In retrospect, I should have seen it all coming. My mother is an elf of
moderate social standing, and my father was a human caravaneer. Every time
my father would come through the village, he would partake in wine to
excess. My kind-hearted mother saw past this flaw, and fell in love with
the poet he should have been if his family had afforded him proper
schooling. I wasn't the first child born of a human parent in our village,
but I was the first with one of such ill-repute, for whom our people had
such outspoken distaste.
I should have said something when it began, but I felt as though nobody
would believe me, or they would blame me for it. Back while I was
attending school, the other children would say nasty things tome about my
father, and sometimes throw things at me or hit me while our teacher
wasn't looking. As class let out one day, our teacher asked me stay
and discuss my performance. As he began explaining how much potential
he thought I had and how he wanted to push me to succeed, I didn't ask why
he was drawing the shades. It was only once he locked us both in that I
realized what was happening. I felt that telling would only cause more
problems for my mother, and kept what happened that day to myself.
If it had just been the once, I probably would have stayed, but our
teacher became emboldened and began devising embarrassing ways to
keep me after the other students.
It was when his acts grew cruel and torturous that I was able to bring
myself to run away and leave our village. Months after leaving home, I
happened upon a circus hiring acrobatic and contortion acts, for which I
discovered I had a natural talent. It did not pay well, but we were
provided for in food, lodging, and drink. I think being on the run
physically played largely into my turning to wine to run away emotionally.
My next several years run together, but what I recall continues to haunt my
memory. When our talent curator grew lustful, he threatened to cut my act
if I refused his advances. If it had not been for my experiences back
home, I may have fallen into the same trap. Instead, I opted to be the one
who sprung the trap this time; when he tried to corner me to have me where
he wanted, I put my dagger through his heart.
Afterward, I fled the circus and dove deeper into a sea of ale at an
adorable crossroads inn. It was there where I fell in love. Her name was
Ariel, a life-long ale server. She was gentle and kind, and even today the
memory of her curves will stir me from meditation at times. One night,
after we had been together for a few months or so, an inn patron grew
handsy with her despite her insistence that he stop. What seemed like an
ordinary interaction to her had infuriated me, and I couldn't stay my hand
from slashing the man's throat. Ariel was scarred. She never looked at me
the same, and the pain of this drove me to flee the inn as well.
In the days that followed, I came upon a monastery where the residents took
me in without question. They clothed me, sheltered me, and fed me. It was
through following their practices of meditation and principles of balance
that I learned to be at peace with my past.
The woman before you stands at average height with the lean, athletic
build of a circus acrobat. Her silky, brown hair is long and straight, and
is kept in a high pony tail that sprouts upward from her scalp several
inches before descending to her lower back. Her eyes are a deep mahogany
brown that seem to gaze out from a void and read emotionless. Her face
rests at a gentle smile with a very slight upward curl to the corners of her
mouth, giving her an air of tranquility.