He still remembers the night he was taken. Beyond that, there is very little he remembers of his past life - all forced from his mind by the mental and physical rigors the Dreadlord Academy subjected him to. But that night it seems, has been forever scarred upon his mind. Arriving home to find his mother, bruised from his father's drunken rage fueled by the failure of his career and life it seemed: an injured Guardsman, doomed to live out his life as nothing more than a useless burden on the Guard.

Drederick threw himself at his father, but was powerless to do anything to the man - and instead found himself thrown out into the evening rain. His mother, beaten as she was, came to him with a smile and did reach to comfort him and ease him. He remembers her smile, telling him everything was okay, holding him close.

And amid his sobs, his anger grew and rage took him, and blinded him.

When his awareness returned, he stood over the lifeless body of his mother - who had suffered a long and excruciating death at the hands of his hidden magics.

Her screams alerted those nearby - and soon they came. First the Guardsmen, beholding his mother's body devoid of skin left in a heap outside the home. His drunken father, fearful and broken, unable to believe his son was capable of what had become of his beloved. No, for all his fault he couldn't allow his son to be blamed. To be taken.

They slew him before Drederick's empty stare, goring him there in his own home.

For a time, his presence at the Academy was loathed. Though proving to be quite the swordsmen, he failed to control his magic at will for quite some time - even to this day. But his determination to control it compels him - every night, every spare moment, spent in thought or practice of his skills. He would be absolute. He would be power.