A place to call home

Aging too slow for humans and too fast for the elves, Llloyied found himself between two worlds and looking for stability. In this quest for a place to call home, and a place to feel safe, Seringdale was a blazing beacon of hope. Not only was the city diverse, the clear laws and vigilant eye of the Justice Cabal made this a Mecca in the eyes of a young half breed. If you want a more indepth version of my past, whore is the first curse word I learned and mongrel was the first slight I remember directed at me. My mother was a free spirited elven woman, she enjoyed the company of others and sometimes even young human men. I don't recall her ever collecting coins from anyone and yet that one word came up a lot. Whore was said almost as much as her actual name. It is interesting because elven society seems more free spirited in general but bearing a half breed is apparently an unwanted reminder of unspoken sin. The word mongrel is in fact pronounced the same in elvish and common. If we share blood, why not share the slur? After years of similar insults I have found a kinship in the term mongrel. It is a slight to mean I am only as valued as a dog, somehow less than a person. But here is the thing, dogs are loyal, and if you speak with hate in your heart, it doesn't matter what you say. Call me a mongrel if you will but say it with a friendly tone. For when you befriend a dog, they are loyal to a fault. When I left the elven treetops I had already matured more than my elder brother, the man of the house, if you will. Imagine that, my mother's eldest son, favored as first born and still a snot nosed child when I was ready to find my own way. I have no resentment for my brother, but by the time he has his own family, I am sure to have grey hair. Still young when I found my father. His identity never concealed from me. Believing I was ready to take on the world, though that time was just the foolish idealism of a rebellious teen. Thankfully my reunion was welcomed by my father. He was no longer a young horny man chasing that flawless body of a petite elven woman but a seasoned guard, proud, and earning a livable wage. Nothing grand but enough for us to keep out of the rain and avoid most hunger pangs. The years before my arrival had granted my old man some wisdom and so he did his best to always make me feel welcomed. The first thing I noticed about my new city, the smell. Pungent like a punch in the nose as the smell of piss and sick wafts up from the ancient sewers. This was a stark contrast to living with nature and wild flowers. Now I don't even notice the smell. Making this my home I would probably miss it if I left. When I came here though, not all was left behind. Mongol, the name had followed me to the city. If not for my father, my time here would have been marred and bloody, probably mostly with my mixed blood being spilt. I kept a level head and respect the law, but even if I had split some bigots lip, I am sure I could do no harm in my father's eyes. He retired near Solace, spends most of his time painting with an old friend. Magic has always been easy to me, like second nature the strange semantic structures and gestures were easy to pick up. I told my father once I did not need to study because I was doing better than other kids testing at the high tower of magic. He informed me that meant I needed to study twice as hard so I never end up a gong farmer or cleaning the sewers I complained so many times about. And that's it. With a little show of talent that tower got hooks in me before I knew what path of magic I wanted to study. After a few years as one of their whipping boys I learned the principles of illusion and moved on. Now I am free once more to find my way with no debt or allegiance to speak of.