Centradon Kashrema by name, I go by the name Dyno, I’ll tell you later how I got it.  I stand at 5’9” and weigh 131 pounds.  I have hair that is cut short, and I am slightly tanned.  My eyes are a light blue and are sharp and keen, if a little worn and weary.  I have tough skin I believe it’s from the long life I’ve lived after all I’m 50. I was found wondering around at the age of five around a wagon or more precisely beside a few bodies that were freshly dead.  

The boy who found me was the same age. His name was Simon.  His father saw me and was astute enough to know that my family died here and I was alone.

He is an entertainer that goes from city to city at one inn or another to make money for him and his son and then to move on.  I looked at him as a savior, the reason I imagine is because he took me in and I was treated the same as Simon, like a son, plus, he didn’t ask questions.  

I grew up learning everything I could about being an entertainer and as I became older I also learned about fireworks and how they worked, the Bard as he was known, was very knowledgeable. I learned how to make them too, that is how I got the name “Dyno,” that and my temper.  

When I reached the age of 18 I left to find my future.  At the same time my brother, Simon left too. And neither of us as far as I know saw the bard again.  Simon went to build his shop of herbs, and he after realizing that the cities made him nervous, went to live in the forest known as Chrimear.  That is where I found him years later raising a small boy named Leman.  I have this medallion it’s from my family and now I’ll tell you why I still have it.


I heard the noise; it came from the direction of my family’s wagon, while I was out looking for the firewood my parents sent me to find.  I ran back from where I was and stopped just before I reached the clearing and peered over one of the bushes.  I didn’t like what I saw.

Four bandits were rummaging through the backend of the wagon that belonged to my parents, “It’s not here,” stated one, he turned as another said, “Nope not here, either,” that one was poking through the other end of the wagon.  “I think that one of them knows where it is,” he said looking over at the group that was tied up.  My eyes followed the look and I remember gasping at what I saw.  My mother, and my father and all five of my older brothers and sister, and their families tied up to let these men look through our stuff.  Afraid that I might have been heard I ducked down into the bushes.  

I was frightened and I wanted to run to my mother for help.  I peered again at what was going on and now I saw blood coming from my mom’s lips.  She had been hit.  

The leader then went over to my family asking, “Where is it?” as he pulled my father up by the neck.  At the blank look on his face, my father was rudely shoved back down only to land on his face, in the dirt.  

After getting his balance back my father asked, “Where is what? We are just some traveling families going to town.” He then stated, “Why would I lie?”

“I’ll ask the questions!” the leader said and back handed him sending back to the ground.  He turned to my mother, “Now, where is the medallion?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she answered quietly.

“I will kill him,” he said as he pulled my father back up from the ground and put a knife to his throat.  

She looked at my father and whatever she saw there gave her strength to say defiantly, “If we knew what you were talking about we would tell you,” the man looked at her and looked at my father, and proceeded to cut his throat.  I gasped.

“Kagen!” she said as tears rolled on to her checks looking at him seeing his lifeblood leaving what was left of his soon to be bloodless corpse, “Why?” she asked looking up at the leader, “We don’t know what you want.”

The man turned away from her tears and went back to his comrades, “Kill them, kill them all,” I remember him saying, he started walking away from the blood bath that had begun.  I shrank from view again, before he saw me since I was more or less in his line of view.

I leaned into the bushes listening to the screams of my family as they pleaded for life, yet in my hiding place I stayed grasping the medallion that my family was dying for.  My parents had told me the day before that no matter what happens to never let it leave my neck.

When the sounds died I looked out from my hiding place and saw that the bandits had left. I ran over to my parents and I leaned down to my mother.

“Mommy, mommy, wake up the bad men are gone,” I said reaching my hands over to shake her and getting my hands all bloody. I didn’t even look at my hands. I remember because later I had to wash my hands to get it all off.

“Centradon,” she choked, “you’re…alive,” she stated as she opened her eyes to look at me.

“Yes,” I cried, “I…saw…heard…Daddy,” I sobbed.

“Hush my son,” she whispered, “I don’t have long,” she looked at me.  “You must never let anyone take that medallion it’s yours and it belongs to this family.  You are all that is left. I love you.” She breathed her last.

“Mommy!” I sobbed.  There I sat clutching what was left of my heritage, and remembering my mother in all her glory.  I was there a long time. I remember because it was just after dawn when I was hiding in the bushes and close to dusk when I met the boy I would call brother.

“Hello,” said a boy.  I jumped.  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

“I’m not crying,” I yelled as I wiped the tears from my eyes and sniffed, giving way to the lie.  What are you doing here?”

“My Da and I,” he pointed the man behind him, “are headed to Deerrick to sing and dance. You see,” he said, as I had looked at him funny, “he’s a bard.”  I looked at the man; he looked back at me not saying anything as he surveyed the mess that had been my family.

The man finally came over to stand behind his son, still looking at me, “ Simon,” he had said, the boy looked up as he put his hands on the boy’s shoulders,  “ Look at him, he’s been through a lot,” he looked at me again and the boy, Simon, turned back to me.  “Come,” He reached out his hand, “it looks like you need a place to go.”  I looked at his hand and looked at his face and knew I would be cared for.

I look around me, “Yeah,” I said, “will you take me to the next town?”

“Sure, I think I can.  How old are you?”

“I’m five,” I remember saying proudly, “My name is Centradon Kashrema, what’s yours?”

The man chuckled, “Well, this young man is Simon,” he pointed to his son, “And Centradon, you can call me ‘The Bard’.”  My tears forgotten, I took the hand that was still being offered.  “Let’s get to shelter, before dark,” He looks around, “I don’t want to be around if someone decides to come back.”

We left and I knew my future awaited me and it had something to do with this family heirloom that hung around my neck.