Leaving Home

Shaldwyn was born to the Elves of the Valley. Both her parents were warriors of their home, defending against the hordes of evil that would pass through, determined to obliterate them. Often it was only the will of the gods that allowed their battered bodies to be repaired. Seringale was close by and priests would pass through, offering the services on a nearly hourly basis, when it was at its worst. It was no place for a little girl to grow up. As soon as she could walk, she was turning a stick around, smoothed to have both hilt and blade. Still the evil rolled through, and as she showed even the briefest hint of resistance, they cut her down too. She would sit for hours, staring at the statue of the elven warrior, not far west of her home. 'Who are you? ' She would think. 'What did you fight for? ' No one in her village was so brave, nor so strong. They had been ousted from their roots, and it was only through Soluminus's mercy that their lives continued. It was more of a miracle her mother had survived long enough for her to be born. One day, as she was taking a turn at patrol, a different sort passed through. A knight and squire, making the journey to the shrine. She listened, and heard the knight promise the young man that he would be trained to battle the greatest of evils. It was many years later, as she had grown into a competent warrior that she knew the time had come to leave her home and see what good she could do elsewhere. But she vowed she would not forget the horror that had been visited on her home. She would not forget, and she would not forgive.