Henry Titor was at the end of his sad life. He was wrapped in a pile of old clothes and half-torn blankets; nestled in the back seat of a delivery truck, which had fused with a pile of cider blocks. On record, it was the coldest winter that Washington state had seen in the past century. Why was Henry spending his last few hours in the back of a broken truck? Short answer, he had given up on life. It was like life had cast him perpetually as Kambei Shimada from the film Seven Samurai, but it robbed him of a good last battle.
Henry was a man who had done a little bit of everything in life. He had joined sex-cults in his youth, tried most varieties of drugs, hung out with celebrities and athletes, tried politics, and embedded himself in alternative lifestyles and prepper culture. He traveled to a few foreign countries and did just about everything a child; who was advised to “live life” would do. Now he is an old man and can only regret that he never settled down. That he lived his life based on such terrible advice from people who never did what they counseled.
Henry pondered on his last moments, his life one of regret and longing. He wished he could do it all over again differently. The cold chill of winter had long penetrated his limbs transforming them into blackened stubs. In moments, Henry Titor exhaled for the last time.; and his eyes gave way to an immense gloom.
Then an eternity in darkness passed by him; and his eyes were stabbed by a white-hot illuminance. His lungs burned, and he cried out in both joy and pain; he felt the surreal sensation of being lifted into a warm room. His blurry eyes gradually cleared, and he discovered that he was quite literally born again. His wish for a second chance was granted, and he felt the hope of a new beginning.
A deep male voice cheered at the sight of the newborn baby. “Honey, I can’t believe it; our first child is gorgeous. Thank you so much, for all your hard work.” Clodio Salveux held his newborn son; the sweaty midwife smiling gently at the new parent. After a warm moment between father and son; the midwife handed the child to his wife, Emilia Salveux. The woman looked on the child at her breast; and said, “We should name him Merovic after your grandfather.”
“I agree, its both a fine name and it will give a subtle jab to those nit-picky elders. Merovic Salveux it is.”
For Context: Merovic the Elder, was the last elected great chief of the united confederation of the Salii, Austresii, and Rudarii tribes. After a lifetime of intrigue and conflict with the inter-connected tribes of the confederation: He managed to centralize the confederation into a loose kingdom. He made a deal with the Rumelian Empire and was granted the titles of Imperator and Consul of the Gauntic Territories. For ten years, he governed the kingdom as Imperator. Officially, he was not the king; therefore, what he did was on “behalf” of the kingdom and was not in his own “self” interest. As a Consul of the Rumelian Empire, the “kingdom” was not officially expanding its domain; it was the empire that was reuniting the disparate tribes that had left its original jurisdiction. It was only a coincidence that the kingdom was the only force that could reunite the region; it would only be a “temporary” measure, to allow the Consul to lead the reunited territories of the empire. His aggressive expansionism was thus covered with a veneer of legitimacy.
Merovic the Elder would expand and strengthen his family holdings with guile and ruthless cunning: His plans and plots seemed never ending to onlookers, earning him the moniker of “spider-prince”. Through his schemes, he would later appoint his son as the mayor of the palace: A title that gave his son exclusive control over the management of the kingdom’s capital, effectively making him both gatekeeper and kingmaker. Merovic then crowned his brother Gisiler to the throne of the fledging Salian Kingdom. While his scheming ways gave Merovic a great deal of power and influence; he understood that he could not legitimately take the crown for himself, without destroying all he built. To that effect, he paved the way for his progeny to someday succeed him. It has been five years from the date of Merovic the Elder’s death, most don’t believe he really died, they think it is just another of his shady schemes.
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Clodio and Emilia lovingly gazed at the newborn between them, the baby’s sapphire eyes reflecting the warm candlelight. Henry Titor/Merovic Salveux looked at his new parents and pondered his future. “My new parents are rather good looking, and my father looks rather immaculate. His clothes are a little odd, the room is lit by candles, and it looks like some sort of leather is covering the windows: I can infer that I am in a medieval setting. It could be worse; I was a wandering bum for a while, ruffing it without central heating or microwaves won’t kill me. On the flipside I guess that means, I can look forward to a relatively nice well-to-do upbringing and I’ll be handsome to boot. Not that I was ugly in my past-life, but extra points in charisma never hurt anybody.” Merovic sighed, rolled around in his new-mother’s arms, farted and then fell asleep.
It was in the year 465 of the Ever-pure’s descent, the young Merovic would later be baptized in the first church established within the capital by the late elder Merovic. He would be consecrated in the sacred oils of the Rumelian church, and with all the art and pomp that could be afforded by the Salii tribe; Merovic was the first child of the Salveux family to receive the birth rites afforded by the church, since the beginning of the mass proselytization effort started by Merovic the Elder. Later scholars would comment that it was an auspicious event: From Merovic to Merovic a new era would begin, an old torch passing the flames to a new torch.
His days as a baby would often repeat the same handful of tasks: Eat, poop, sleep, cry for help, stare at his surroundings, and learn the language of the people in his new home. To all and sundry, he was an ordinary baby growing into a toddler. His peculiar qualities only started to manifest when he was three years old. Merovic didn’t cry like other children, he didn’t play with other children, he didn’t fuss, or demand attention like other children. He learned to speak quickly, and he began to stalk the halls of the castle; listening to whatever conversation he could chance upon, to increase his knowledge of the common-language, and learn about local events. Merovic would grow in both knowledge and height; when he was five, he was given the privilege to learn how to read and write Rumelian script and he was provided several tutors curtesy of the church.
While most thought the child was simply clever; many of the monks and priests, brought to tutor him thought he was nothing short of blessed by God. It went from learning how to read and write Rumelian; to speaking Rumelian. He would also learn Hellekois, Eaygar, and Zicarath scripts. He seemed to devour all the knowledge offered to him. later, he would eventually read all the books in the palace, which was relatively few. The nearby monasteries, abbeys, and local noble collectors would continuously cycle new texts to him. While he read, he wrote short commentaries and notes on everything he could get his hands on, impressing his tutors. His parents were rather proud of their genius son, and soon his reputation would spread.
The elder courtiers watched Merovic grow up with some apprehension. The very real fear of another Merovic developing before their very eyes. The bloody intrigues of the past elder Merovic cast a great shadow on his survivors, and their fears gave way to a deep paranoia. Perhaps, if Henry wasn't given the name of Merovic at birth; his situation might have been different, but the gods of this world love a good conflict. It wouldn’t be long before some influential people started conspiring together in deep shadows and waiting for the right opportunity to pounce on the young Merovic.