Calidar: In Stranger Skies
a half elf whose burning inner light threatens to tear through his dark outer shell.
My other died birthing me. Her past, like the past of my father are unknown.
She was consumed in a fiery conflagration giving birth to me. Those less educated assumed it was the result of consorting with Demons and Devils. Those more enlightened noted the fires that engulfed her noted the lack of tell tale brimstone stench that emanates from the denizens of the lower planes, and the fires that consumed my mother were more primal, elemental in nature.
I was born in the elven community of Cormathhin. a mid sized community of feyfolk, containing more than a few schools of wizardry ,scholarly thought and temples of the elven gods.
Due to the arcane nature of my birth, I was a ward of the state. At first the priests of our community attempted to pry the nature of my existance with their magic. They found none. They attempted to train me in the ways of the priesthood, to contain whatever taint I might have..but when it became apparent no elven god would answer my prayers, I was delivered to the wizards.
These were trying years. living as a half elf in an elven community was tough. living without a family made it more so. Being spurned by the very gods made it nearly unlivable.
My one saving grace was that if anything, the gods seemed indifferent to my presence in their temples, and for that, my life was spared.
I fared little better under the harsh tutelage of the wizards… or should I say experimentation. I was told I would be educated in their ways… nothing of the sort ever occurred. My days were spent scrubbing pots, doing their errands and fetching their reagents in the woods.
By then I was accustomed to the silence of neglect. But within their well manicured halls (and I would know, as I spent most of my time cleaning them!) I managed to steal a glance from time to time of their experiments, their books, their rituals…
perhaps they tired of prodding me with their magic, or perhaps they tired of catching me reading their books, or maybe it was occasional opportunity to eavesdrop, but before I reached my 18th year, I was cast out, sent to be a servant for a far more menial task. Fodder for the community… a lowly guard.
Wirestren, an elderly scholar, was my only aquaintance. I am loath to call him friend. ours was a relationship of mutual benefit. He was too frail, too old, even for an elf. We worked a reasonable exchnge between us. While his health had failed him, and could no longer even conjure the energy to cast anything more than a cantrip, he was a superative researcher.
He was the most kind. Instead of invading my mind, or tearing away at my soul, he resorted to logic and research in his books for his investigations.
He knew my mother when she was younger, and was her instructor. She was a wizard of no small skill. She had traveled the planes for many years. and when she had returned finally, she was changed. gone was her humor. gone was her smile. She had made the ultimate sacrifice, and I was the result. her death was agonizing in the end, not even the tatters of her clothing, nor the blood from the birth remained… only a fine dusting of white ash. She never spoke about the events leading up my birth, but clearly something had haunted her.
Wirestren knew her to be a irrepressible adventurer, but an elf to the core. He refuted the idea I was result of the willing coupling with a human man. He was equally sure she was strong enough to defend herself after a long life of adventure. He was convinced I was the born out of a pact with a powerful extraplanar being, the purpose for which remains unknown.
the parting gift from the high wizard aleron, before casting me out, was a maimed leg. He was the last to catch me observing his rituals…. rituals that were not suitable for high wizards in upstanding elven communities. His pet golem had a fine time toying with me. before brutally crushing my leg. He reminded me that as a elf, I was blessed with two legs (I did not mention to him that humans were born with 3… but I digress), and that if I wanted to keep the use of the second one, that I would do well to avoid eavesdropping on him again, or to ever mention his late night activities.
Despite their haughty nature, the elves are not wasteful of life, nor are they particularly cruel (Aleron excluded). I was sent to train with the warriors. in the hopes I would find some purpose within our enclave.
Being that I was ‘clumsier than a drunken zombie’ , I was deemed unsuitable to even join the guard. Jasincth ,my superior officer, took pity upon me however, and taught me the way of the sword. He rigged up a brace of sorts to assist me with walking, and gave me his old sword and armor. I dont know why he pitied me, or why he even tried.In truth, I did not care. he was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. He had taught me, rehabilitated me, and most importantly he talked to me. not that Wirestren did not. but as I stated before, the elderly sage and I had a working relationship, and Jasincth genuinely seemed to care about my future well being. he put his own money and effort into the mithril elven brace that I wear to this day.
And when I became old enough, he was the one to tell me it was for the best I should leave. Clearly I was not tainted by hellspawn, But tainted I was by alerons ill favor, my human blood, and unclear intentions of whatever being my mother had made the pact with.
There was no future for me here. But there was outside our forested realm. The acceptance I craved would never be found from within, but perhaps it could from without. He told me it would be unlikely anyone else would welcome my return, but should I do, he would be there to greet me, the others be damned. and so he bought me provisions, forced me to memorize the design of my brace, and bid me farewell.
One day I will learn what the wizards could not, I will learn the reason for my existence, and I shall return triumphant to pay back the debts both good and bad that are due… with interest.