Her Beginning

Growing up, it never occurred to her that her life was unusual. She lived with her father; perhaps "traveled" would be more apt a term since they didn't have a home other then the wilderness. They followed the seasons through the land, spring to summer, summer to fall, each turn of the year finding them in a new place.

They never counted her years, she didn't know it was important and her father never mentioned it. But each spring her father's mood became melancholy, his normally congenial demeanor turned wistful. She didn't understood why, but there were a few times she caught him watching her, tears glistening in his eyes only to be quickly blinked away when he noticed her staring. When she asked, he would force a smile and tell her to be patient, answers would come when it was time for them.

She was taught to hunt, to live off the land, to care for herself and all living things. Well, most living things, Drow and demons were the exception. She was taught to be wary of humans, but never to fear them. As the years passed, the steady rhythm of their lives was unchanged but always exciting. Everything the wild had to teach her was absorbed, the more she learned the more she wished to know. Her father never tired of teaching her, pouring into his daughter all his knowledge.

Her view of the world was seen through her father's eyes. She measured everyone she met against him, and all were found lacking. In their continuing travels, they met few but none carried themselves as her father did. If she had known what it meant, she would have said his bearing was regal and proud. As his daughter, she learned through his example and she learned well all that he taught her.

Except how to write. She knew her letters and reading wasn?t so bad, as long as it was about hunting, or living off the land, or the creatures in the world. Writing on the other hand was not her forte and she was adamant about that. Once she was competent enough with a quill to write her name, she refused to learn more. Since she was rarely willful, her father thought it best to acquiesce and encourage her passions.

Her passion, after hunting, was bowcraft. Every elf has a rudimentary knowledge of how a bow is crafted, but few could make more then a serviceable weapon. She, on the other hand, became a master craftsman. She understood the gentleness required to turn a piece of wood into a bow of unsurprising strength and beauty, how to meld metal to wood in the elven tradition. Additionally, while her ability with a quill was wanting at best, the artistry of her carving was breathtaking. She could spend years crafting a single bow, her patience in her craft was boundless and served her well.

Two centuries passed like this. Until the day everything changed.

Name:
E-Mail:
Subject:
Response:
> Growing up, it never occurred to her that her life was unusual. She lived with her father; perhaps "traveled" would be more apt a term since they didn't have a home other then the wilderness. They followed the seasons through the land, spring to summer, summer to fall, each turn of the year finding them in a new place. > They never counted her years, she didn't know it was important and her father never mentioned it. But each spring her father's mood became melancholy, his normally congenial demeanor turned wistful. She didn't understood why, but there were a few times she caught him watching her, tears glistening in his eyes only to be quickly blinked away when he noticed her staring. When she asked, he would force a smile and tell her to be patient, answers would come when it was time for them. > She was taught to hunt, to live off the land, to care for herself and all living things. Well, most living things, Drow and demons were the exception. She was taught to be wary of humans, but never to fear them. As the years passed, the steady rhythm of their lives was unchanged but always exciting. Everything the wild had to teach her was absorbed, the more she learned the more she wished to know. Her father never tired of teaching her, pouring into his daughter all his knowledge. > Her view of the world was seen through her father's eyes. She measured everyone she met against him, and all were found lacking. In their continuing travels, they met few but none carried themselves as her father did. If she had known what it meant, she would have said his bearing was regal and proud. As his daughter, she learned through his example and she learned well all that he taught her. > Except how to write. She knew her letters and reading wasn?t so bad, as long as it was about hunting, or living off the land, or the creatures in the world. Writing on the other hand was not her forte and she was adamant about that. Once she was competent enough with a quill to write her name, she refused to learn more. Since she was rarely willful, her father thought it best to acquiesce and encourage her passions. > Her passion, after hunting, was bowcraft. Every elf has a rudimentary knowledge of how a bow is crafted, but few could make more then a serviceable weapon. She, on the other hand, became a master craftsman. She understood the gentleness required to turn a piece of wood into a bow of unsurprising strength and beauty, how to meld metal to wood in the elven tradition. Additionally, while her ability with a quill was wanting at best, the artistry of her carving was breathtaking. She could spend years crafting a single bow, her patience in her craft was boundless and served her well. > Two centuries passed like this. Until the day everything changed.
Optional Link URL:
Link Title:
Optional Image URL: