You want me to start from the beginning? That was so long ago and I’ve worked for years to forget it anyway. All I can really remember is the cold. I was born to a clan of druidic elves far to the north and we had no name for our homeland. In my first twenty-five years I knew none other than my kin and the beasts of the north and though some told stories of lands to the south, I believed them only myths and stories. If there were so many other people, why had we never even crossed another druid clan?
Life in the north was harsh but simple; we just had to survive and for the most part we did that pretty well. We followed the herds of deer and elk and moved on before we’d drained too much of an area’s resources. It never really occurred to me that there was any other sort of life to live and I never felt the need to find something more. I was happy. That is until it was all torn apart.
We’d been camped in the same spot for about a month since the game had been plentiful and we felt no need to move. Some of the hunters had seen signs, but no one had taken them seriously. No one had seen a dragon that could survive the frozen north in more than a century. Sure enough though, late one night the camp was attacked by a great white dragon. Its breath destroyed most of the camp and this is where my memory gets pretty broken. It was total chaos and all I remember is heat and fire and screaming. And pain. Excruciating pain. I suppose I was caught in the fire, but I don’t really know for sure. Then everything went dark.
When I came to, I was in a small camp. I was amazed I’d survived at all and then, for the first time in my life, I laid eyes on a being other than one of my clan. She was sleeping on a bed of furs close to me, though to this day I’m not sure I could recognize her. My heart was pounding and I panicked. Looking back, I’m sure she’s the reason I’m alive today and I wish I could thank her. In my terror though, I bolted, stopping only to collect a few supplies and belongings from the wreckage of my camp.
For weeks I searched for my family, but to no avail. We were very good at not being found when we didn’t want to be and after that attack, anyone left would surely be well hidden. I resigned myself to a life alone and survived by following a pack of wolves that’d marked the area as its territory. Over time they accepted me as their own and I became a wolf in a sense, but there was always something missing. My four legged family couldn’t fill the void left by the loss of my elven brethren, and so after much thought, I headed south to investigate the stories about those other beings.
A pup at the time, my little brother Baelin insisted on following me south and so together we went. The rest of my story is significantly less interesting and consists mostly of my floundering attempts to interact with others. I suppose I’ve kept to my family’s old habits of following game. My home tends to be whatever tree or cave I can make a bed in. I’ve spent a lot of time in Rhapsody hunting and trading with the nomadic tribes. I’m told I make excellent garments. I also picked up little Arilyth along my travels, too. Baelin and I found her wandering lost in the forest about a month ago, her pack had been destroyed by angry farmers. I couldn’t leave her to fend for herself and Baelin could use some responsibility. They’ve been like two peas in a pod.
In my travels lately, though, the forests of Fastigium have had the most plentiful game (surprising enough with the war). And so, here I am trading my furs and clothes with you. This is the most I’ve talked to anyone in a while; I’m really not sure what’s come over me. Anyway, thank you for your business and I hope those serve you well. Until next time.
