Role

Chapter 1

What most take for granted, Ansellus lacks. Knowledge of his drow and human
parents, knowledge of his birthplace. Even assurance that Ansellus is his
birth name, or whether Ollineau is even a family. All absent thanks to the
curse. No, he found out his mixed parentage one night, sneaking out of the
dormitory into the Rose Room, one of the reading rooms of Ardenwood Manor.

The dusty orphanage was sequestered on a forgotten side-street not far from
the Empress' garden in Seantryn Modan. It was full of eclectic art and
artifacts, gaudy treasures, mysterious scrolls. He was not supposed to handle
any of it, but the mithril sword on the wall called to him and rules always
felt more like guidelines to Ansellus. He had always admired the city guards
and their long swords, thick-hafted polearms and stinging whips, and fancied
himself a future warrior. Placing his hand on the mithril blade revealed a
deep sting, though the fact that he could hold it proved he was not full
drow, as did the pesky stubble he dimly remembered shaving constantly.

The place had residents of all races. Elf, duergar, some human. Ansellus
remembered them vaguely, but as individuals - their racial identities or
inherited tendencies to light and dark did not move him. He didnt care
about the abstract of good or evil, it was action that defined the person.
Nor did he mind the place or its communal living, though he often stole away
at night to be with his lover and companion, Ehrlon. He recalled having
memories of their nights together, but nothing clear remained. Only the vague
feelings of fondness and love. The specifics only started that night he saw
Ehrlon being led by the hand from the burning hulk of the old warehouse. All
gets hazy again then.