Garret never new his father. Or why his mother, a widow, who never did anything, owned a huge manor in Silvercoast. He was not the type to ask too many questions though, so after a few failed attempts to get some information out of her, he started brooding instead.
Even as a youngster he had few friends. The other young boys and girls in the city did not like playing with him, which was fine by him, for he didn't have time for petty games either. His chief activity was to oversee a war between two colonies of ants that had been going on for years. If one side was decidedly winning, he always tipped the balance in other side's favour.
When his mother asked him what he was doing, he simply answered „I'm being fair”.
His mother insisted he go to school, but apart from learning to read and write he did not find much interest in lessons. He usually just sat and looked out the window, watching the occasional cat dismember a bird it caught.
At the age of eighteen his mother was at a loss what to do with him. He was a keen boy, but did not seem to want to do anything apart from sit in the garden tormenting ants.
After a while she decided to make him enrol in the only theatre in town. He never knew why she decided on that fate for him, and he never asked.
In the troupe he turned out to be a talented actor, although, inexplicably he almost always turned out to play the bad guy. He was especially good at stage fencing and at having a brooding, far-away look on his face as he „killed” the good guy. Of course, as plays go, he always lost in the end, but he didn't seemto mind.
One day as he was in the changing room, he decided that as he was already changed, and still had fifteen minutes until the performance was scheduled to start, he would go down to the cellar and look at the old props that were not in use anymore. None of his troupe mates remarked on this uncharacteristic show of curiosity, because they did not really know him, or notice him.
Garret went down to the basement, and looked at all the old musical instruments, weapons and costumes in huge piles. He randomly thrust his hand into a pile of clothes and found something hard. He grasped it. Suddenly he felt pain run trough his hand. He tries to pull it out, but he couldn't let go, so he pulled out a black sword from the pile. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't even pretty. But it looked deadly sharp. He tried to let go again, but he couldn't. The pain had stopped.
He started up the steps dazedly. The director intercepted him: „Blackhead, where the hell have you been? Come backstage this instant,”
But Garret did not wish to go on stage at this minute. He raised his hand as if to ward the director off, and flames shot out of his hand and set fire to the door leading backstage. The director stared. He stared. The director started yelling for water, and Garret run out of the building, and didn't stop until he got home.
He barged into his mother's room, still carrying the sword. „Who was my father?” He asked his mother.
She went pale at the sight of him. „Don't you mid that. Don't upset yourself honey”. She said soothingly.
“ He won't tell me either.” He said to himself, than turned to his mother „Who was my father?” He asked again, more forcefully, and raised his sword slightly.
She went even paler. „He died years ago darling, his name was Jonas”.
“Jonas” He murmured “nice to meet you.”
He stepped over to her, slapped her hard on the face twice, said “that's for him”, grabbed up a pouch of gold coins from the dresser, and left the house still holding the sword, and the mask of „Abraky the wonderful sorcerer” still on his face.
After searching for weeks in the archive of Silvercoast, the only thing he found that the Blackhead family were traditionally wizards, and that the person who was probably his grandfather, based on his age had two sons, Robbert and *****. Here the name was burned away. In the same book he also read that the family had a sword that they passed down the male line, and its name was The Blackblade. He the started looking for references of Robbert Blackhead, but he only found, in an obscure chronicle name „Of the Doing of Our Greatest” that he left Silvercoast and became a powerful sorcerer.
So having no other idea, he followed in his footsteps. He went to Crossroads and enrolled in the wizards' guild and the fighter's guild, as he always liked stage fencing. The bug, burly men at the fighter's guild took a liking to the slim boy, who nonetheless could match their strength with speed
and improvisation. The mages on the other hand did not like him at all. They thought he was power hungry, and he never left the tower apart from to attend his training at the other guild. If not on lessons or practising, he sat in the extensive library and read family histories and books on magic items. He never went with them on their outings, and they saw him, when he thought he was alone having a conservation with himself. So they named him the Black sheep, and the Tragedist for always wearing that stupid mask, and kept out of his way.
Eventually he got a degree with the highest recommendations, but he left before he was given his papers. In a note he left in his room he explained. “I wanted your knowledge, not your papers. Dad was right, you are a bunch of silly bookworms.”