Quenta en' Quay L'Tanaf (continued)

It was a dark and stormy night, in the forest southwest of the Moonsea, that a young elven bard gave birth to a son. One hundred and fifty three years have passed since that night. Herein is a chronicle of the life and times of Quay L'Tanaf.

Quay's childhood was much the same as most young elves. Riding, climbing and learning filled his days. He showed exceptional aptitude as a healer and was being considered seriously as an apprentice by the local Amandil by the time he was a mere 90 turns old. It was on a herb gathering trip for some ginseng, that his life took a drastic turn.

Evening was approaching as young Quay crested the hill overlooking the ancient, abandoned streets of Myth Drannor. His plan was to camp atop the hill and ride down into the ruins to gather the reagents that grew there. His plans were shattered by the scene below.

A small band of human adventurers stood just outside the fallen gates of the decaying city, fighting a valiant but futile battle against over a hundred walking abominations. Dead, decaying flesh clung to the reanimated bones of warriors long past.

The bodies of comrades lay at the feet of the embattled group along side an amazingly large pile of bones they had sent back to the grave. It did not take a master tactician to know they would be overwhelmed should they lose the vantage of the narrow gate. The numbers within would swarm them over. A female took a blade deep into her belly and staggered to the ground behind the band. Quay rode hard toward the gate, hoping to fill the gap created by her loss, not noticing the bundle she pulled from her back. At least not until the bundle began to cry.

The gate could not be held long. The human fighters knew that as well as Quay. They could only hope to fight a delaying battle while some escaped, but none wished to be the ones to flee. As Quay approached, the wounded female rose to one knee and held up the crying bundle. "Please kind elf! Take my babe and flee! We are dead! Flee that he may live!"

The village elders were impressed by Quay's actions, but were not overly happy about the screaming bundle he had brought back to them. It was decided the child should be brought to humans and raised by it's own kind. So Quay packed the babe, a boy, and headed for the coastal city of NeverWinter.

What passed for an orphanage in NeverWinter appalled the young elf. Sweatshop would be a better term. Quay's opinion of humans declined with each offer he received to 'buy' the baby into slavery. He needed a plan.

The wisdom of the elders couldn't be questioned. The child deserved to be raised among his own. But the elders hadn't seen the underbelly of NeverWinter. Quay would stay and raise the child in the land of humans. So the adolescent elf moved to LongSaddle and established a healing practice.

Many strange habits were formed in the next 4 decades of life among humans. Strangest of which is a tendency toward maces as opposed to a proper blade. Quay married during his 23rd year with the humans and together, he and NyteFrost raised Qyl with a love for healing and taste for elven wine.

Shortly after his wedding, NeverWinter suffered a great purge. Thousands were driven from their homes and scattered to the four winds, homeless refugees. Quay brought his family (though followed might be a more accurate term) to many new lands, "Athas", "Realm" and "Norrath" among others. Driven by the two forces that led him on. To find a home for his small family, and to avenge the mother of his adopted son on the undead everywhere.

To this end, he has traveled with his growing family to the woods of Yew in the land of Brittiania. Together with his wife and newborn daughter, his search for a home may well be at an end. His search for just vengeance may take a bit longer. He's 2 for 4 against the Lichs of this land. An apt name for his mounts would be "Lich Lunch". But time will tell.

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> It was a dark and stormy night, in the forest southwest of the Moonsea, that a young elven bard gave birth to a son. One hundred and fifty three years have passed since that night. Herein is a chronicle of the life and times of Quay L'Tanaf. > Quay's childhood was much the same as most young elves. Riding, climbing and learning filled his days. He showed exceptional aptitude as a healer and was being considered seriously as an apprentice by the local Amandil by the time he was a mere 90 turns old. It was on a herb gathering trip for some ginseng, that his life took a drastic turn. > Evening was approaching as young Quay crested the hill overlooking the ancient, abandoned streets of Myth Drannor. His plan was to camp atop the hill and ride down into the ruins to gather the reagents that grew there. His plans were shattered by the scene below. > A small band of human adventurers stood just outside the fallen gates of the decaying city, fighting a valiant but futile battle against over a hundred walking abominations. Dead, decaying flesh clung to the reanimated bones of warriors long past. > The bodies of comrades lay at the feet of the embattled group along side an amazingly large pile of bones they had sent back to the grave. It did not take a master tactician to know they would be overwhelmed should they lose the vantage of the narrow gate. The numbers within would swarm them over. A female took a blade deep into her belly and staggered to the ground behind the band. Quay rode hard toward the gate, hoping to fill the gap created by her loss, not noticing the bundle she pulled from her back. At least not until the bundle began to cry. > The gate could not be held long. The human fighters knew that as well as Quay. They could only hope to fight a delaying battle while some escaped, but none wished to be the ones to flee. As Quay approached, the wounded female rose to one knee and held up the crying bundle. "Please kind elf! Take my babe and flee! We are dead! Flee that he may live!" > The village elders were impressed by Quay's actions, but were not overly happy about the screaming bundle he had brought back to them. It was decided the child should be brought to humans and raised by it's own kind. So Quay packed the babe, a boy, and headed for the coastal city of NeverWinter. > What passed for an orphanage in NeverWinter appalled the young elf. Sweatshop would be a better term. Quay's opinion of humans declined with each offer he received to 'buy' the baby into slavery. He needed a plan. > The wisdom of the elders couldn't be questioned. The child deserved to be raised among his own. But the elders hadn't seen the underbelly of NeverWinter. Quay would stay and raise the child in the land of humans. So the adolescent elf moved to LongSaddle and established a healing practice. > Many strange habits were formed in the next 4 decades of life among humans. Strangest of which is a tendency toward maces as opposed to a proper blade. Quay married during his 23rd year with the humans and together, he and NyteFrost raised Qyl with a love for healing and taste for elven wine. > Shortly after his wedding, NeverWinter suffered a great purge. Thousands were driven from their homes and scattered to the four winds, homeless refugees. Quay brought his family (though followed might be a more accurate term) to many new lands, "Athas", "Realm" and "Norrath" among others. Driven by the two forces that led him on. To find a home for his small family, and to avenge the mother of his adopted son on the undead everywhere. > To this end, he has traveled with his growing family to the woods of Yew in the land of Brittiania. Together with his wife and newborn daughter, his search for a home may well be at an end. His search for just vengeance may take a bit longer. He's 2 for 4 against the Lichs of this land. An apt name for his mounts would be "Lich Lunch". But time will tell.
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