Bradford grew up, just as any other boy, a strong father, and a healthy mother. He lived a happy life, until late in his 10th year of life. That was when his life took a very strange turn.
He began to have dreams, sometimes waking violently, and screaming at the top of his lungs, though he knew not why. It was then that his parents decided to give him up, for they thought that he would be better served as a cleric to the gods, to be watched over by the holy men. Watch him they did, and they taught him the tenants of each and every god. He threw himself into his work, believing that if only he could become more pious, that he would be free of the nightmares that fled him each morning as he awoke.
During his 18th year, he came to the conclusion that the gods either could not, or would not help him, and thus he began to separate himself from the clergy. He began to tell stories to the people of the land, first in pubs, then on street corners, and soon, entire villages of people to come to here his stories of great hero’s, of great battles, and of fearsome creatures the world had never seen. He continued int his way for a while until one day, when asked where these great stories came from, he confessed over a glass of wine.
He told about how he not imagined these things, but saw them and heard them as though he were actually there, and he believed that they were in fact actual events, happening to real people. The news of this confession spread far and wide. People began to flow to him, as though he were a messiah, or some sort of religious figure. This wasn’t his desire, but it was nice to feel wanted. People wanted something to strive for, and one day, after an amazing episode, he believed he had found a way to leave the island, and defeat the storms that lay in wait.