I was 5 when the Spellplague swept the world, killing thousands. My father, a magus of small renown was killed when his magic backlashed throughout his observatory. My mother, a priestess of Corellon, faired better and was only left scarred by the plague. Me? Like I said, I was 5 and left untouched. My mother and I left our home in Comanther as the death of my father, moving to a small elven community named Farrow Heights at the southern edge of Comanther near Battledale.
My childhood was simple and rustic. I learned of elven history from my mother as well as the faith of Corellon. I learned of the world outside from traders who would pass through Farrow Heights. it was during these early years that the elves returned to claim Myth Drannor from the demons. I was fascinated by the tales of glory that filtered down to our small community. It pulled at my soul like no other story did. I knew then that I wanted to be a part of history of the world. To have my name remembered so that I could achieve true immortality in word and song.
At my first century of life, I was finally afforded the opportunity to seek out my desire of learning the fields of martial and arcane combat. My mother, of course, was disappointed with this decision. She had hoped the years of religious studies would lead me down the path of the clergy. It certainly had its appeal, however, I was too enthralled by the quest of Myth Drannor all those years ago to forgo my dreams. it was with a heavy heart that I left Farrow Heights for the City of Song.
Soon after my arrival, I befriended Felogalad Eestral, a bladesinger and soldier of Myth Drannor. He agreed to take me on as a student to learn the ways of the bladesong. For two decades I learned swordplay and magic under his strict but fair hand. On several occasions I was given the opportunity to travel with him on his seasonal hunting patrols in the name of Myth Drannor. To experience the rigors of combat first hand was an enlightening experience and helped prepare me, somewhat, for the trials that were before me.
It was late in the year of 1499 and Felogalad had taken me out on yet another hunting patrol in western Comanthor. Our journey was accompanied by the usual crew of five other elves with whom I had come to know as brothers after the years of training and patrols. This particular hunt was special as I had been elevated to a novice bladesinger and given the duty of helping the group completely, including combat. My excitement grew as we came upon the ruins of a long forgotten outpost of ancient Comanthor.
As we began to investigate the ruins, we uncovered a band of drow that were patrolling the outskirts of the ruins. Felogalad called for us to strike down the patrol. My first combat was s disaster in my eyes. At the opening of the fight, my blade suck to the scabbard as my voice cracked through the first song. More of a hindrance than an ally, my fellow brothers picked up my less than helpful duties. Thankfully, we were successful over the drow patrol with only a few injuries here and there. Felogalad was every the mentor, pointing out ways that I could improve. I could only hang my head. So far, my dream of being remembered as a great hero was not going according to plan.
Even with my less than stellar performance, we continued on deeper into the ruins in hopes of learning the reason for the drow presence. We encountered two more groups of drow during our investigation and after each combat, Felogalad would mention more ways that I could improve. though I didn’t feel as if I was truly improving, at least I managed to get my blade free of the scabbard at the start of the fight. My fellow brothers merely tussled my hair and chuckled at my struggles. I knew they meant well but it was disheartening nonetheless.
Eventually, we came upon a tower in which we encountered the final group of drow, this one led by a priestess. This encounter proved to be our last and my inexperience in matters of combat did nothing to change or help this fact. The drow proved to be much more skilled than the lesser soldiers we had faced previously and with the priestess driving them relentlessly forward, it was only a matter of time before my brothers began to succumb to their wounds. My eyes were wide with fear as death became a distinct possibility. Instead of staying at my master’s side, I ran as he was cut down. I didn’t dare look back.
I ran as fast as I could through the woods. At some points along the way I had lost my sword much to my dismay. Eventually I find myself at the gates of Myth Drannor, stammering through the story to the guard who then took me before their commander to have the story retold. I was then taken to a scribe to retell the story a third time. By the time I was done, I was thrown into a cottage and told not to leave. I sat there for several days until finally the commander returned to tell me that I would not be imprisoned for what befell my master. However, the bladesingers saw dishonor in my actions and officially denied my entry into the order.
Ashamed of what I had done, I left Myth Drannor with what little possessions I owned. This was not how I wanted to be remembered. There was no glory, no righteousness in running away. I had learned this the hard way. I now lived in shame. I wandered the forest for a time, keeping low and out of the way of some of the more dangerous creatures. I eventually found myself at the footsteps of the place of my birth, now long since reclaimed by the forest. I decided to try and rebuild the homestead in an effort to accomplish something productive.
During my rebuilding efforts, I came across several tomes belonging to my father that had escaped his fiery end. As I poured through his writings, I came to know and understand who my father truly was, a fringe magus, one who experimented endlessly with magic for new applications in which magic could be used. His latest work, at least latest when he died over a century ago, was a deviation of bladesong which he called circle dancing. His theory was that you could create a ring of arcane energy at the beginning of combat and then use and manipulate the ring during a fight to control your opponents. As I read the theory, I found it more and more fascinating and when I finished reading, I decided to continue his research and make circle dancing a reality.
For the next two decades I worked in my father’s observatory that I rebuilt, looking to perfect his circle dance. During my research, I found myself on more than one occasion in need of supplies. I avoided Farrow Heights as I know my mother would never understand my need to finish my father’s work. I instead, built up a relationship with several traders that would frequent the area throughout the Dalelands. One such trader was Thadius Markins whom I found to be a pleasant soul to deal business with. After having gathered all of the necessary components and after more than one near disasterous attempts, I felt that the new style needed real world testing. With my trusty sword and notes, I set out for the world in hopes of redeeming my self and my name.