Some of you know my name. A very few of you have seen my true face. Most see only illusions ...
I came out of a land of Evil and Shadows, seeking Light.
It is a constant amazement to me how many of you, born to the light, fail to value it. I have known darkness, I have been surrounded by evil, and I hate both with a perfect hatred. What Light I have seen I value above all else ...
I left behind everything I ever held dear - my home, my friends, my family, and my people - to seek and follow Light. It is more precious to me than the costly metals and gems I bless to make protection and enhancement for other followers of Light.
I continue working to prove myself to others, who are either born to Light or who have also chosen to follow Light.
I have fought long hours in the dark dungeons of the dog-beasts, until the folk of the glade have ceased to attack me on sight.
I have collected bone chips for the Dwarven Paladins, and run errands for the bards, until my faithfulness led them to consider me among their allies.
I have slain numerous orcs; until, at last, the knights recognized my efforts to please them and stopped attacking me the instant they saw me.
I waited on a dwarf in a human port city, bringing him and the High Elf Lady he protects the muffins and wine they desire. I am willing to do these menial tasks to please the followers of Light and prove my loyalty to them.
I continue seeking ways to prove myself to the Good and "neutral" peoples. I continue to aid the cause of Light wherever I can. Oddly enough, this Quest has led me into some of the very strongholds of Darkness. I must sometimes deal with the Ogres, to win steins of intelligence that aid students of the arcane arts.
I have sometimes been compelled to return to my home town, to forge armors to protect myself and others of my race. Some, like myself, have chosen to depart from the evil customs our people generally practice. Occasionally I will aid others who have made other decisions, in the hope that they will also come to recognize and follow the ways of Light.
I continue to aid in battle, and to help equip, any who serve the cause of Light and Good. There is far too much of Darkness and Evil in the lands I have traveled thus far. May any Holy God (that might exist) look favorably upon my efforts, and grant that one day I shall know peace.
Pages from the Past
Only recently have I learned my own history.
I had an errand that required a brief return to my long-forsaken home town, Neriak. I was walking swiftly, preoccupied by my errand, when my distraction permitted my feet to follow an old habit ... and carry me to the side street where my father's house stands.
While Father's family was not so notable as the mighty clans of the royalty or higher nobility, he was prominent among the "lesser nobility" of our kind. So the estate and the manor do appear to dominate the street. Should you happen to venture that way, there is no mistaking it for anything but a small mansion. A bit pretentious, really, but well-structured and the grounds well-tended.
I had no conscious intention of passing that way. I was still internally debating the wisdom of my errand, when one of the lifelong household slaves approached me.
"Mistress!" he cried, distress evident in his voice, "thy father is fallen!"
His words shook me out of my reverie. Father dead? I gestured for him to lead me. He moved quickly, pausing occasionally to beckon me onward.
When we arrived in Father's study, I saw his body lying in a pool of his own blood. So it was an assassination. This was not especially surprising; my father had no lack of enemies.
Slaves and servants were huddled about the room, awaiting guidance. My father, Draq, had trained them to await orders; not to act on their own initiative. They had learned this lesson well.
"When was he discovered thus?" I asked.
"This morning, Mistress," my erstwhile guide responded. "Please, Mistress, tell us what we should do?"
I considered. It was late afternoon, approaching evening, when I entered the lavish study. There is certainly enough money in the family to pay for the very best resurrection. But would resurrecting Draq be the best thing to do?
My father was extremely advanced in age, even for an Elf. He maintained a vigorous youthful appearance through dark magicks unknown to me, but he was old none the less. And he was growing increasingly hard and cruel - a true child of Hate. Traits I personally despised.
Should I be the dutiful daughter, and seek restoration of this tyrant? Or ought I to do what is best for the realm, and permit his spirit to leave?
"Where are my brothers, or Lord Deorc?" I asked. "Surely, as my elders, one of them should take charge here?"
"They are none of them in town, Mistress," one old servant stepped forward to say. "And none still living are near enough to summon quickly, even by wizard. The dead ones may be of little aid."
I mused idly for a brief moment, wondering how long my father's body would have lain there undisturbed if chance had not brought me to this neighborhood at just this time. "Summon the guards, let them see him as he is before moving him," I decided aloud.
As the servants scurried to find the local law enforcement authorities (many of whom had more allegiance to the assassin's guild than to law), I noticed the book lying open on father's desk.
Oddly enough, only the front cover was open. So the title was plainly seen: SilverLeaf. The surname I had taken, when I was old enough to choose. Why did he have a book, apparently penned in his own hand, which had my surname for its title?
I quietly removed it from his desk and slipped it under my arm. I would not leave this mystery unsolved, nor would I trust the guards of Neriak with information that might be dangerous to me. I scanned the titles of the other books on his desk, and glanced over the scattered papers.
There was a map of the cliff area of a set of distant mountains, the cliffs all people I knew had considered inaccessible. Those cliffs overlook another sea, one untouched by keel of boat. There was a name written, in a corner of the map that showed a forested section. But I could not read the name, for it had been scratched out and the words "burned by slavers" were written half over it in large lettering.
After hearing the guards' conclusion that it was a professional job, I commanded that father's body be taken to his room and cleaned up. I was still putting off the decision of whether to attempt resurrection or not.
Occasionally a resurrection didn't work, or the returned soul was... distorted... from what it had been. Father was adequately twisted in his previous life; I was uncomfortable contemplating what manner of person he would become if he were restored.
And in any resurrection, the most recent memories before death were always lost. Assassins knew this, and made use of it.
The servants and slaves were lifting Father's still form from the ground, almost reverently. The congealing blood would take some time to wash off of his body, so I had an opportunity to slip into a guest room and read.
It would take too long to relate all the details of what I read. Suffice it to say that there apparently had been a village nestled in a forested area atop the cliffs shown in the map on Father's desk. It had been burned out by slavers, who had remained camped near that area for some time.
The slavers had continued hunting near the ravaged village, hoping to collect its entire population. A few were killed by an elvish archer on their return trip the following day, but the surviving slavers hunted him down and killed him. They never found any others, and were eventually compelled to return and sell their single prize.
They had captured an elvish woman, with pale skin and deep golden hair. She had recently given birth, and was too weak at the time of her capture to give much struggle. In time, she was taken to a slave market where my father was shopping.
She intrigued him, so he purchased her and brought her home. Interrogation had yielded the information that the village was founded just before the civil war among the elves. It was founded by a combination of those now known as "high elves" and "wood elves." It seemed they were unconcerned about racial purity, and had intermarried freely since the village was founded.
The ancestors and elders of the village are those who refused to forsake the Creator when the elvish king and queen returned from their captivity as the broken puppets of Hate. Since these folk had no interest in warring against their own kind, they had quietly slipped away. As a result, they were not available to lend their weight to the nature-loving elves when the civil war had broken out, nor did they have any knowledge of the resulting dark elven race. They had remained completely isolated.
My father had an odd, twisted curiosity about many things. It seemed he wished to learn if a union between this reluctant slave and himself would produce any offspring. According to this book, I am the result of that union.
I sat back, rocked by what I had just learned. It had been remarked previously that my blue skin was much paler than most. I had been teased for the golden highlights in my hair that make it more nearly "platinum blonde" than the ivory it appears to be on a casual glance. It had never entered my wildest imaginings: this idea that the cause of my racial nonconformities might be an ancestor from another elvish race. At least, not an immediate ancestor.
I leaned my head back where I sat, and closed my eyes. I tried to fully absorb this new information. I did not recall ever seeing my mother, having been told she perished during childbirth. My elder siblings had always shunned me as a bastard, though in my earliest youth my father had fiercely claimed me as his own. And my uncle Deorc, his brother, had personally overseen much of my education.
I remembered the season of testing, when experts from each of the various arcane sciences (including the temple of Hate) had questioned, poked and prodded at me. Their conclusion I did not hear, it was delivered privately to my father. However, the result was that Draq delivered me to the tower of the Spurned, and told them I was their responsibility from that day forward.
There I lived, between Uncle Deorc's visits, until the day I fled my home city. At that time, I had planned never to return.
Returning my thoughts to the present, I continued reading this volume of history. It seemed that my unfortunate mother had lived some years after my birth, but was never permitted to visit me. She had sometimes been allowed to view me when I slept or from a distance, but never any direct contact. Yet, oddly enough, the name she chose for me is the one father decreed I should bear: Beruthielle.
There was no mention of the child my mother had birthed before her capture. Slavers being the impatient lot that they are, 'tis most likely that they destroyed the infant. My mother had often expressed hopes and fears concerning a child she'd hidden in the forest just before her capture: her young daughter, Lia.
It seems that SilverLeaf was my mother's family name, before she married this half-sister's father. I do not know what became of him, and if she ever mentioned his name it was not recorded. She never gave her own first name either, only mentioned that she was of clan SilverLeaf.
I was lost in thought, I know not how long. I could not recall precisely why I had chosen this surname, only that somehow it had inherently felt correct. I was pondering anew all these things I had just learned, of myself and my family.
I heard the footsteps of the servants approaching, and closed the book. My father's body was clean and presentable, they informed me.
Now the choice I needed to make haunted me. I desired to avenge my mother, and let her tormentor die. Yet I craved answers that he alone could provide. And I worried, was he seeking this "Lia" also? Should he perish, to protect her?
One thing I knew beyond any doubt: this book was too dangerous to myself and my half-sister. I mourned that I lacked time to read it entirely, but knew that no item in existence could possibly be protected at all times.
I burned the book, making sure that it was completely consumed and scattering the ashes in the fireplace along with the normal wood ashes collecting there. I was glad, perhaps for the first time, that the underground city's perpetual chill always calls for the fireplaces to be in use.
I returned to the study, where the servants and slaves were still cleaning the carpet where my father had fallen. That fireplace was also hosting a brightly burning fire. I fed it with the map from my father's desk, along with any other books or papers I found that seemed connected to this same history.
I hoped it was enough. The household servants and slaves have been thoroughly grilled to focus on the task at hand. So I estimate that none of them would have noticed I was destroying evidence as I paced from desk to fire.
Odd, and convenient, I mused, that none of the other family were within reach today. Odd, and convenient, that the papers of my own history should chance to be upon my father's desk instead of neatly filed among his other books.
Odd, and convenient, that someone had slain him while he perused these particular historical documents. Odd, and convenient, that I should chance to be in the street the very same day.
Was there some higher power guiding these movements? If so, which one? A power for good, or for evil?
Too many mysteries. Too many possibilities.
I knew my father's closest associate, perhaps the closest person to an ally he'd ever had. I sent a messenger, requesting that father's associate attend me if it was convenient for him. I stated in my brief message that I had need to consult him on a matter of some urgency.
He came quickly, appearing slightly annoyed at the intrusion. He bowed formally, his perfect features hard and condescending. "Any summons from a daughter of this house shall always hold the force of law to me," he said graciously.
I chose to ignore the way his face and voice didn't match, at least on the surface. "My sincere apologies, honored sir, if the summons came at a time inconvenient for you," I responded with equal formality.
"However," I continued, "unfortunate events leave me no other choice. The untimely demise of my father requires a decision immediately, and I do not know his wishes. Had he informed you of his preference? Do you know if he wished to be restored, if he perished?"
I could not tell from his reaction if he had known of father's death previously or not. Servants and slaves are not infamous for keeping secrets, and any assassination was cause for a stir among these folk. He was at least surprised that I would consult him on this matter.
Before he could speak, I continued. "I know that I am the least of his children, and I fear making the wrong choice," I said. This was neither more nor less than the truth. "Father was discovered dead only this morning, so there is a little time. Yet not much. May I leave the decision with you, in your more capable hands?"
"I am astonished, and honored, that you would place such trust in me," said father's associate. "Are you certain that you wish the decision to be mine?"
I was increasingly eager to be gone from father's estate. I did not know if Father's killer was commissioned to destroy the entire family, or only Draq. Uncle Deorc, it seemed, had been missing for a very long time and many presumed him dead. I found myself more able to genuinely mourn my uncle's passing than my father's.
I needed time. Time to fully understand what I'd learned, time to disappear if necessary, time to begin my own quiet search for my long-lost half-sister.
"Yes," I said firmly. "I have been gone for a long time, and it seems my elder siblings cannot be reached. You knew Father well, and you have been near him in all my memories of you. I have no reason to expect this has changed in my absence. I believe no other could choose better for him than you could."
I bowed to him, and signaled the nearest servant. "Do whatever he commands concerning Father," I ordered. "When my eldest brother returns, let him be in charge of the house until Father either recovers or until Father's will is opened and read."
Father's associate bowed, a measuring look in his eyes. I know not if he found me more or less than he had expected. I know not if he knew of my mother, or her history. My prior errand was forgotten; I longed only to flee from this place of darkness.
I acknowledged his bow, and bid farewell. Then I left the house, and the city, as quickly as dignity would allow.
