Quarters

He was orphaned while around two. His parents hid him beneath some bushes while their band was being chased by some rampant troll kings. Their sacrifice allowed him to live while the remainder of the group was slaughtered. A young human woman found him half dead of starvation and dehydration. She took him in and despite his dark elven origins, raised him as her own. She lived some distance away from the landing and entreated him to remain far from 'that place'...the landing. As he grew she taught him rudimentary cantrips to perform while she gathered supplies for everyday life. She'd never allow him to accompany on her trips to Wehnimer's as she said folks wouldn't understand and would belittle his heritage and race. While she was gone he would practice what little magic he knew on his own and attempt to scry secrets from the various scrolls and snippets of magical runes written on tabletops, walls, or wherever she'd happen to scribble them when she'd get the urge or reach a breakthrough while working on a particularly difficult piece of arcana. One day he discovered a loose floorboard and pried it up...it was where she was keeping the real magic tomes hidden while she was gone. He couldn't understand the language, but was a quick study and began learning basic spellwork, which was all the books contained. His love for magic grew, as from his studies did his tolerance for others not of his kind. Another time while on a trip to town, she didn't return. That wasn't too unusual if she'd only been gone several hours, but an unexpected overnight trip was. He grew upset, fidgety, wrought with emotion and stress. Until, frantic with worry, he set out to the forbidden town in the hopes of discovering her whereabouts. Unfortunately, he found out all too soon. She'd loaded up their wagon with sundries and supplies, and upon starting the return journey, her body gave in. Even though he didn't know other races were shorter lived, she'd led a long life (in his young eyes), and old age had caught up with her. Not knowing what to do, and not wanting to return to a now empty house... completely alone, lost and having never seen that many people...or any people other then her, before...he panicked. Yet within his fear kept his head and observed...he learned. Watching the social structure and the varied cultures both clashing yet smoothly working together, he managed based on the rudimentary knowledge of spells he had to determine which spellcasters were of the same bent as him. He chose a human rather then a dark elf...as the only other one he'd known or had memory of was not of his kind. The middle aged man who befriended him showed him a few more spells and discussed how one should survive in the wilds. With a loan that was really more a paltry, but necessary, gift, the man turned to him and spoke: 'The city is not a place for one such as yourself. See the wilds around town; learn to develop your craft, and may you never want for health nor life.' With that he took off to seek his place in life. The road was long and hard, frought with peril...and probably full of lots of other cliches too. But he discovered that the magics he was learning belonged to an odd group of folks called wizards. He quickly became adept at simple incantations and despite being warned off, began to attempt the more difficult spellweaving. Critters would flee in terror or fall over dead from laughing themselves silly. Other people would either gawk in admiration or simply cover their mouths and chuckle...He didn't care. Before too much more time had elapsed, he brought the revenge he'd sworn on the band of troll kings. In the process his lust for revenge and pettiness flew from his fingertips as dandelion seeds fly during the autumn winds. He grew up. My aim ever since has been to help others, and to keep up with my craft. Kylinarr Tourilaf

He was orphaned while around two. His parents hid him beneath some bushes while their band was being chased by some rampant troll kings. Their sacrifice allowed him to live while the remainder of the group was slaughtered. A young human woman found him half dead of starvation and dehydration. She took him in and despite his dark elven origins, raised him as her own. She lived some distance away from the landing and entreated him to remain far from 'that place'...the landing. As he grew she taught him rudimentary cantrips to perform while she gathered supplies for everyday life. She'd never allow him to accompany on her trips to Wehnimer's as she said folks wouldn't understand and would belittle his heritage and race. While she was gone he would practice what little magic he knew on his own and attempt to scry secrets from the various scrolls and snippets of magical runes written on tabletops, walls, or wherever she'd happen to scribble them when she'd get the urge or reach a breakthrough while working on a particularly difficult piece of arcana. One day he discovered a loose floorboard and pried it up...it was where she was keeping the real magic tomes hidden while she was gone. He couldn't understand the language, but was a quick study and began learning basic spellwork, which was all the books contained. His love for magic grew, as from his studies did his tolerance for others not of his kind. Another time while on a trip to town, she didn't return. That wasn't too unusual if she'd only been gone several hours, but an unexpected overnight trip was. He grew upset, fidgety, wrought with emotion and stress. Until, frantic with worry, he set out to the forbidden town in the hopes of discovering her whereabouts. Unfortunately, he found out all too soon. She'd loaded up their wagon with sundries and supplies, and upon starting the return journey, her body gave in. Even though he didn't know other races were shorter lived, she'd led a long life (in his young eyes), and old age had caught up with her. Not knowing what to do, and not wanting to return to a now empty house... completely alone, lost and having never seen that many people...or any people other then her, before...he panicked. Yet within his fear kept his head and observed...he learned. Watching the social structure and the varied cultures both clashing yet smoothly working together, he managed based on the rudimentary knowledge of spells he had to determine which spellcasters were of the same bent as him. He chose a human rather then a dark elf...as the only other one he'd known or had memory of was not of his kind. The middle aged man who befriended him showed him a few more spells and discussed how one should survive in the wilds. With a loan that was really more a paltry, but necessary, gift, the man turned to him and spoke: 'The city is not a place for one such as yourself. See the wilds around town; learn to develop your craft, and may you never want for health nor life.' With that he took off to seek his place in life. The road was long and hard, frought with peril...and probably full of lots of other cliches too. But he discovered that the magics he was learning belonged to an odd group of folks called wizards. He quickly became adept at simple incantations and despite being warned off, began to attempt the more difficult spellweaving. Critters would flee in terror or fall over dead from laughing themselves silly. Other people would either gawk in admiration or simply cover their mouths and chuckle...He didn't care. Before too much more time had elapsed, he brought the revenge he'd sworn on the band of troll kings. In the process his lust for revenge and pettiness flew from his fingertips as dandelion seeds fly during the autumn winds. He grew up.