I decided to try my hand at the whole story thing and if anyone likes my story telling I will write more, I sort of wanted to try my hand at writing and also I like playing the game (COAS with GOF) and being able to add a level of depth in my storytelling that maybe will transfer onto you. So hopefully you guys like my story and enjoy!!!! Please leave any criticisms or things you like or do not like and I will try to adress them! Windhearts Tale I looked around, I had woken up aboard the windwaker. My head was killing me, and I was extremely out of sorts. I guess I should introduce myself to whoever is reading this as it is my story and a story needs a background does it not? Roland Windheart is the full name of birth given to me by my father and mother. My father Jacob Windheart and my mother Lynn were simple trades people, they ran a shop in london. It went by the name Windhearts, not surprising knowing my fathers imagination rivaled that of rock. But it was a successful shop and dealt with anything from antique and rare blades to general goods, and foodstuffs. While I was not raised as a king we did not live in squalor either. Father came from a military background, and became a mercenary for hire when he became of age. He eventually joined well known group the Cloaked Death, it was a treacherous name for a group that was quite efficient and lived up to its name. He served as a swordmaster for the group and was quite talented, or that is what he claims, regardless of his claims he fought and lived through part of the civil war that plagued england a couple decades ago. He became relatively wealthy from his exploits in these wars and decided that he wanted to settle down and find a woman and raise children. My mother was raised by a poorer family but she had the advantage of being born beautiful and refused to be a harlot, and instead became a serving girl at the bar. Quite popular and asked for but respected by the men who came for her flirty charm but also her dignity. She was getting older and had never met a true man that was looking for anything other then the bar wench for a few coins. The story goes is that my father entered the tavern my mother worked at all those years ago, she saw my father, a large muscular man with bronzed skin and eyes that were as grey as a tombstone. It was love at first sight so they say, because when my father saw the waitress girl who had stunning blonde hair and a face of gold he was smitten. The rest is history so they say. We had a good life, we talked of god, and country, and my mother even taught me how to write and read at a fairly young age, seperating me from most of folk in our area. She often said that while my dads teaching of swordplay and of guns was fun, and that all that adventure was great, the greatest of men not only perform great acts of power, but of finess, and tact. I fondly remember how I said I would win battles fighting with my blade, "Dear for every stroke of your blade you kill a man, someone will kill thousands with a stroke of a quill" My mother would say this to remind me the best way to defend myself was to know the right people, learn the power of ink and paper. I will not bore you with the story of how I grew up and try to keep it brief, when I reached the age of 17 my father had contracted an unknown illness, the local doctor did not even know what it was and just before my 18th birthday he passed away, the man who could not be felled by blade died just like that from a foe he could not see. My mother went into mourning and never really recovered, and on the year 1665 my mother died, with them my desire to stay in london evaporated, The caribbean was a burgeoning land of oppurtunity and I wanted to escape from the choking confines of the city. I sold my families shop to another local store owner, whose name escapes me and prepared my things and left for port. A dutch trader hollered at his crew to fill his ship while I was wandering about looking at ships. Some of them were menacing ships of the line, while some were just sloops, it was immense to see some of the guns aboard these ships of war! The dutchman I was to eventually sail with was short, grumpy, and had a rather bulby nose. But his mind was sharp and his pockets were never full enough. I noticed him filling his ship and offered him a modest pouch of gold coins if i could sail with him as a passenger if he was headed to the caribbean. As fate had it he was and he was more then willing to take my money. Thus began my journey to the new world, and where the fates would conspire to find me sitting where I am today. Somewhere I could never have expected in my wildest dreams.