Josep Francesc Velazquez de Girona i Antúnez, while technically nobility, certainly wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and neither did he grow up with one. As part of the hidalgos, the freemen and lowest ranks of nobility, only his name conveyed his status. The closest relative to own any land or riches were his uncle, and between Josep Francesc and that inheritance stood two other uncles, his father, and his five older brothers. His family had always been blessed in it's ability to sire sons, people said, but Josep Francesc disagreed. To him, all his brothers and extended family did was stand in the way of what should have been his.
Of course, the absence of gold and luxury did not mean an absence of expectations on him. Josep were to make a military career, of course, like his father and brothers before him. Josep resented he idea. Not out of dislike for martial matters in itself, it was a proper and honourable line of work for nobility after all and he was certainly not untalented with weapons, but saw no grandeur in it, no chance to rise to greatness. No gold. His father and brothers all nearly lived in the pauper's squalor, the low pay they recieved hardly covered the costs of living and maintenance of their equipment. There were commoners who were able to make more money and live better than them.
There was however one way Josep thought could bring him both gold, fame, and glory. The New World. With promises of wealth and fortune the Spanish Conquistadores recruited men from all over the country, and they returned with more treasure than any man could hope to spend in a life. It was an easy choice, that between his duty to his family and adventures in the colonies. He ran away in the night, bringing with him only necessities, and joined the hopeful who were setting sail for Hispaniola.
That was how Josep found himself in the service of Hernán Cortés as he brought down the Aztec and conquered Mexico. He learned much from this man and his campaign, how mutiny and disloyalty could be favourable things when used correctly, how to use the enemies of your enemy to your advantage, and how to turn one's enemies' followers into your own. In the end though, these "adventures" certainly did not bring Josep either treasure or fame. As the time and warring went on, Josep grew cold and bitter. Eventually he took what little money he had saved and leased a small farmstead on the Cuban colonies, and found a wife among the Spanish colonists there, and eventually they had a child, and he called him Xesco Montserrat Velazquez de Girona.
As Xesco grew up, his father grew even more spiteful and detatched. He recented the fact that all this work had landed him nothing but a patch of dirt he did not even own, lower than what little he had had back in Spain, and hated that he lived of toiling in mud like a common peasant, and spent whatever petty sums of money they could make on booze and whores, lending money to make do when he had to, and then lending other money to pay his debts. He hardly ever spent any time with with his family, though there was one exception - as Xesco grew into his teens, he taught him proper use of the sword and buckler. The father seemed proud of his son's skill with them, one of the few occacions Xesco ever saw him smile. Sometimes during their training sessions he told his child about his Conquistador days and what he had learned from them, trying to instill into Xesco something of the same kind of ambition that had driven Cortes.
Xesco weren't only skilled with arms, though, but had been blessed with wit sharper than the average as well. His mother taught him languages, how to read and write, and other things from her own meagre education. No doubt she had hoped from him to eventually become a priest, but from early age Xesco's bent towards lying and getting into trouble made it evident that such a career wouldn't be possible. Then, when Xesco had barely come of age, both his mother and father expired from a sudden and violent fever. He was lucky to not have gotten it, people said, but soon the debtors came knocking. They demanded he repayed them for his father's debts, and claimed whatever heritance there was. When there were nothing left to take, they demanded Xesco himself should work the money of as an indentured servant. By then, Xesco had had enough. Having nothing left of his own on Cuba, he decided to sneak away and stove himself aboard a ship heading elsewhere, stopping only to steal back his father's old sword and buckler.
The Carribean proved to have no lack of work for a young fighter like himself, particularly one who didn't have too many scruples. Xesco found work wherever he went, both legal and under the table, and spent the paymuch like his father had before him. Unlike his father, however, he was not driven by any dream of eventual greatness or fame, but lived only to make it through the day. Over the time he drifted into doing more and more illegal business, and he took care to jump from island to island whenever he felt he was becoming to noticeable. Eventually ended up in the crew of a minor pirate - after all, the choice between dying or joining the corsairs had been an easy one. He lived a good if dangerous life, according to his own expectations at least, and had no real intention of ever settling down.
After a decade or so, he did start to get weary, however. Not so much of his lifestyle, but of constantly being on guard and risk being caught. He thought that perhaps it would have been easier if he stuck on the non-shady side of the law. After all, it could pay just as good, and there were plenty of opportunities. He needed to start again, and he looked from the Spanish territories to the English in the north. He was unknown there, just another immigrant among the rest. A good place for a new start.
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Topic: Pathfinder (Dungeons and Dragons) DoomOnion is your DM! (Read 18305 times)