At 32 years old, Allard had settled in a small Oro community away from the mountains in Gaia where land was fertile enough for farming. He, his small family, a wife, young daughter, and a teenage son, and a few other farming families in this area would grow crops to harvest. Once the fields were harvested, they would then form a caravan to go back to the capitol of Gaia for sale. This, however, was considered dangerous to most Gaians as it left the protection of the mountains behind, but was seen as noble undertaking. This was proven true as an unknown force of warriors raided and burned their farms to the ground. Little did Allard know at the time of the attack that it was Therosi slavers 'in the market' for new slaves. Being simple farming folk the families fell quickly and an of those who did surrender were cut down. Allard....didn't surrender. When Allard was young he was in the Gaian military, earning himself experience fighting in conflicts as a foot-soldier and against large beasts. With his father's sword in hand he fought back to protect his family, but it wasn't enough. Their magic was strong and their numbers were stronger. Allard lost that day, more than what he could ever imagine. His wife and son were killed and his daughter was taken from him, his arm ruined by a magic spell that wrought it useless, and he was enslaved and sold to become entertainment for the Fotian arena. A gladiator to live and die by the blade, wings destroyed so he couldn't run. A Fotian 'healer' of sorts in the arena dungeons cast a spell on his arm that would mimic the condition of his right arm so that it would function again.

In the arena, Allard rarely killed, and that made the overseers, Fotian nobles, of the arena furious as they couldn't seem to force him to actually do anything, so one day, they devised a plan to punish him. All they needed was time. Five years pass and Allard has still not fallen in the arena. He was a marvel, undefeated even by plots to finally snuff him out for wining too much. He spent mauch of his spare time watching and learning from the different gladiators, especially one named Ziton. Allard spent some time getting to know the other gladiator who had a cell across from his, more often than anything just sharing stories about their pasts so that they could relax and think about the good days. Allard would often find him scribbling on his wall at night when when the guard were least active. One night he seemed to be fairly cheerful as he seemed to figure something out, but Allard had fallen asleep before he figured out what it was. He seemed to disappear that night, not one story being the same. Some had him escaping, other dying for trying, and more saying that he may one day come back for the rest of them, but these were all gladiator tales passed throughout the dungeons. Allard knew that he had escaped. When Ziton was gone, they rearranged the slave cells after a new shipment came in and Allard was moved to Ziton's old cell. When in there, Allard began to study the writings. There were links to the writings on the wall and different places throughout the arena and slave quarters. Riddles to a ritual, that of which would open a portal to escape through. But it was very complex and time was short, it could be years until he found out how to complete the ritual.

Another five years passed and word of another unbeatable opponent had emerged, now matched up against Allard. When they squared away in the arena, the slender figure before him could only belong to that of a woman, though she was well built. He couldn't make out her face however, as it was hidden behind a hood at the moment. He himself was required to wear a helmet this time, which he wasn't honestly fond of. The overseers called for the match to start and the woman surged forward, what seemed to be a large two handed straight bladed cutlass in hand. It was at this moment, when the hood flew back, that Allard froze in place, save for an arm that reached out, "Hildebrand... my daughter." She didn't hear him, her face looking void of any emotion, a broken spirit. Her blade ran him through and he took a step back from the hit, but didn't fall. Cheers erupted through the stadium but Allard ignored them as he took off his helmet. "Hildie, what have they done ta you." This time it was his daughter that was shocked, and instantly started to tear up, not sure what to think and what she had just done. "Now, now child, don't cry. I am here." Allard couldn't hold back his own tears as he pulled her in to embrace her, both ignoring the blood from his wound. Her condition was terrible, battered and bruised. Why would they have put her in the arena? Was it because of him!? He looked up to the overseer, "YOU! This is your doing! I will not fight this opponent! This is my daughter! I forfeit!" the cost of forfeit of a slave could vary well mean execution, but Allard did not care. If it meant his daughter could go on, he did not mind.

"Very well, archers!" The nobleman lifted his arm to give the command. "FIRE" finally this man would pay for making a fool out of him and this arena. But the archers were not told to aim at Allard when this command would be given...

"NNNOOOOOOO!" Allard screamed as he rushed to his daughter. He tried to cover her but it was too late and from too many directions. "Hildie! Speak ta me girl! C'mon!" The crowd fell silent as they took in what just happened. This was not what they had come to see and they were clearly not thrilled with the out come, though the overseer was laughing historically. Hilda tried to speak to he father but words were failing her, and soon, what little light that was rekindled in her young eyes....were gone. Allard slowly rested her down. and stood up, arrows and a sword still embedded in him. "You....BASTARD SON OF WHORE!" Allard drew his own blade out and people started to panic. Allard, finding strength he didn't know he had, jumped out of the arena and onto the encircling guard platform that the archers used, which led to the seats for the nobles. Allard slaughtered every guard with ease as he made his way to the overseer, now trying to run, but it was far too late. Even as more arrows slammed into him, for him, they weren't nearly deep enough to stop him. A large knight tried to step in to protect him but ended up getting his skull crushing inside of his helmet by the mighty grasp of Allard's free hand. He grabbed the puny tyro noble as he tried to run and slammed him into back into his chair. He planted his own sword into the ground next to him and pulled his daughter's blade from his torso. "YOU WILL DIE BY HER BLADE, WORM!"

"NO! PLEASE SHOW MER-" that was all he got out as the blade impaled the man from the top of his skull, through his body, to the seat he sat in. He lifted the skewered man from the chair and swung the sword, casting the body off into the arena below. He picked up his sword and jumped down, landing on his lifeless corpse for good measure. Nobody there who opposed him were left alive, and all the others fled. He sheathed his sword and put her sword in it's sheath. He reached down and gently picked up his daughter's lifeless body, cradling it in his arms. "C'mon baby girl. Let's go home." He brought her over to the slave cells. He began going back over the ritual quickly, knowing he had to figure out the last part of the ritual or he would never escape and have to face the chopping block.

The last part of the riddle read, "The end of my oppression is the end of all, we'll stand as equals and never fall. Should we wish this life to end, where shall we then make amends? When all the arrangements have been placed, follow my lead and do make haste. Take an oath, forsake thy ways, and look onward unto brighter days. Answer my riddle, say a prayer, and wherever you need, thou shall soon be there. Take a blade and rake thine hand, for this pact we make for the promised land."

Allard nodded as the puzzle came together, over the years he had done what was needed to be done in previous riddles, spilling his own blood in the places foretold around the arena, a blood lock of sorts. Now he had to answer the question to his riddle in the form of prayer, more importantly an oath that would bind him for the rest of his life. He knew Ziton, and he knew what it would have to be, and Allard was prepared for what was required. Allard pulled Hildebrand's blade out and cut his hand open, dropping blood on to a faintly marked spot on the floor. He then picked his daughter up again and closed his eyes. "By my blood, I shall declare, to forsake my magic to pay my fare. I'll move forward and with a magicless hand, now take to the destined land." Light shown all around, as it slowly enveloped him, stripping him of all abilities to use magic or manipulation, however, blessing him with the ability to endure much more punishment from the world around him. Then at the end, t took him away from the hell he had lived for the past ten years.

He thought the portal may carry his failing body and his daughter back to Gaia where they could both die in their homeland, but instead it had taken them to Vrondi territory, where he had collapsed from fatigue. He was picked up by the Taxis, who were notified by some traveling Sol people, who had tended to his many wounds and taken him to Vrondi, in awe that he was still alive if even by a thread. His daughter however didn't make it, and left Allard alone to tend to her burial, in which he finally made a grave dedicated to the rest of his family as well. Since then, he has spent his time doing odd jobs here and there around town, helping wherever someone needed some muscle to get a job done, and spending his nights in a small out of the way, back alley bar. He kept his daughter's sword to always remind him of his past, and vowed never to draw his weapons again unless the cause is just, though he still carries his two swords everywhere he goes.