Reynauld was born in the Empire, far from the once vibrant hills of Clarent. He was raised in small hamlet on the outer edges of a vast wood in one of the empires many territories, and it was on this same patch of land that he would build his own family. A loving wife and a young son, only a babe when his father left. As is wont in the Empire who venerates a god of conquest, a crusade was declared on some trivial nation in the east, and Reynauld was one of many who answered the call. With only a pair of leather bracers, a tunic, and a long sword, he set out to join the newly formed crusade. For years he fought in the army to subdue foreign lands and throw down the idols of weaker gods. He burned strange people (and things that weren't even people) out of their homes, salted their fields, and destroyed their livelihoods just like all those beside him. Yet unlike these men, Reynauld was different. He possessed that most uncanny abilities of the fodder that composed the crusader armies; He was good. Good with his sword, good with his tactics, and when the time came to "discuss" matters with his superiors, good with his words. It was this skill that saw him rise in the ranks, until he was the commander of a small army of several hundred men in one of the more recent campaigns of the Empire. It was here that he earned one of his monikers, the one spoken aloud by those who both know and do not know Reynauld. "The Hammer of Grond" Reynauld thought the name egregious, and in line with his other moniker, trivial. It was in a valiant action, where he and several dozen of his best men, brought down a section of a vast fortress's reputedly impenetrable gate with a battering ram in the visage of the hand of Grond himself. A sally sent out to stop the ram saw most of Reynauld's men slaughtered, but it was he alone who managed to swing the final blow that cracked the gates, allowing the rest of the army to flow into the city like a malignant flood of steel and blood, sacking it like so many before, and so many after.

It was also on this day that Reynauld gained his second moniker, "The Apostate", though this was spoken only to himself in hushed whispers. Why had he and his men had to have been the ones to bash in the gates of this infernal city, why in the midst of battle did the god of conquest and rule send mortals and demonic servants in his stead? Why would a being of unimaginable power rely on beings of limited life to do his bidding? Reynauld did not question the existence of Grond, he merely no longer subscribed to the teachings of the Church. He still kept up appearances by all means, which is why he ended up in Clarent instead of in the Imperial Capital on a pyre; albiet in a much reduced role as a leader of a cavalry wing. It was also this that allowed him to survive the uprising and subsequent purge of Imperial forces in the now rebellious province of Clarent, as while the slaves of Grond and his "church" were busy observing their daily benefactions to the God of Rule, Reynauld was already checking his gear and polishing his faithful longsword. So when the rebels burst into the barracks with their long knives and swords, while his peers fell to them Reynauld was able to fight his way out and make for the countryside, rallying with other survivors in the city of Karagan. News of the lack of further Imperial support did not surprise Reynauld, as he at this point had already realized that the supposed "strength" of the Empire of Grond was just as real as that of the strength of Grond himself. It was the men beside him who won these battles, not Grond. It was the brave souls dying in droves to beat down the doors of impenetrable keeps that they wrote songs about, not religion, not the Church, and damn well not Grond. The Seventh would win back the land of Clarent, and just as every other time Reynauld marched off to war, he would do it without the support of some incorporeal "god". Grond had never helped Reynauld, or anyone else for that matter, in the past, and he bloody well wasn't going to start now.