Life has not been cruel to me so far.
I was born in the city of Kelethin, the only child of two wood elves who'd married many years before and long since given up on the idea of having a baby. Mother was deeply immersed in her import/export business at the time. I think she was mad that she had to take time off to give birth, because as soon as I could walk she went back to working seven days a week in her shop.
Growing up, I spent more time with my father, a retired druid and scholar of Norrathian lore. A gentle, philosophical fellow, he taught school some of the time, but spent many days in his comfy armchair in our study. There he sat spellbound by one enormous tome or another, as I ran around the house in Mother's shawl, pretending to be the All Powerful Queen of Kelethin, lording it over my sole subject, Stripetail the cat. Often, my father would put his own book aside and read to me instead from one of the books he'd had when he was my age.
In this way I learned of places far beyond Faydwer, and the strange, exciting people who lived in them. I will never forget the day he read to me of Humans. Their homeland was the dry, brown continent of Antonica, where the leaves fell off the trees in Winter. Their ears were round -- round! And when the sun went down, they were as good as blind, for their eyes needed the light.
"Daddy," I stopped him, "You're making that up. Everyone can see at night!"
"No my dear," he chuckled, "This isn't a scary story, like the one about the King of the Undead Orcs. Your mother just told you that fairytale to keep you from sneaking out at night. This one is true -- and you should know it, for there is a human in our own city."
I hopped to my feet, knocking Stripetail rudely off my lap. "Daddy! There is NOT!"
He smiled. "Do you know the man who stands near the main lift of our town? The one with the black robe and the staff?"
"Yes. He's scary. He calls everybody a fool."
"Have you ever seen his ears?"
I thought of the ill-tempered man for a moment. He'd been standing there day and night, ever since I could remember, muttering horrible things under his breath to everyone who passed. Mother always hustled me by as quickly as possible, vainly whispering "Don't look at him!" But as hard as I tried, I couldn't remember his ears -- they were hidden by his long, dark hair. My father was right.
"Huh," I finally said. "Daddy?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Is that why he's always so mean? Because he has round ears, and he can't see in the dark?"
When he had stopped laughing long enough to breathe, my father managed to say, "That's a very good guess."
I wondered if all the humans were like that. I wanted to meet more of them, and see the trees without leaves. I decided right then to become a druid, and follow Tunare, and know as much as my father did.
When I was old enough, Father went to see the Heartwood Master and came back with a note for me to give to him. The night before, I'd heard Mother telling Father something about how I'd never make anything of myself running around befriending animals and worshipping trees, but I didn't care. Looking back, I know she'd been hurt that I didn't want to work in her shop, yet I don't regret my choice.
All the same, both my parents were excited by my early progress at my new vocation. Before my fourteenth season, I could still come home every night -- though I was sometimes late if I'd got lost in Lesser Faydark, or if I'd been injured beyond the capacity of my healing spells. Father was a great source of information, and helped me in my studies, quizzing me each evening after dinner.
"Quick!" he'd say, "What do you do if a half-dead orc runs away?"
"Call on Tunare to snare him fast to the ground."
"Very good! And if you lose all your powers of concentration before he dies?"
"Daddy! Anybody knows that one. Hit him with my staff!"
When I reached my fourteenth season, I learned to invoke the spirit of the wolf. I could run faster than any Crushbone Orc. For a while, it was fun to tease them by snaring them, running away, then standing there evoking bursts of fire to slay them. But before long, I grew bored with that game. I yearned to see the leafless trees and round-eared, ill-tempered humans of Antonica.
I talked to Father about making a trip there, and he thought it would be all right as long as I didn't fall off Stormbreaker, the boat to the land of men. I decided to leave the following day. As I readied my backpack, he came and stood in the doorway of my room.
"I have a friend I want you to meet," he said. "When I was your age, I had a hunting partner. You have heard me speak of him, yes?"
"Uncle Zophia?" I remembered Father's tales of running through the Lavastorm Mountains and swimming Lake Rathetear with his friend.
"That's right. He's retired too now, and married, to a nice drow lady, I believe." Father, being a scholar, didn't hold the same prejudices as other wood elves. He judged people on their actions, not their skin color. Tan or blue, it was all the same to him. I'd never seen a drow, but he'd taught me to believe they were our kin.
I buckled my backpack. It looked heavy. "Is Uncle Zophia on Antonica? Can I visit him there?"
Father handed me a rolled-up scroll. "Here is the last location I have for him," he said. "If you can find him, please tell him I wish him well."
