You were born the bastard son of a tavern wench who was knocked up by a passing stranger one night. The moment she could, your mother abandoned you to... live a life of torment at the tavern keeper's hands. Living off scraps and serving as a source of relief by taking beatings, you've only gotten by on endurance and cunning to avoid more beat downs. This was your existence...... WAS being the keyword.Marching in during the dead of night, the Tyrant King's army sacked the village. Creatures from. His wife came running when he heard it and once her husband told her who it was, she joined him.Once they had calmed a bit, Stevan asked why there was no answer at my house. I listened as they explained how my parents had spent the nearly every day since we left searching for me. However, a few weeks ago they had gotten ill and could not shake it. They were buried last week in the village cemetery. The whole village had attended, and they had spent a few days mourning the loss. I made my way. Dad loved your paper, and thought you did good pieces on government waste," I said continuing my walk. He kept right up with me."Thanks. Would you care to make a comment for the paper?" he asked, holding out a tape recorder.I thought furiously. I could deny this, but it would raise suspicions, and they would be on me like stink on shit. I opted for a second idea that I had thought out long ago."Yes, I am 'The Psychic'. Look, let's go back to my room, and we'll talk," I said leading the way. I. Shortly after I had told them why I was going to Longwood their son gulped down the last of his food and asked permission to leave the table so he could get the barn ready for the driver, male riders, and himself, I and Sarah would be sharing his bedroom in the loft. Shortly after he had left I finished my plate and had gone outside for a walk, doesn’t do to not stretch your legs after a meal, especially when going by stage. The boy’s father found me leaning over the posts for the horses. I.