Wrukesht Al'Jaragh the Legend of the Battlefield, Drillmistress of Battle

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 13

The bandits virtually ignored him, focused as they were on Wrukesht. That cost the first
one his life as Jaragh parried a lazy strike and riposted with a thrust through the man's
heart. Hearing his companion's final bloody gurgle, the other bandit turned from Wrukesht
and begin a flurry of blows with his two swords. Jaragh took a slice to his chest, but
nothing lethal. Pulling his second sword he caught the bandit's blades as he recovered
from the flurry, crossing his own swords and unleashing a solid kick.

This cross down parry was almost Jaragh's death. Skilled though he was, the body was not
as strong as the will. With a gasp, his knee gave out. Jaragh fell. Saved only by the
bandit's nose's fountaining blood, which blinded the bandit, Jaragh rolled over and stood
on his one good leg. Gambling his own life, he lunged with all his strength, a double
thrust with both swords that would either kill or leave him open. Praying to the gods
of light, his arms reached out, supported only by his one good leg, and...

Success. His blades skewered the bandit, who fell almost instantly, taking Jaragh's
swords with him. Jaragh's falling whoomph! came only a second later, as his good leg no
longer balanced under him. Turning his head, he saw Wrukesht, staring wide-eyed at him
and then the two dead bandits. If nothing else, today marked the end of Wruksht's youth.
Moving to him, she helped him sit up, watching him wince as he knee moved. "I'm sorry,
Old Man. I shouldn't have tried to use the dagger." "You're right, you shouldn't have. But
I understand why you did, and I am not mad at you. In a day or two we can talk more about
it and your feelings and how to face things in the future. This was the first time you have
been part of violence, but much as I pray otherwise, it likely won't be the last, my girl."

Events transpired as might be expected. Two patrolling guards came soon and took charge.
Jaragh was bandaged and they rode the second horse back to Balator, stopping only to
return the horse to the royal stable and purchase a donkey to carry Jaragh home. Upon
arrival, the kids flocked to Jaragh, who limped haeavily and grimaced with each step.
Nobody paid Wrukesht mind, and all the children devoted themselves to Jaragh, another
unique result of the annual winter holiday. Dinner was laid out and eaten, presents were
distributed, and kids tried to stay up late but fell asleep, carried to bed by older kids

None of which mattered to Wrukesht. THe Old Man's knee was broken now, and it was all her
fault. He would never have been there but for her. And if she weren't so useless with her
dagger, and hadn't been so foolish as to try to fight, everything would be fine. She would
never forgive herself. This is why, to this day, whenever she visits Jaragh, she invariably
asks him about his knee.

And, this is why she holds daggers dear to her heart, and will always work to be the best

Happy Holidays, All!!!

Role

Chapter 12

"Well pick it up, girl!" chortled the proprieter. Startled into action she whipped a hand
out and lifted it... and almost dropped it. "Easy now, Wrukesht, easy, it's not a toy,"
cautioned Jaragh. "You have to respect it and its power. Because weapons do have
power. You may wield it, and it may be a tool, but it is nothing like any other tool.
This is made to hurt. Perhaps to kill. And you must keep that in mind at all times."
Nodding sagely, both men looked down at Wrukesht, ensuring she understood.

The next moments are a blur for Wrukesht. She was shown how sharp the edges were, given
her own whetstone and other items for proper keeping of her new dagger, taught how to
use them, and all the little things someone who had never owned or used a dagger would
need to know. Before she even knew it, she and Jaragh were back on their horses and
heading back to Balator. The rhythm of the horse, and the heat of Jaragh's back combined
to put Wrukesht to sleep. But then she woke, not knowing what was happening, only that
she was on the ground and the Old Man was standing in front of her, his sword out, two
men brandishing their own weapons at him. The horse, she saw, was dead, an arrow in its
neck. Then she realized just how much her head hurt. Ouch!

"Put the sword down, grandpa, give us your gold and things, and we'll let you and your
granddaughter go. You've got no chance here and if you don't do what we say, we'll kill
you and sell this one to the slavers at the Hamsah docks!" Wrukesht was aghast, but she
also was muddled from the fall. Where normally would be terror and good sense, now all
she felt was anger. Anger that these men were ruining the holiday. Anger that these men
threatened her with slavery. And perhaps most of all, anger that they might harm the Old
Man, just when he gave her the most wonderful and powerful gift of her life! Without
thinking (obviously), she stood and pulled out her shiny new dagger. Before Jaragh could
step in front of her, she darted around him and reached out to stab one of them.

Surprise more than anything kept her alive in that moment. Her completely unexpected
action caught all three men unawares and so her dagger actually did nick one of the men.
Nothing serious, barely a prick, but still. Enraged, they charged after her, ready to
forgo slavery for the pleasure of watching her die.

Of course they had no idea they faced a Knight. And not just any Knight, but famed Jaragh.
Even at his advanced age he was beyond skilled. He had forgotten more than these two, their
parents, and their grandparents would ever or had ever known. What he lost in speed he made
up with savvy anticipation of moves he had seen when Cador walked the lands.

Role

Chapter 11

As they left the Bahiyaa Gate, Wrukesht's eyes could not be wider. She swore she would
miss nothing, not one thing, no matter how small. Despite the fast pace of thei riding,
she was able to see so much. They took a quick stop at an oasis, and a brief detour for
Jaragh to show her the spot where he fought three evil Shadows (reminder: ask Old Man
who they were, it didn't sound like he was talking about shadows), killing two and making
the third run away. Sooner than she would have thought possible, they entered Galadon's
East Gate, and all other thoughts fled like carrion beetles in sunlight. Jaragh slowed
deliberately, giving Wrukesht at least a little time to take it all in. She was agog.

One thing she did notice was how even here, in this most cosmopolitan of cities, Jaragh
was famous. She saw people whisper, saw them elbow their companions, saw them all watch
him as he walked among them. He seemed oblivious to it, but she was shocked. Of course
everyone knew him in Balator, but this? She had no idea.

Soon enough they came to a weaponsmith shop and Jaragh ushered her in. "Can I go to that
baker over there and maybe buy a pie or two, Old Man? Please??" "No, Wrukesht, you need
to come with me." "Awwww." Pouting, Wrukesht entered with Jaragh into the shop, her
eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. In the back she could see the glow of the forge, but
they were far enough away not to feel any heat. All around her were millions (it
it seemed) of weapons: axes, maces, swords, daggers, flails, spears, even things she had
no idea what they were. Without pause, Jaragh went right up to the owner, clasping arms
and smiling as they greeted. "My friend, I have come for my special purchase! You said
you were able to make it just as I would remember?" "Indeed, Jaragh. It's right here."

Stepping behind the counter he bent over and pulled out a wrapped bundle from the shelf.
Laying it on top, he unwrapped the cloth coverings, carefully moving slowly. In a moment
the weapon was revealed. "That's very short for a sword, Old Man. Is that what you used??"
Smiling, Jaragh said, "No, my girl. It's not. It's a dagger. And... it's for you. Happy
holiday, my dear."

Stunned for the second time in as many days, Wrukesht was immobile. This was for her??
The dagger was as beautiful as it was lethal. She stared it, the blade gleaming in the
ray of sunlight reaching in through the door. It was a straight dagger, its edges two
perfect lines, reaching perhaps six inches out from the handle. And the handle! From
where she stood it looked like pure ivory. But it couldn't be ivory, right? How cold
anyone, even the Old Man, spend so much as to buy her something ivory?? The whole thing
gleamed and shimmered, almost as though wet.

Role

Chapter 10

Hamsah was a revelation. All the sights and sounds. And smells! Such exotic
spices! Silk scarves! And she saw someone exchanging black and white pearls they
said came from the merchants all the way east on the city docks. Things she'd
never seen or heard of were going on all around her and her head couldn't swivel
fast enough to catch even half of it. Jaragh was careful not to let go of her hand,
much as she thought she was too old for that, as he knew, even if she didn't, just
how dangerous the city, and the world, can be. She was still quite innocent and
while he didn't want to spoil that, he certainly wasn't going to take any chances.

They spent hours in the city. A bit of wandering, from clothiers to food merchants,
to jewelers and toymakers. Exotic chocolates and clever toys for the youngest kids.
Complicated puzzles and contraptions for those a bit older. Clothing, and even a
small bird as pet for one group of kids sharing a room. Jaragh asked Wrukesht what
she thought before each purchase, making her warm inside with pride and happiness.
As the hours went by they filled their bags (some things Jaragh paid to be
delivered as they were too big for the two of them to carry), Wrukesht began to
notice that they hadn't talked about her, about what she might want or about what
Jaragh might have in mind for her. Of course she did not bring it up, but it was
like a hornets' nest in her belly, she felt she would explode!

Jaragh, of course again, knew. This was not his first tourney! And he had something
very, very special for Wrukesht. So, sure enough, when he sensed she actually might
blow up right in front of himi, he said, "Wrukesht, I know how tired you must be,
and you probably want to go home, but, would you mind terribly if we made a trip to
Galadon? I would like to see the Weaponsmith there, he says he has made a sword much
like the blades we used to used back when Knights were still around."

Wrukesht could not have been more silent and still if she'd been hit in the head with
an iron mace. So stunned she was, it took her half a minute just to comprehend this
development. Forget buying a gift, she was GOING TO GALADON!!! THE MOST FAMOUS CITY
IN THE WORLD!!!!

"Uh (cough), sure, (cough) Old Man. That would (cough) be fine (throat clearing). I'll
be (more coughing) just fine. Really (sipping water to clear her throat and calm her
down. So, uh, let's go?" Hiding a smile, Jaragh went to the royal stables where he'd
a week ago called in a favor and arranged for two horses - they would ride double but
this way they could ride fast and change halfway.

Role

Chapter 9

Thirteen, maybe fourteen years, was Wrukesht, and it was the usual end-of-year
festivities. As one of the older kids, she had responsibilities. Joragh can't
do everything! But for this particular night, nobody complained. The smaller
kids made their beds without a single complaint. The middle kids wielded
brooms and mops and brushes without fuss, making the orphanage a beautiful
looking, and smelling!, place, even if for just one night. No easy feat indeed!

Older kids, like Wrukesht, had other duties. One or two were set to mind over
the littler ones. Some were set to cooking in the kitchen, for the special
feast. Still others had to ensure the orphanage wasn't just clean, but festively
decorated with all sorts of bright and shiny things. The rules (of course there
were rules!) say you can't start before, you can only start on the day itself,
so everone wakes up early to make sure everything is done by sundown, when the
meal begins.

Wrukesht though, she was lucky. This year she was the chosen one to go out with
Jaragh and look for presents. Each year one of the kids went with Jaragh both to
help choose gifts, and of course help carry them back! Price was no object, just
for this one occasiion. Wrukesht couldn't imagine how many dragons Jaragh must
have killed, how many treasures he must have found, but every year, without fail,
he carried no copper, no silver, just coins of solid gold. A never-ended supply
it seemed to Wrukesht, but she wasn't about to complain!

So, when Jaragh called out to her and told her she was this year's gatherer, she
was more excited than she could remember being in a very long time. Soon enough
they set out. First stop: the merchants up north, almost to the imperial lands.
She was antsy and impatient when they arrived; she knew these merchants well and
she was not interested in their wares. No, the whole point, the whole excitement,
came from knowing they would be leaving Balator! Once, only once, had she done
so, a brief trip to Hamsah Mu'Tazz when Jaragh brought her to the senior healer,
as the local priest could not cure an illness. She had barely any memories of it
and so really it would be her first time going anywhere.
Now of course Jaragh knew this is what each year's kid wanted, but it was fun
watching them fidget and dance while he took far more time than necessary. The
local merchants all knew the game, they parading things they knew wouldn't be
bought, all while snickering with Jaragh. Jaragh was a good customer all year,
they did not begrudge this one time each year when he went elsewhere for his
shopping. And so, after a grueling hour, Wrukesth finally smiled as Jaragh made
his way out of the market and headed south, out of Balator. Hooray!

Role

Chapter 8

Acceptance is a weird thing. People crave it, but simultaneously question
it if/when it arrives. For Wrukesht, the moment she entered the Village
was almost surreal. It was not a lifelong goal, she only learned of her
true history a few years earlier. Nonetheless, once she did learn, she was
immediately somewhat estranged from Jaragh, her father in all but name.
Perhaps estranged is too strong a word. But there was a noticeable
change in their relationship. She was not friends with other children, now being
an adult. She had no other friends. And so the Old Man was her only bulwark
against loneliness. As evident from her daily demeanor, she is not a particularly
happy or joyous person - except with Jaragh. It's like a switch is flipped and
she is a happy young girl with him. So when she learned the truth and the space
between them appeared, it was devastating.

So when Xzelyx - a dark elf no less! - took barely a moment to usher her into
the Village to make her own hut, essentially giving her an instant family, it struck
her. Hard. All of a sudden doubts she never had before swam in her head: did she deserve
it? Did she earn it? Was it the right thing to do? How will she live with all these
strangers?? It was both exhilerating - she met the famed Destructor! - and petrifying,
all at once. But very quickly she calmed, reminding herself of what she had
already accomplished, and the seriousness of her task. To kill, and, to heal.

As planned, she chose the path of Defender. It was close, she was tempted
by the Berserker path, as inside she boils with rage at what happened to her and
by extension what she now knows as the evil of magic. All magic. But in the end
she agrees with what she believed Einoh stands for, which is killing is justified the
most because it aids in the next step: the healing. She wants to embody both sides of
war, to be a mageslayer and simultaneously to be a lifesaver. Only this way can
the conduct be righteous, to her mind. And so she has ended one part and now
begun upon the rest of her life.

Role

Chapter 7

Nothing is more common than the power of a first. The first time walking,
riding a horse, falling in love, completing some task perfectly without need
for correction or restart. But none of it is the same as the first time taking
a life. For Wrukesth, it was in some ways most shocking because she did not
feel very strongly. Finishing the necromancer and watching his last breath
felt more like accomplishing a task. Certainly some satisfaction, and some
pride, but not the great disgust or shame, or, conversely, the great joy or
happiness at accomplishing her goal. She of course had killed and eaten animals,
and other non-sentient beings, but this was the first of its kind. Her biggest
sense was more that it was the first in healing, not destroying. Magic, and
promulgate it, do such damage and harm, and this was her first step toward
healing Thera. Pruning is not killing, it is protecting and tending.
Especially a necromancer, which was not lost on her.

Even so, she did feel profoundly changed. She crossed a line she could never
return from. When next she saw him, the Old Man was perfectly happy; he had
been a knight after all. But still, old as he is, he remembered the first time and
knew she was not the Wrukesht he knew just the day before. Together they
spent the day, their bond strengthened by this now-shared experience of killing.

The second and third and fourth were little different. Perhaps more satisfaction
and gladness, as she became more used to it, seeing the fruits and benefits of what
is sad but necessary, and being there to help, herself, when others do not.
She is assured now, that she has made the right decision. She will never truly derive
joy from what is now her life's work, or at least does not expect to, but she
is clear eyed and knows the only way to heal Thera is to kill a part of it. She will
do it, come what may.

Role

Chapter 6

Many ask what she would have done if she did not learn of her past.
Being raised by a former knight, she likely would have sought the Fortress.
So while we know why she now despises magic with a fiery hot fury, it
is of worth to note her views on evil generally. A conversation with the
maran paladin Vartin illuminated and confirmed her realization, her revelation,
that she was never meant for the fortress.

While with Vartin, a younger priest came by and used his power upon Wrukesht
to determine her place in the world, whether she glows gold or red, as it were.
The cleric did this without asking. Wrukesht protested. The priest used
his spark of divine power on Wrukesht without permission. In short, imposing
his will upon her. In her discussion with Vartin, she saw that he did not care,
that it does not matter what others may want, he and his can do whatever they
want. Wrukesht asked is not imposing ones will on another without consent one
definition of evil? Vartin could not respond and instead deflected, saying the
priest's act did not harm Wrukesht, so why does she care. If she has nothing to
hide, she should not care. And on and on. All avoiding the heart: it was an evil act.

Wrukesht told him she feared he, as many maran, had taken too many steps into the
domain of evil and should step back. She said she would pray for him, and she did.
For her, it crystalized that she made the right choice. She values and
prizes her goodness, and that of others, but does not think they understand
what it means. The marans and others like them do much good, indisputably.
But they often miss the mark. Wrukesht is content in her decision and path.

Role

Chapter 5

Wrukesht grew, as all children do. Not knowing anything of her past she had
nothing to live up or down to. She was just... herself. She was never meant to be.
She was no happier or sadder, but quickly obvious she was quicker, smarter, more
athletic than the others. Unbeknownst to her she had inherited the best of both
parents. She was a precious vessel, awaiting meaning and training to be poured
into her. She gobbled up everything, from martial skills to logical reasoning
to philosophy and strategy. She was neither more nor less prone to anger than
other kids, and in that respect, thankfully, reflected her mother more than her
father. She was on a path to be a solid fighter, teacher, or other respected
but not particularly famous or outstanding person.

All that changed when, not too long ago, she was visited by an old man, one
she'd never met before. Jaragh - for whom she acted as a second in command -
found her and sat her down, telling her she needed to listen to this man.
Sure enough, it was the man who had brought her to the orphanage. In moments
he retold the gruesome tale. Wrukesht's face grew grayer as each second passed
until she stood and ran, vomiting in the privy. Her whole world, upside down.
She should not be alive. Her mother was dead but kept alive by foul magic. Her
very life's blood came from a dead woman, raped by a fiend, creating...what??
She always knew one parent was dark elf and the other human, her black hands
and body features made that clear, including of course the problem with mithril.
But this???

Many nights were spent alone, or with Jaragh, working to accept the truth. A
year, in fact. And she emerged with a focus. Her past now revealed, her future
would be different. This should not happen ever again. Such magic must be
Erradicated. Each person, each people, the world, must be healed of this poison.
She is now committed. The evil of magic will end. She will help heal Thera, and
along the way, herself. She will not fall into temptation, and she will reveal
the darkness of magic to all. Woe to any who get in her way...

Role

Chapter 4

The wall behind her exploded into her as an umber hulk pushed through and
struck her arm, spoiling her strike and in a rare ungraceful moment, moving
her clumsily out of position. Nereid, equally shocked, lost a beat and did
not seize the opportunity. Nonetheless, the exploding wall threw a stone
at Valxsphre's head, knocking her out cold. Chance and luck further favored
Nereid, as the hulk was followed by two more, and for whatever reason they
focused their fury on the dark elves closes to them. Simultaneously, the
thieves had all but routed the svirf guards. Eager to survive and spend
the spoils, they withdrew, carrying all the treasure they could. Nereid
though, he now desired something more. In short, he tied Valxsphre up and
threw her over his shoulder.

In time, they arrived at their lair, where the fortune was spread out.
They had all agreed to lay low for several months before spending any, to
minimize being caught. Nereid used this time to, well, use Valxsphre. His
lust only increased every time she fought or insulted or otherwise sought to
escape. But he never untied her, and had no qualms subjecting her to
horrible indignity and abuse. Worse, it was not long before he realized she
was pregnant. Learning this, Nereid's anger was enormous, and in a fit of
rage he struck her in the head. At that moment, Valxsphre died. Her body may
still breathed, but she was gone. Debate ensued, what to do with the pregnant
body. In some of the darkest of deeds, Nereid convinced their necromancer to
ensorcell her, to keep the body alive and preserved, for the remaining months.

Foul magic, foul deeds, and foul people led to a miracle, as Wrukesht was
born. Drunk, Neried yelled he would dash her skull against the rocks and make
sure neither he nor the dark elf line would continue. But he was overcome
by his ale and collapsed, asleep. With this one chance, one of the few who
had tried to release Valxsphre snuck in and plunged his dagger into Nereid's heart.
Quickly gathering the newborn he fled, grabbing a fistfull of gems as he made his
way out of the lair. With no plan and nowhere to go he went to the one place
all adventurers know, the orphanage in Balator. Dropping the gems around the baby,
banged on the door and then ran, never to be seen again. Moments later Jaragh
came and found yet another infant. Shaking his head he brought her in, her life
starting anew...

Role

Chapter 3

And so the players are in their places. Valxsphre, choosing to accompany the
troop of patrollers safeguarding the delegation journeying to meet the
svirfneblin company. As always, the meeting was set much nearer to Teth
Azaleth, at the junction where one might journey to the fungoids or go north
toward the main part of the underdark. It's a routine transaction, made
boring by many years of repetition. But that is precisely why Valxsphre went
along. First time or thousandth, her warriors would be at their best, peak
performance a requisite at all times. She appeared unannounced at the city
gates, to the covered-up chagrin of all the soldiers there. She did not take
command as she wanted to assess and judge the sub-commander. She walked and
she watched.

At the same time, Nereid and his crew awaited in hiding, having spent a
near fortune for an invoker who had devised a way to extend his improved
invisibility to do so over the full group, as well as the work of a cavern-
dwelling ranger who camouflaged them all with great efficacy, and warning
not to move once he finished his ministrations. Staying still is hard. Really
hard. But these were professionals, and the thought of all the gems and
riches about to be taken ensured compliance. Just a matter of time.

And so it happened. The svirfs and the dark elves approached, the contingents
doing nothing to conceal their sight or sound. As always. Again, as
always when they met, they followed the ancient protocol, the chests were
brought out and set on the ground for the dark elves to inspect and re-close
and relock. It was at just that moment, when all attention is focused on the
sparkling jewels, gems, and coins, that Nereid and his compatriots struck. And
as usual, he singled out the best foe for his own. Valxsphre of course.

It quickly became clear each had finally met a worthy foe. Both shared looks
of surprise as well as determination, though his was furious while hers was
almost serene. While confusion and melee surrounded them, they fought viciously
and without quarter. While close to evenly matched, Valxsphere began to
openings in Nereid's defenses, while permitting him far fewer. While only another
master could tell, Nereid was overmatched. His anger fueled even greater
speed and fury, but still she was the better. It was only a matter of time.

And then the moment came, she saw her opening just as he did, and nothing
he could do would stop it. She began her strike, and at that instant...

Role

Chapter 2

Nereid was his name. Foul smelling. Foul looking. Foul of temper. And most
definitely foul of every law enforcement organization in Thera. His one saving
grace was an unlikely and highly surprising ability with arms. He would have been
long dead had he not possessed skills even to impress the guildmasters of Galadon,
Hamsah Mu'Tazz, Arkham, and even Seantryn Modan. Shocking, even, that such a
revolting human being would have the luck to bear the natural gifts, as well as
the dedication to succeed. But, he did, and so his weapons were prized even if he,
and his pernicious odor, were otherwise unwelcome. One such time, the last in
fact, brought him to the underdark, where a band of thieves needed some muscle
in the biggest heist of their lives: hitting the tribute caravan from lower
Cragstone. Nereid could not possibly care less who he worked for, as long as it
promised killing, women, and paid in gold - pure, and paid on time. That's all.

He didn't know a damn thing about his parents, he was a classic orphan left at
the door, raised in Balator, a bully from the start. Obviously fully human,
nothing could be discerned and he never spent even one second wasted wondering
about the scum who abandoned him. He assumed he'd be just like them, so never
wanted a family, any children, he just wanted to do whatever he wanted,
whenever he wanted, and to have the gold to do it - if killing wouldn't be
suffice. And so jobs like this one in the underdark were perfect. Undoubtedly
bloody. Certainly high pay. And no law around to get in the way. Perfect.

Role

Chapter 1

Some things are difficult to discuss, to see, to hear, to read. You might
know you must say it, write it, share it, yell it with anger or love or
anything in between. But it can be hard. So hard. Hearing details of horror
are perhaps not as difficult as conveying them, but it's no competition, both
sides suffer. Nonethtless. Understanding must happen. Knowledge is needed.
And so you will hear of the rape of Valxsphre, first female Mistress of War.

She was formidable, Valxsphre, as you might expect. In a society where women
rule, the one place men had always ruled was the school of war. Century after
century, millennia after millennia, it was always a man. The women noted it
with typical dark elf humor, demeaning even when complimenting. The exception
that proved the rule. The sneer that such messiness is beneath a woman, who
should of course focus on magic, or, they would suppose, unholy divine powers.
But cutting and bludgeoning and piercing and the like? Pshaw. Not for a true
dark elf female.

Until Valxsphre. She was grace personified. Fluid doesn't begin to describe
her perfect, flawless movements. It seemed more like a chore than a fight
to the death, as all fights are to determine mastery. She killed the man who
moments before had been the finest of all dark elves without taking a scratch.
All while being as quick of mind of any woman, as well. They could find no flaw
in her, though not for lack of trying. But she simply did not want to pursue
magic or the life of a cleric. She engaged her intellect as much as her sinews
when she trained and planned and fought. She defied any to defeat her in any
mental challenge. All failed. They stopped trying after long. She was just...
Valxsphre. Alone. At the top, yes, but alone. No one wanted to be her friend,
as much as any dark elf wants to be friends as others might perceive friendship.
So a life of crowds when teaching and servinig as the Matron Mother's closest
advisor for war, but solitude when done, without any in her home or her life.
It was thus she was when fate found her.

Immortal Comments

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