The Start of It All

The first years of life were little more than colors and the occassional sound. Time spent clinging to his mothers chest as he was carted around by his parents on whatever exploration might have called them off. Spurning the society of gnome villages and the standoffish nature of the rest of his race, his parents had undertaken adventure and exploration in the name of their patron deity, and had spent years experiencing, writing and recording everything that they came across. From the mundane to the unimaginable, they were well versed in most every aspect that they had come across, and their massive collection of writings, drawings and information left little debate on that subject for anyone. Sadly, it was also during this time, that Xyloch would find himself without the parental guidance that children need, in large part thanks to his parents drive to record and document the furthest reaches of the world around them. He was left, this time, with a family friend (the very friend that they used to read their newest writings and finding, and prepare them for publication and completion) as they undertook one of their many journies. Xyloch had developed a slight fever, and illness, as most young children are prone to do from time to time, and they felt it unwise to bring him along. Days passed before word came back that they wouldn't be returning for their young child. They wouldn't be returning at all, for that matter. The only thing that did return was a singed, and half-finished entry into a new book. The last words Xyloch would ever hear from his parents, preserved in their demise.

Daydreams and Hopes

"Always follow you spirit. Never let anyone tell you different my son." The script never changed, regardless of how many times that Xyloch read and reread it to himself. The piece of parchment was soft by now, the result of years of being folded and unfolded. Tucked into pockets, boots and wherever else Xyloch felt it closest to him. It had been nearly seven years by now, since he had lost his mother and father. A decade now since his birth, and there were times were he felt utterly alone and without anyone in the world. The times that he cherished most were spent reading the hundreds of books, tomes, scripts and other bits that his parents had written over their lifetimes of travels and adventure. It appeared, through his reading, that his parents had given up hope on the gnomish civilization in which he now felt trapped. They had made dear friends with several elves and humans, and ventured across the existance of time with them. Xyloch sat and peered at the soft piece of paper in his hands, his mind awash with emotion and thoughts and about how different his life would be in another time, when he was older, if his parents were alive, if he could live the stories and adventures that his parents had written about. Was it even possible to have experienced so much in a life that had been so short? He drifted off to sleep with his head down on his desk, and the piece of paper still in hand... As he did so many nights.

The Tides of Change

Xyloch sat at the small wooden desk in his "uncles" office, reading over ledgers and books, checking for accuracy and correct calculations and phrasings. The work was tedious, boring and absolutely horrible. He hated it. Most of the time he sat daydreaming about something entirely else, and from time to time fingering the scrap of paper that could be found in his pocket at any given time. His "uncle", or keeper is what he really was, was a man of little nonsense and little in the way of a personality if the truth be told. They often clashed views on the world and what life entailed, and apparently today was to be one of those days. "Are you daydreaming again, silly boy?" Serashen asked as he walked into the office. Xyloch sighed under his breath, and replied "No, Uncle. Working over these dry ledgers." "Those ledgers are the blood of this family, as you so aptly forget. They've provided the life you have and everything in it, haven't they? His uncle was already displeased, because he knew that Xyloch was already planning on leaving the moment he got the chance to do so, and was entirely against the idea. His uncle continued on "You need to abandon that silly notion of adventure and grand living. Nothing but a fool's paradise, that nonsense. Look what it got for your father and mother. Dead. That's what it got them." Without missing a beat, he continued "And what did it get me? It got me an ungrateful little toad that doesn't want to put in an honest days work and earn his keep. Worthless as your father, that's what you are!" "Never did understand what your mother saw in that one. Why, his beard was hardly past his knees! He didn't deserve a woman like that, never did. And look what he did for her, got her killed in some land and her brat child left behind." The pair of them caught one another's eyes, for the briefest of moments. Xyloch's hand had tensed inside of his jacket pocket around the scrap of parchment there. He could feel himself boiling, the rage, the anger, the frustrations. -THWOCK- His uncle was laying on the floor of the office, a large ledger book beside his head. Xyloch stood over him, watching his unconcious form in disbelief. Had he really done that? Had he really struck his uncle, he had kept his cool for so many years. If there was ever a time to venture out and try to make a name for yourself, this certainly seemed like the most opportune time to do so. Xyloch exhaled and collected himself, the collected his things, a few of his favorite books, and left. He left his uncle, the office, the ledgers and the idea that he would have to spend his life the way someone else expected him to. No, he would take his fathers advice, and forge his own path. No matter what.

The Decision is Made

The village slowly disappeared behind him as he walked away into the darkness of night. What little he owned he carred in a ragged pack slung across his back, his long beared tucked safely beneath his belt. His mind swirled with the wonders and thoughts of travel, the majestic sights, the daring escapes and the stories and knowledge that he would amass along the way. Sadly, the dreams started to fade as the coin that he had began to dwindle away, and he found himself often sleeping under the boughs of trees and eating things that he would rather not mention. His clothes began to hang on him, though he didn't lose his beloved stomach thank goodness. It was, in all aspects of the word, a time of trial for him. He could go back to his "uncle" and beg his forgiveness and resign to a life of counting, writing and keeping ledgers and reading the works of other travelers.. His hand instinctively found its way to his pocket and clasped the piece of ragged parchment inside of it. He shook his head in defiance, and resolved then and there that he would never forsake his father that way. He would need to find a way to at least support himself in the mean time, and clearly, he would need a trade if he was going to make a name for himself and experience life in any meaningful way. What he could remember about his father, and from what he had read of his writings, he clearly had a fondness for the arcane... Perhaps Xyloch might have a pension for such? It certainly wouldn't hurt to try and ply himself to the trade. It was settled then, he would offer himself to one of the invokers guilds, once he reached Seringale at least, and see what came of it. How hard could the arcane truly be... He was a gnome, and he wasn't a fool either, surely he could made the most of it all, and take the first step to living a life.