An arrow of virtue

I was born into a family of meager statue, not having much, hard working and very humble. My father was the towns only blacksmith creating the finest swords and daggers in the land. As a child young I was often within the forge with my father, never leaving his side completely amazed by the heat and steel being formed into instruments of war. As the other children ran amuck and sang songs I studied my father's craft soon perfecting my own weapon making technique. I would spend hours within the fire pits often returning home covered in soot and forced by my mother to bathe in the river quite extensively before returning home for supper. On a warms summers night I was in my ritualistic bath, I heard screams coming from my sleepy little village. My town was overrun by rabid raiders stealing gold, food and my father's precious weapons. My father flew through the forest into the battle scene not making a sound. With his precious weapons in hand, a flurry of death and destruction was carved through the raiders. Seeing him in action was like watching a mocking bird flap his wings, steady and poised, but every action so precise and critical. He arose from the ashes saving his precious town, but my father lay critically wounded. A cackling could be heard in the distance as the last raider was escaping the bloody battle, suddenly an arrow flew through the sky and sliced through the beast of a man ripping his heart from his chest. In his dying breath my father begged me soon to be more than a blacksmith and stand up and protect the precious citizens of his small town and those oppressed in near by lands. I headed my father's words and set out on a journey to find the god Olyn to embrace his quest to holy salvation.