Born of a lustful, since absent elf father and a human serving woman of some, call it ill, repute; I have spent my short span hiding in the darkened corners of foul establishments, reveling in the stories told by passing travelers. Surviving on what coins I could charm or carefully remove from patrons I began my travels, drifting aimlessly amongst villages until fate brought me to a lush tavern, wherein a flaxen haired girl whose womanhood had only just began to flourish were playing her lyre. As the hearth crackled she began to sing of her life and it’s myriad difficulties…
“Rogues shall always rogue,
And thieves with virtue leave,
I shall simply raze ‘t off, raze the burr”
It was in that moment that my purpose did crystalize as I began my studies of stringed instruments. Encouraged by the sisterly affections of the blossoming maiden I began to put the stories overheard to quill and ink. Then, shortly following her 13th year, the lass were sold to successful, if terribly fat and heavily uglied upon landowning son of a whore who proceeded to burden her with child at haste. Her lyre were gifted to me as her own girth rose to meet that of her gelatinous pig of a husband, and I left shortly thereafter for fear the man’s hunger, not unlike that of an undead famine spirit, might turn upon me in the light of his wife’s gaze.
I now travel the open roads, openly disdainful of those who would treat others as chattel and always with a vacant expanse upon which I might write the next fair lady’s name.