Yeah, Skyrim ftw!

Born the third son of the wealthy Whitemarch family, Cristoff’s purpose in life had been settled before he had first opened his eyes. He was bred to be a great - a commander of the Queens’ armies that would bring glory and honor to the name Whitemarch. Despite the seeming inflexibility of his life, Cristoff thrived on the opportunities his father bestowed upon him.

From Cristoff’s youth, Lord Whitemarch instilled in him an ambition, a desire for success that he was meant to carry throughout his life. Ever since the events of ten years past, his father’s encouragement grew only more fervent – and whereas his two older brothers, Josef and Devan, seemed to carry the burden of expectations with a degree of tolerance; and his younger brother, Tristan, rebelled quietly – Cristoff’s enthusiasm outmatched even that of the head of the house of Whitemarch.

From his adolescence, Cristoff was instructed in a variety of subjects – covering everything from mathematics and geometry to swordplay and the magical arts – by the finest instructors, in order to prepare him for his career. It quickly became apparent that, lack what he may in terms of sheer physical strength – for despite his careful upbringing, an illness in his youth had robbed him of some strength – he more than made up for it with a sharpness of mind and a degree of focus far above the average.

Four years ago – at the age of nineteen – he was given his first real opportunity to prove himself. It was to prove to be a crucial turning point.

The Whitemarches, through their wealth and powerful connections, arranged for Cristoff to accompany a senior Renaltan military officer on a scouting sortie near the Liverian border. Towards the end of the mission, the group encountered a group of Liverian bandits.

The officer gave the order, and a fight broke out; by the end of it, Cristoff had stained his hands with the blood of the enemy. Horrified as he was by his own success and efficiency, sleep evaded him as he lay in his tent that night.

Unable to accept the necessity of the slaughter – for their party had been at an overwhelming advantage over the small group of enemies – he confronted the officer, who nonchalantly dismissed his protests as naïve. Enraged, he began to argue with him, and eventually, attempted to break his nose. Perhaps it was fortunate he was unsuccessful, for even the attempt nearly cost him his place in the mission. It was through a timely – and well-funded – intervention from his father that he avoided a more severe punishment.

He was out of trouble, but the illusion had been broken – he had, for the first time, experienced the reality of the battlefield, in all its grim detail, and it shook him to the core. To make matters worse, Lord Whitemarch, disappointed in Cristoff’s ‘lack of stomach’ and in his indiscipline, grew more severe. As such, despite the rude shock that had been his first mission, Cristoff’s determination only grew stronger; for in the blood and dirt of the fight, he had realized the need to be ever stronger, ever more vigilant, ever more knowledgeable, if he were to succeed on the fields of war.

If his efforts were vigorous before, they were feverish now. In this way he continued, spending much of his time training, and the rest of his time reading and studying, locked up in his room. It was in these years that he caught the eye of General Hanus Wolfblood’s men, and was introduced to the General himself alongside a host of other promising young soldiers.

And then, of course – only a month ago – his brothers were killed.

Josef was the first to go – killed by bandits, as Devan and the captain of the guard testified. Even before they had recovered from the initial shock of losing Josef, the Whitemarches were dealt another blow as Devan was murdered the day after – and in their own estate! Cristoff watched in dismay as several clues emerged that pointed to Tristan being the culprit. Lord Whitemarch, disbelieving yet suspicious, at last decided to send Tristan away. Cristoff did not have a chance to speak to him as he left.

The month that went by since Tristan’s departure was chaotic. The Whitemarch estate crumbled inwardly – the lord of the estate took to heavy drinking and lost his grip. The servants and guards – unrestrained in the midst of the chaos – took to looting and plundering. His sisters, alarmed at proceedings, tried to ameliorate the situation; but they themselves had been struck down by the loss of their brothers, and their attempts to restore order seemed all the more pathetic for all the futile effort they put into them.

As Cristoff watched the Whitemarch estate fall, he felt his lofty ambitions crash to earth. Without his father’s wealth and connections, there was little chance he would ever achieve what he had once taken for granted.

It was at this juncture that General Wolfblood – recognizing Cristoff’s talent – sent an emissary to persuade the young man to join the Queen’s Blades. Desperate to further his career, and to restore honor to the name of Whitemarch – for, in hindsight, he was now the rightful heir to the estate – he accepted gladly.