Thinking back now, the mischievous Morgyn Leah realized that it probably would have been better for him if he had just stayed and fought with his father, and the rest of his people in that great war, but what was to be expected? He was a mere thirteen years of age at the time. In that foreign country, where he was to be a prince, in their land, the highlander wished he had stayed and fought, and died with his people during that massacre, but hadn't. Instead, he had taken his father's promise, to go out, and away, very far away, until there was no way the army called the Federation would expand its rule for several years to come. His father, apparently hoping that his son would have had many offspring by then, and be long since dead, a great great grandfather or something of the sort, their name of 'Leah' far spread throughout the land, the greatest family seen there. It was a dream, a dying man's dream, but a dream nevertheless. Morgyn was beginning to doubt that that dream would ever become true as he pawned yet another piece of armor to get food. He was running out of money, and supplies by the time he reached Iridine. At that point, he only had his one prized possession, the sword of Leah with it's ebony blade deeply engraved into the silver hilt, said to possess magic in a time far past, handed down from generation to generation of the Leah family since as long as it had been around he assumed. That, a tunic, and some breeches, his boots he had worn out so much there was no soles, which he promptly got rid of the useless artifact upon arrival, to get himself more food. Exhausted from the seemingly endless journey, he decided to rest in this foreign land. He awoke next to a strange guy named Phaedro, far too sick of moving, he decided to stay here for a while, finding an abandoned lean-to a good deal out of the way, making it his lodgings for the next few nights, grabbing his favored hand and a half sword of Leah, he figured it was time to go hunting, a mischievous grin crossing his forever scarred face.