Role

Chapter 9

It's hard out there for a Half Elf. Oh, right, mind the spelling. I'm not
one of those poor half-humans, doomed to clod around like drunken dwarves and die
just when their life is getting started. Thank the light and save their souls...
I was born of a fair flower of Darsylon nobility and a thuggish (his word) wood-elf
father. I bet it was an interesting tale how those two met...Anyway my mother was a nice
lady who died too soon. I guess I got my good looks from her, and the importance
of devotion...

My father...oh my, where to begin. He was a bandit in another life, but only when
he got REAL drunk would he talk about it, then only to say "Don't do it." When he
straightened out he went to work for the king as a minister without portfolio.
Between the things he found in his first, er, career, and what routinely
came though the city he became an expert on rare artifacts. I guess that was
the one thing that made him happy. He would spend hours pouring over scraps
of metal, dusty bits of parchment, whatever he could get his hands on. That
was his devotion...and between the strange hours and barrels of wine it wound up
killing him. I tell everyone it was a broken heart. I don't think it's a lie...
the poor guy never looked at another woman after Mother.

That's my history. Good looks, strange tales about expensive junk, and devotion.
Oh, right. Devotion. Mother and Father both told me over and over and over how
important it was to find something in my life bigger than myself, a great
work, a cause that started long before me and would go on after me. I
really took that to heart.

Continued...