But the Mad Lord never knew his father, and when he was ten, his widowed mother passed away from illness. He was raised on the charity of the entire village. The villagers treated him well, and he'd planned to repay their kindness when he grew up. But before he had the chance, everyone in the village—men, women, and children—was murdered. He and a few of his uncles and cousins only survived because they had gone out to sea to fish.
When they returned, they found the same villagers who had been so full of life that very morning lying blood-soaked on the ground. Not even little Raina, who had just turned one month old, was spared. They were all dead.
The Mad Lord sighed deeply at the memory of that horrifying scene. Out of a village of fifty or sixty people, only the seven or eight of them from the fishing boat remained. He was the youngest. After laying their fellow villagers to rest, they decided to venture to Tristone to try and make a life for themselves.
