Brian Patrick MacMillan






All applied to Brian. 

His origins somewhere in Scotland.

He doesn't talk about his past.

His reasons his own.

Wanderlust is part of his makeup.

His duration in any given land depends on what keeps his interest.

Once it is lost, he is gone.

His personality, is left for those who meet him to decide.


He stood a good six foot three, mahogany eyes with a reddish tint that darkened when angry. When amused, they turn a golden brown. His eyes changing with his moods in brown hues. Muscular build, honed through many battles fought. Scars worn as badges upon his person. His only truly trusted and loyal companion is his warhorse Max.

Visual Vertigo. Driving winds blasted over the North Sea bringing with it the clash of salt water against the cliffs. Brian stood upon the highest in full warrior attire. The spray at times reaching to wash over him.

Eyes of a mahogany hue were intense in a stare out over the sea. The horizon lost between storm clouds and the churning waters below. A storm was upon him but it didn't match the rage within. This morning they had buried his father. He followed the death of his mother by one year exactly. The only father he had ever known. It was this day he learned he was not his father by birth.

Wild blown strands of blond hair frosted with the sea spray as he turned from the turbulent waters to view the castle of Edinburgh nestled down along the point. It was a defensive, prestigious location that would stand against both sea and land forces. A mighty fortress. There had been plenty of clashes as warring clans' tempers rose. They rose easily in lands of unrest. 

This day Brian had made the decision to leave his home. It was a permanent decision for he no longer belonged. He would use the skills his father taught him as a warrior to make his own way in honor. Blood or not the bonds between the First Knight of Edinburgh and his adopted son were strong. Even in death they held. At that point Brian found himself staring at the parchment he was making notes upon. One large blob of ink ran down the page obscuring words already written. He would have to rewrite them. For a moment he didn't even realize where he was, so lost back in Edinburgh as that day continued to haunt him and the events surrounding it. It took a few deep breaths as a hand drew over his face to dry off the perspiration beading along his forehead and temples. Rising from his desk in the room given him at the Thistle in Heathfield, he made his way over to the hearth where the page was tossed into the fire. He watched it burst into flames then consumed, falling away to ashes.

It was the flames dancing over the logs that would captivated him again to remember more of that day. He would not be allowed to forget no matter how far away from Edinburgh he wandered. Patrick MacMillan, long standing First Knight of Edinburgh had left a will and personal letter to his only son, Brian. There was a substantial amount of funds that were well invested that would see his him comfortably for the rest of his life. It was not the funds that had drawn Brian's attention but the personal letter that shattered his world.

My Son,

For you are my son no matter what will be revealed to you in this letter. If you hold it in your hands now it means I have passed on and you at an age considered an adult. Had you been young then the King would have taken you back under his wing as his responsibility.

Your are not my son by birth, possibly not even blood as I am a distant relative with the same surname as the royal family. Before King Berrin the Fair was to be married, the result of an indiscretion nine months earlier was delivered to his doorstep. A son. Left by a Gypsy woman who had seduced him well at a time he had been lonely, before meeting the woman he was to marry. He could not recognize the boy as being his, knowing his fiancée would go into a rage. It was then I stepped in offering to adopt the lad as my own. Completely. Leaving no responsibility of you to your natural father. Your mother, my lovely Mary, was barren and agreed that this was a blessing sent in disguise.

This agreement was made with Berrin that you would be our son as if naturally born. The only situation that would alter this was if we should die before you were of age. I hesitated to write on your real birth but felt it was information rightfully yours you should have now that I am gone. Do what you will with it but always know that we loved you as our own.

Your father,

PS. I am adding to this for your mother, my Mary, has passed on. My heart longs for her but having you in my life has made this time bearable. I feel my own time nears and I want you not to grieve overly for us for we are together again and one day you will be with us also, but not too soon my son. You have your life to live before you as we had ours. You have made us proud in the honorably ways you have taken on. I shall always remember the day I had the honor to knight you. I know you will continue to do us proud.

His anger had been great that day and a hurt he could not describe or the why of it. It didn't change his feelings for the only parents he ever knew. He later realized how much sense it made to find out he was half Gypsy. He had that wanderlust and a penchant for getting into trouble. A heated temper and a passion that near drove him crazy. Even now his hand was clenched at his side as he leaned against the stones of the hearth. His father had taught him the ways of a knight. Chivalry, codes of honor, respect and a temperance of a wild nature. There were times when he wasn't sure who he was. Times of Temptation. Times of a Soul fire to ignite.

He drew in a deep breath as he prepared for the ritual that brought back these memories. It was the anniversary of his parents' death. The gold and red plaid of the MacMillan clan was donned in a careful ritual. Once a year he would wear the kilt and tartan to honored them since their deaths. His one precious item, which was hidden away deep in the closet and wrapped up well within his pack, was taken out. He tuned the bagpipe before he was off to a high cliff he had discovered the day before. Here he stood as the notes reached out in soulful tune with the setting of the sun. As he had stood here as the sun rose in the morning so he was once again as it would set. Symbolically. Gold, red and orange streaked the sky to be reflected over the lulling waves below. Serenity.

In the days that followed he gradually made a home for himself in these new lands. His expertise, especially in training men had him rise in th ranks becoming Head of the Royal Guards. Those that protected the royal family and those within the fortress walls. They also were ready to tour with any carriage bearing a royal family or any duties the Crown saw fit for them. He was content although there was not anyone he could call his own for he never found a woman that matched. There was always the possibility that could change but Brian's life was full with all the duties he took on and many comrades he called friend.

-No claims are made on the photos they are just a representation of how Brian would look. -More will be added gradually--
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