beginning I got stuck with the girls, who didn't want a little brother tagging around either. And the other boys who lived near us? Well, we never really got on either, especially after I caught them teasing my sister Grace and one of her friends. Let's just say I learned to tussle early on, and never really got out of the habit of getting into fights. Black sheep. You see what I mean? Just wait, it gets worse. By the time I was eleven or twelve, my brothers were pretty much men grown. Brent became a guard with my father, and Garrett apprenticed to a blacksmith, and he gets to make swords and shields and armor all day. I was sick with jealousy, let me tell you. Making swords sounded a lot more fun than running errands on the Hempstead docks, which is how I brought home a little extra coin for the family. Eventually I moved up from running messages to unloading cargo once I grew some muscles, only there was this little disagreement with my boss and I lost the job. Really, it wasn't anything much. He overreacted. A couple apples out of a big crate--what's the big deal? The kids were hungry, with these big eyes, just staring at them as I unloaded them. The kind of children you know always have that tight feeling in their bellies. What was I supposed to do? But anyway, that was the end of that. Well, by that time Pa figured I was old enough to think about getting ready to join the guard. I was fifteen or sixteen again, so he started taking me over to Garrett's blacksmith shop, and teaching me about weapons. Boy, now I thought I knew how to fight before then, but there's a difference between using your fists and trying to hit someone with a sword almost as big as you are, wearing a suit of armor that weighs as much as your older sister! Sometimes Brent came too. Really, I think Brent and Garrett just like the chance to pick on their little brother a bit, and send me home sore and tired, covered in bruises, but I didn't mind. I stuck to it--I can be stubborn like that--and learned how to fight their way too. And wouldn't you know? When I was eighteen, Pa managed to get me a spot with the guard. I know what you're thinking. Some black sheep, right? Well just wait. You haven't heard it all. You see, after I'd been a guard for about a year, one day when I came to relieve someone of his shift, I found him tormenting this poor half-giant woman. Don't get me wrong, I have no love for monsters, but there's a difference between "escorting someone out of the gates" like we're supposed to do for the monster types, and pushing this woman around, trying to get her to fight him and calling her names. I guess he figured she was big and strong enough that it might be some sport and ... well, it just made me mad to see someone treating a woman like that, part giant or not. It's not like she was a dark elf or anything. She'd only tried to sneak in to sell some things in the market, not go steal babies or nothing. Anyway, we'll say that laying another guard out in the middle of the square is not exactly the shining image the Port Hempstead guards were looking for, even if the other guy did get a tongue-lashing for not just escorting her out like he was supposed to. I think the black eye, broken nose and split lip I gave him was a better lesson in common courtesy, but that's just me. Neither the captain nor my dad agreed with me, and ... well let's just say my dad and I had a little "talk" and we both decided I was still a bit too young and hot-blooded for this whole guard business, and that it might be a good idea to go ... how did he put it? Get the vim and vinegar out of my system somewhere else. So I packed a bag, and kissed mum and Grace goodbye, and stopped by Fort Wayfare to see Claire--she's married now, with two little ones of her own. And, well, that's basically where I am now. Wandering around, seeing a bit of the world, picking fights (but only usually for good reasons, like when someone insults a lady), and getting into trouble. But what do you expect? Like I said, I've always been the black sheep.