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I was born in a small farming village, called Tubberclare, it is not found on any map. Tubberlcare means the well of the plain in my homeland. It is located between Blarniland, the shining city on the hill and the port town of Tir Grasta on the west coast of the Emerald Folk lands. It was a quiet little village in my youth, most of the time, with a small inn and tavern house where travelers could always find a clean bed, a hot meal and a strong drink to ease their weary bones. The stables and village blacksmith were next to the inn. Not only was our blacksmith, Hagrund Oxblood, the best smith in all the land at his craft, his wife Yallana was a master leatherworker as well. People would come to our village from places I had never heard of just to commission works from them both. 

Our town also had a barracks that housed around 50 or more guards dispatched there from Blarniland. Our village produced most of the food for the city's inhabitants so the guards were sent to our village to keep it safe, for the bureaucrats that depended upon it. Some in the village would whisper that the guards were there to spy on us, but who can truly say. The most beautiful and mysterious structure in our village was the church. To this day I have never seen another building like it in all of my travels. It was built entirely of stone and had the appearance of having grown where it stood rather than built by skills of the hand. It had no walls, only columns that looked like petrified trees holding up the stone roof with their heavy stone branches. In the winter the Druids would erect thick walls of woven thatch and latticework that they would hang from between the columns to keep away the cold. None in our village could remember when or who had built the church, only that it had always been there and had never changed. The rest of the village consisted of 24 farms that produced everything from apples to zucchini. Each farm looked like a small village in and of itself with several homes in a cluster about the barns, storehouses and workshops where the family clans lived and worked. At harvest each year the population would grow several fold as young men and women from the nearby towns would come to work the fields. It was a festive time, so I always looked forward to harvest. The colorful tent encampments of the Greeks and Dwarves that would come to work the fields were a wonder to see. Best of all, were the colorful stories of adventure and magic that they had to share around the fires after the day's labors were done. I believe it was those same stories of adventure and magic that set my young mind on the path I walk today. I would spend all my spare time seeking out knowledge and lore on the subject of magic and spell casting. This was not an easy task for a young farm boy in a purely agricultural region, but I did manage to glean bits of the information I longed for from travelers at the inn from time to time. These tasty morsels of arcane knowledge only served to stoke the fires of my curiosity more and more. As I grew older, my father would take me with him to the market in Blarniland. After our market day was done, father would give me a few coins and I would rush to the scribes shop where I would search for any book I could find on the subject of magic. I had quite the library for a man my age back then. I would study and try the things I would read in these books. At times I would even seekout the advice of the druids whom were always glad to offer sound advice along with a sermon. Thus it went as my youth slipped away and I grew into manhood. 

My father gave me his blessing when I had told him of my plans to attend the mage guild and become a student of the arts. When I had saved enough money I traveled to Armskirk where I began my studies in the mage guild, Order of the Emerald Heart, under the guidance of the masters there. I was there only a little more than a year and a half when word came that my father had fallen ill. My masters gave me leave so that I was able to return home to care for my father and take care of the farm for as long as it took. Father never recovered enough from his illness to manage the farm again, so it was up to me. I took over and became master of the farm for the next 30 years. In that time I married, raised a family and grew what some boasted to be the biggest and most flavorful produce in all the valley. Some were even heard to say that I must be using some kind of enchantments upon my fields to get crops like I did. It was not the life I had dreamed of in my youth, but it was a good life. But as they often say, all good things must come to an end, and a tragic end that changed my life forevermore.

It was just after the first week of harvest six years ago when the black tide of villainy fell upon the village of Tubberclare. I and many others from the village had traveled to Blarniland with the first offerings of the season for market. Knowing the village would be short of men and guards, murderous bandits attacked the day after our caravan had left. They killed all that stood in their path without mercy and regardless of age. What they could not carry, they burned and slaughtered. By the time the guards and villagers had regrouped to rally against the invaders it was too late for my family and my farm. The bandits scattered to the winds at the first signs of armed and organized retaliation, but the irrevocable damage to our peaceful lives had been done. My entire life in Tubberclare was nothing more than ash and cinders when I returned. The only solace I was given came by word of the Captain of the guard, who gave his word that the bandits had been tracked down and slaughtered like the dogs they were. He swore an oath to me that "none had escaped." With nothing of my old life to keep me in Tubberclare, I resolved to return to the Order of the Emerald Heart and resume my training, if they would have me. After burying my family, I helped my friends and neighbors in the village as best I could before gathering what was salvageable from the ashes of my home and setting off for Armskirk. The Order welcomed me with open arms and compassionate hearts. After a few days rest I began once again the training I had begun so long ago.

Thus ends the age of Taran O'Whaldoon the farmer, for now is the age of Taran O'Whaldoon the wandering mage of the Emerald Heart.