Backstory post (yes its required)

please put your backstory here and if you want to comment on someones back story do it under ooc thx

kk, here's mine. i may change it up a little here and there but this will be it overall

"My name is Eldak Mindler, and here is my story:
My mother was a wood elf from the Xensian forest to the far east of the mainland. My father is a minor nobleman from a modest estate on the top center of the mainland. My mother was a fairly well known ranger from her forest and had been commissioned by the high elves to bring a message to the humans (something about people smuggling contraband up and down the river and dumping trash) and happened to find my father when she passed by his estate on her way home. 'It was love at first site!' from what i heard from his servant that was walking with him at the time. But because she was an elf and he was a human she just turned and ran. She thought she would be dishonoring herself, her family, and her entire race by falling for a human. But He sought her out and took her for his own wife. Eventually she became pregnant and had me. It should have been the most wonderful thing that would have ever happened to my father...But that was undermined by one thing. My mother had died giving birth to me."

"After that day, my father hated me, he didn't hate me enough just to chuck me out of his house though, as i learned from a servant. He kept me because i was the only thing he had to remember my mother by. When i turned 20, i had just completely had it with him. I left without saying a word. I just gathered all my the belongings that i thought i would need and left. I did odd jobs here and there are found myself some money in order to buy some gear for a proper trip. Because as soon as i had it, i would leave that accursed place for good. I would travel as far east as i thought necessary, i kept walking with only one purpose in mind. Get as far away from that man as possible.

Now i had quite a few mad misadventures while out on the land, trying to make my way. I dont wish to revisit those stories, some of them are dark and i do not like to think about them. But one day i had been wandering through a forest when i stumbled across a village. I was tempted to just leave it be (because i thought that it'd be humans), but the architecture intrigued me, it was like it had been carved from the trees themselves! This was the first time I met with my elven kin.

Now i was wandering around when i noticed that people were giving me uneasy looks, saying that I looked human but not[/] human. They seemed to be scared and i left thinking,"Great, i cant fit in with either of my race." Not really feeling the greatest about myself. Then while i started my way out of the city, i stumbled across an abandoned house. I dont know why it caught my attention, but when i went inside i found many letters that had apparently never been sent. I picked them up and read each of them.

I soon figured out, from some vague hints, that i had stumbled across my mothers house. I suddenly felt ill with guilt because in all the letters I read, she talked about how [i]in love she was with my father. 'how could i have ended such a happy relationship?!?' But after a few moments of nearly breaking down and crying, i collected myself and thought,'NO, regardless of what I did, i did not do it on purpose. My father had no right to treat me in such ill manners.' While i had been reading i stumbled upon something, a locket. I was gold and beautiful. But try as i might, it was to rusted for me to safely open. So I carry that everywhere with me no matter what. It is the only thing that helps me get an idea of what my mother was like. But, i did burn the letters, they digusted me, i never want anything to do with that man...my father...ever again."

My name is Morkin Nailo. My biological father was Drogtharn the Gnasher, an orc, and my mother was Ariel Celadon Goodwin-Nailo, a human woman. My only living parent is her husband, Amaril Nailo, an elf of noble blood. I am 21 years old, and was born in the autonomous city-state of Radril, since renamed Krispick upon further expansion.

I was not born of love as my half-brothers and sisters. They knew a childhood of joy and peace, and parenthood. This I lacked. My biological father was killed leading the great orcish raid upon Radril, wherein my mother was forcibly given me to bear. Upon the knowledge of this act, my mother's husband struck out in vengeance and slew my father, as is just. My mother bore a child into this world 8 months later, and, in giving me life, lost her own.

My father hated me for her death at first, and perhaps he would have slain me. However, as he tells the story, he fell unconscious even as he raised his hand to smite me in my infancy. He says that he was given a vision of the most High Father Correlon Larethian, and that in this vision, a messenger of the King of Stars had told him not to slay me, and chastised him for his attempt. He ten prophesied to my father that if he would raise his bastard in the name of the Father of elven-kind, raise him even as his own daughters and sons, that great things would come of his line through his wife's blood.

And so, I was spared in my early life. My father, ashamed to raise me within the holy elven cities, instead brought me to a tribe of his friend's, on the outskirts of elven society. There I did learn to read and to write, and do all things of elvish culture. I was taught to praise Correlon Larethian in song, and, though my voice was harsh, I delighted in the praise. My life had been sworn to him from my birth, and I did learn to live in his name.

I soon discovered my strength far exceeded that of my brethren, and that swordplay seemed my true calling. Where I lacked the nimbleness and beauty of my brethren, I had a strength unmatched, a sturdiness resolute, and a heart undiminished and ever faithful. And so, I did become a warrior of the God of my true people, for though I am not one of them, I do wish that all elves might see me as a servant to their kind. And so I set off to the town of Widow's Port, prepared to convert those of good heart, and destroy the enemies of my Lord.

Magic is the web that ensnares us all. Some strands are faint, nigh impossible to see; others burn with intensity, as thick around as the trunk of the ironwood tree. I can manipulate the large strands, bend them to my will, convince them to serve me. The faint strands yet elude me; I mean to rectify this. This is my calling: I will become the most powerful, most learned wizard in all the world.

When I was little, my town was raided by gnolls. Among them was a sorcerer. He flung fireballs and magic missiles right and left; his power and command of reality had me enthralled. From that day on, I purposed to harness magic myself, yet I purposed to learn it in a more refined manner.

My parents are meaningless to me; they were too poor to fund a magical education for me, and quite frankly, they were horrified that I would wish to study such things. My father said that no son of his would learn the art of demons and devils (showing his ignorance in the process) so I left one day; I plan to return sometime, and, if my parents still live, show them their foolishness in denying me my dream. (I'm human by the way--couldn't fit in the description).

As I wandered, I encountered a roving wizard. He was a hermit, an outcast of society, and was growing very old. He could no longer go to town easily, and he grew weary of dealing with the local governments who sought to control and limit the scope of his spellcasting. Therefore, I offered to go to town and do his chores and to act as his liaison to the local mayors and kings in return for an apprenticeship in the Art.

From that day on I entered into a rigorous, tedious at times, and yet ultimately rewarding process. Whenever I became disgusted by the subservience I was forced to show my master, I thought only of the gnoll in my village. Fifteen years later, my apprenticeship ended--my mentor was dead, the cause unknown. His death was not missed by any in town (I made sure to leave no evidence of the crime).

Raiding his cave, I gathered all the things that I could; infuriatingly I could not find his spellbook. I was left with only the weakest of spells. Someday I shall return to claim my full inheritance. Setting off, I realized how poor I was--gold was not a common commodity in my apprenticeship.

Aurum potestas est--gold is power, literally. If I wanted to fulfill my dream I would need money and respect. When I received a letter with easy money as a reward, I couldn't help but to finally embark upon my journey.

The new and (I think) much improved story of my rogue, featuring a little bit of James's beguiler as well.

The hearts of mortals are fickle; they shift and alter erratically, their manners changing as often as their heart beats time. One day, they can seem proud and noble, paragons of character. The next, treacherous and vile, fit not even to share the bonds of companionship with their fellow kin. And of all the sentient races, none is more capricious than the race of the elves. Born with the sigh of the breeze within their souls and the running water of the stream within their hearts, they are a changeable, free-spirited people. It is to my misfortune that my family, once graceful and envied, has passed into the shadow of scorn and disgust. My story is one of loss and pain, betrayal and shame. It has transformed my life irreparably, and I have lived decades musing over its implications. Yet though my tale is long, and though I have seen three generations of men pass and fall in my lifetime, the life I have remaining is greater than both, and I intend to use it to recover what was stolen from my family years ago: a life of happiness and respect among my people, the high elves of the Blessed Land Alyanor.

Anar shone brightly over the House of Lillilton, the lapping waters of the pool throwing reflections of light over the garden and windows. The clouds rolled by lazily, and the crisp morning air was typical in the land where prosperity blossomed. Within the house, a small child with shocking emerald eyes watched the flowers bend in the breeze and listened to the hum of tiny insects relishing the warmth of the Sun’s rays before being shepherded off hurriedly to his lessons by his mother. He looked back just once in awe at the beauty of his home before reluctantly moving away.

Alyanor. The Blessed Land. The Land of Prosperity. This was my home, the home of the greatest nation of high elves in all of Ambar. Though I was too young to remember the place in all of its splendor, I remember keenly the warmth of Anar and the hum of insects. I remember that it was a place full of wonder; it was a place full of life. It is said that visitors to Alyanor cannot leave; they are not held by force though; rather, they choose to stay of their own volition. I do not know if the land’s enchantment is as great as that, but it is a place unequalled in all the world in beauty and magnificence.

My family was of the ruling House of Lillilton, which means nearly enough in the Common tongue the House of Many-Dancers, or the House of Grace. The House of Lillilton was said to have been founded when the land of Alyanor itself was discovered; it was an ancient house, and it carried great prestige in the political and social atmosphere of Alyanor. Many legends surround the house of my ancestors, from myths of its to tales dating back to within this very millennium. My father, Meldon the Beloved, was our patriarch, and he was well-respected by those of the elven community.

As the son to a prominent noble, I was taught all manner of subjects, ranging from mathematics to magical theory. I was very adept, and received great praise from my tutors, though to be quite frank my studies bored me. I yearned to simply wander outside and feel the vivacity of the creatures of Alyanor surrounding me. I was also taught to fight in the style of the elves, a style both graceful and deadly. I learned to wield sword, bow, and spear, though I took most readily to the longsword and longbow. I was taught to fight from horseback, though I despised the lack of mobility greatly, and in order to be taught the proper form and balance, I was trained to fight underwater where every movement is a struggle and one must find the most effortless strokes in order to be successful. Eventually, I grew to admire the deadly efficiency and elegant grace of my people.

When I was 95, my mother, Calimë, grew very ill and passed on to the Halls of Mandos ere I ever reached adulthood. The last advice she gave me was to follow my heart, and as her spirit left her body, she thrust a beautiful ailinon, a water-lily, into my hands. It was her favorite flower, and she gathered them every morning from the shores of the lake. I know not whether it was enchanted, and I care little to find out. All I know is that, thirty years later, it has never wilted; my mother’s body may have spent its last, but her spirit lives on in the ailinon she gave me, guiding me through the turbulence of my life.

Now, my mother had been a beautiful woman in life, and she was coveted by many suitors before my father won her over. It so happens that when my mother died, the patriarch of the House of Piutalócë (Spitting-Snake), Sairo, a particularly bitter suitor, used my mother’s death to get vengeance on my father. His House is renowned in Alyanor for two things: poisoned arrows and magic. The House of Piutalócë contains some of the most powerful mages in Ambar. No doubt with the aid of powerful enchantments, he was able to convince the ruling Council that my mother had been murdered by my father and that he was no longer sane. He was able to convince them to march upon my House and kill everyone on sight, lest my father’s twisted lies pollute their conscience.

The might of the army of Alyanor marched upon my family’s ancestral home. They would come and raze my home to the ground, and my father and my family along with it; the fury of the elves, though often latent and subdued, is terrifying to behold when roused.

It was at this time that a human named Zanorin came to my home and told us of the impending advance and Sairo’s treachery. He said that he had been a student in Sairo’s House, a mage particularly adept in illusory magic and enchantments. At this news, the House sprang into action.

I took my longbow, Vílë (Breeze) along with my sword Áralaurë (Dawn-Light) and a few supplies to live by on the road. Girding myself in the ancestral mithral armor of my home, untouched by rust or decay throughout the centuries, I took some gold coins as well to live off of, since the rest of the world cared just as little for the stamped flower currency of Alyanor as we cared for their minted gold.

I felt drawn to the human, and I fled with him from the House of my fathers. Heart thumping with fear, I ran ahead with him, desperate to outrun the armies of the High. Thinking to escape, servants running fearfully around Zanorin and me, the doom of my House arrived.

Riding the sleek, deadly griffons of the Carcanë Mountains to the north, the elven riders swooped upon the lawn, tearing women and children right and left. The elegance that I had appreciated in the elven fighting style so greatly mere days ago I now watched used to brutal efficiency, horrified. Some riders rode the haunting pegasi of the plains, darting down to hack their enemies limb from limb. Yet the most deadly opponents of all were those riders situated upon the backs of gold dragons. Though they were young and small (the army would not have risked the elder dragons), they brought death down upon the plains as no other creature could. Regal and majestic, gold dragons struck terribly in their retribution when they felt that treason had been committed. Just as terrifying were the riders upon their backs, for the gold dragons are the steeds of the elven wizards, and as they flew across the sky, lightning arced and missiles flew. The sky was lit up so often that the battlefield seemed bathed in the light of day.

As I ran with Zanorin, I looked back and saw my father struck down by Sairo himself upon a great gold dragon. Having hurled a spell upon my father, there was no way he could have survived. It was a terrible spell, twisted and sadistic in design; I could see the blood and water within my father’s flesh boiling hundreds of yards away, the evaporated steam hissing from his skin. The only reason that Zanorin and I survived that night was because of his enchantments. Coupled with my natural ability to hide and move undetected, we were able to escape the slaughtering fields. As far as I know, every other servant, every other person in my home that night, died a most painful death.

Sobered by the thought, I wandered Ambar with Zanorin seeking some purpose in life, but I couldn’t help but to compare the world to Alyanor. In contrast, the world was a bleak, colorless landscape devoid of energy when held up to the lofty standard of the Blessed Land. As we wandered, I took up a new name to hide my identity lest I be struck down for treason by the elves also and to honor my mother’s last words. I took up the name Mirimon, which means most nearly Free Spirit in Common, and I have since lived by that creed. Zanorin and I have since wandered the countryside, and with our abilities, we have been able to do a great deal of good wherever we travel. I especially like to visit prisons and attend public executions and trails; I have found that many are flawed and that many innocent people would otherwise die if I did not intervene. I have made it my duty to insure that no other family must go through what I have gone through because of a false accusation.

Zanorin knows my true name, and most of my story, and he has promised to keep my secret safe. Together we have undertaken many missions, and collectively, we almost always get our way. We, especially Zanorin, can be very persuasive. However, if there’s one thing that Zanorin does not know about me, it is of the ailinon that my mother gave me. It is all that I have to remember her and my House by; no matter how much I may trust Zanorin, I will never place the memories I have of my mother in danger of being destroyed by anyone.

I have since learned that my home was utterly obliterated from the elven landscape, and all my people murdered. Someday, maybe in a few centuries, I will return to Alyanor. I will rebuild my home and my family line. Someday, I will restore what has been taken from me. And in the meantime, I will ensure that the name of Lillilton is not forgotten; I intend to make it a name known throughout Ambar, so that when I return to Alyanor, my kin will have no choice but to listen to me, and realize that the House of Piutalócë is the true family deserving of punishment.

In the hope that the House of Lillilton is not forgotten,
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(Ancalë Mirimon Lillilton)

P.S. HTML must hate my elven signature. Ah, well. I'll just have to show you in real life.

Sex. ^