3. Amith Kel'fer

Amith Kel'fer


  • The elven word for orc is as dark and guttural of a word as the race is. Where as most of the elven tongue is smooth and conjures images of beauty and light, this one conjures images of blood and terror, and a hatred that flows deep through generations. It is a shame that the first word she ever remembers spoken was orc. Sometimes, she dwelled on those earliest of her memories, but at her age, even with reverie, they were skewed, distorted, and shadowy, more a rush of emotions and shapes then something that happened.

    She remembered… her playmates. Her friends. They were in the stream playing, splashing water, pretending they were in a great battle. Laughter, the thrill of exploring past the glen where the huts were hidden. Beyond the border of their village. It was so stupid, but they did not know better. Bears were the biggest danger they had ever seen. Ael’den looking up from the middle of the stream, looking up and screaming “Orcs!” The confusion, everyone was scrambling, running trying to get away, and she was right there with them, clawing across the grass, scrambling up the hill. There were screams behind her, terrifying sounds, short calls for help, crying, the grunts of the orcs, the laughter, she tripped and fell. Ael’den lifting her to her feet, dragging her up the hill, some of her friends running past, so few…. to few. Fleet footed elven children crossing the crest of the hill making a break for the village. Ael’den falling at the top of the hill, dragging her down as well, looking over seeing him pinned to the ground by a blade through his back… rolling over, scrambling backwards to her feet. Backing away from the large blur, orc, shadow, thing that she could not see the tears in her eyes crying for help backing away, the orc laughing, pulling its blade from Ael’den, smiling, smiling, this was fun for him. Watching as the large blur, orc, shadow, thing… the tears. The tears were blinding her, she could not see, the orc was moving slow, so slow its arm raising, she turned to run to get away, the blade coming in sideways, so large… she had a funny thought. It didn’t pass all the way through. It stopped half way, I always thought those blades just clove in two. She was on her knees, the edge of her vision fading turning black. Orcs were strong, they should have been able…. this one.. must be a runt. She was chuckling as she fell face flat and the world turned…

    Her eyes opened. Norwick. She was in Norwick. Must not forget that. She laid her head back against the tree and sighed a bit, relaxing, remembering how to breathe. Her side ached and burned, the old scar had been acting up again as of late, but she took the pain and trapped it, and buried it away. She had been dealing with this for years, odd pangs, sharp twinges, the occasional burning. Her left hand unconsciously reached across to her right side, pressure against her ribs. Soothing. Looking around, she made sure none were looking before she reached sadly into her pouch and removed a small bag of herbs, a large pinch went into her mouth, slow chewing, still watching, wanting none to notice. She packed the bag away again into her pack, pulled her waterskin and washed the herbs down. Soon enough, she would ask Eluriel to make some more for her, her own skills at blending different things together nowhere compared to what the young elf could do. The pain in her side was easing, drifting away and she could feel the muscles that had tightened loosening, so she rose to her feet and moved through the gates. Settling herself to the ground and huddled near to the flames, ignoring the smell from the cookpot she pulls her hood low from the rain.


  • What makes an adventurer, an adventurer? What leads to a farmhand looking out over his field one day and saying, "I wonder…", laying down his hoe, picking up a sword and off to throw himself at goblins as many times as it takes? Why would anyone give up a life of security for a life of starvation, little rest, and constant travel? What is it in that final moment that makes someone say, "Enough of what is here, I wonder what is out there..."

    "Yes, mother. I know no one ever leaves the glen." Amith took the worn leather pack and slid a spare tunic into it. "Yes, mother, i know that it is dangeous out of the woods." She had already slid the hardened leathers on, and strapped the short sword to her left side. "Because I must go mother, there is nothing for me here." The bow she left unstrung and tucked sideways through the straps of the pack. He quiver was full and strapped to her right side balancing out the short blade on her left. She slung the pack up onto her pack, it held little to nothing. A small coin purse, a spare tunic, several satchels of nuts, a skinning knife. She turns and faces her mother, the century and a few decades had turned her into a lean elf, strong, but not so agile. Her face held little to no emotion, even though she knew she was about to depart and leave behind everything she had ever known, or felt or seen. She gave a final faint smile to her mother, hiding the fact that her scar was starting to pain her a little. "I will return mother, you will see. I am only going to prove myself," her voice raises a little bit to be heard in the other room, "did you hear that father? I will prove myself!" With a final nod to her mother, she left out, cutting through the main room, taking long enough to hear her father mutter from a dark corner, "You should have died all those years ago, Amith. You are not the daughter your mother and I deserved." She stopped with her hand to the door, silent, poised, waiting… "I will show you father, I will show you and all the others. I am not the daughter you deserved, I am much better." With those final words she smacked the door open to the sounds of her mother crying, and her father telling her it was for the best, and took off at a jog through the village and into the woods.

    After quickly restocking her supplies at Praeth's, she wanders around town for a bit, watching people as they walk by all talking amongst themselves. Wanting a bit of silence for awhile she goes to the hill ehind Praeth's store and sits for awhile, chewing on a handful of nuts, enjoyng the sunshine. She takes out her waterskin and sips a little of the water, absentmindedly rubbing at a spot on her robes. Laying back against the pile of cut wood, she suddenly chuckles at an odd memory. Sighing as she closes her eyes, she mumbles quietly, "Well, I guess I proved myself better now, haven't I?"


  • Why is it that no matter where you go, what god you follow, or race you belong there is still one horrible truth; Children can be so cruel…

    _The five children lined up with their bows, seventy paces from the target, as their teacher wandered down the line giving pointers and checking to make sure each one's bow was in good order.

    "Remember," he called out as he moved along the line, "that the bow is always the weapon of choice. Strike your enemies from a distance, it is the best way. Keep your sword sheathed until you have no other choice." The aged elf moved down to the end of the line smiling, until he reached the end. "Amith! What are you doing?"

    The young elf looked up, "Uh..nothing, Ra'efelen"

    "Why is your bow not strung?" Ra'efelen took the bow from her, and strung it smoothly, before inspecting it. It was in excellent shape, well kept, oiled wood, waxed string, good pull to the bow. There were a few snickers from some of the other children that stopped when Ra'efelen looked up from the bow quickly. He stared coldly at the rest of the line before asking Amith again, "why was it not strung?"

    She looked at the ground rubbing her toe across the dirt, and mumbled, "Because I am not good with the bow, Ra'efelen. I don't see why i should learn."

    The older elf practically threw the bow back into Amith's hands before raising his voice so all could hear him, "The bow -IS- the weapon of choice! WE learn the bow, and use it, you -will- learn the bow and use it." With a quick hop to the end of the line he raised his arm, "Arrows to the strings, and …release!" Four arrows smacked into the target. There was a quick frown at Amith. "and... again. Arrows to the strings, and ...release!" Four arrows hit the target, a fifth bounced off and into the trees, leading to laughter from the other four. "AGAIN!" Four arrows hit, the fifth glanced away. "AMITH! you will be doing better... soon.." Ra'efelen's face was turning red as each of Amith's arrows went flying either into the ground or into the woods. Until finally, one hit and stayed on the outer edge. She looked up smiling at Ra'efelen, but he seemed even more furious then before. So she shrugged and started firing more arrows. A practiced eye would have seen the pain on her face, that each time she went to pull the string back there was a flinch and a slight shift to her arm, that her scar was keeping her from reaching the full draw of the bow, and was causing her pain. The laughter from the other four was not stopped by the teacher now. Instead he kneeled down on Amith's left side, and punctuated each word to her, "you. will. hit the center. or you will. not. leave." She nodded, and the teacher motioned the others to go, "the class is done for today, Amith will stay until she hits something worth while." One of the children made the comment to another as they were leaving, "it's because she's a cripple you know...."

    All that evening, into the night, until early in the next morning she shot arrow after arrow at the target, mostly missing, sometimes hitting, but never the center. She emptied her quiver and began on the next, steady, her fingers slowly rubbing raw, leaning more and more into her right side, until finally she fell to her knees early near the sunrise and launched one final arrow in frustration. It stuck in the center. She stared at in suprise, and looked to see if any had seen, smiling, but she was alone. She looked down at her hands, still kneeling on the ground, before trying to heave herself up to her feet flinching at the pull on her side. Her left hand grasped her right side as she slowly shuffles away, she whispers, "it's because i'm a cripple..."_

    She felled the cleric with a quick jab through his throat, and pivoted left, her shield leading out knocking the cutpurse's dagger wide, continuing the spin her sword came across in a wide slash acoss her chest dropping her as well. There was a hurried chanting from behind her, so she continued her turn seeing the mage complete his spell, pointing his hands towards her, she ducked behind her shield and sprinted forward covering the distance seperating her from the mage, somewhere along the line the acid had hit and rolled off her protection, she barreled in, tapping with the shield and then sliding it to the side and poking her sword forward through the ribcage. She stopped… listened, her eyes closed, and then nods to herself. Shrugging, she mutters,"who needs a bow?" She leaves the three bodies to the carrion birds above, and continues on south.

    ((OOC i am very insecure about my writing, so, please feel free to post and tell me if i am doing well. Or send me a PM. Thank you.))


  • Many things passed while she lay in a pool of blood, the dead Ael'den next to her. She was close to death, so close. An old wandering priest knowing his time was near happened to be wandering by. A fluke of faith perhaps? He had killed the last lingering orcs with ease, his god strengthening his age ailed arms. He checked the elven children, but found that only Amith had even a vague spark left within her. Speaking soothing elven words to her with the hashness of a human tongue he had bent down and with faith and words had fanned the tiny spark into a flame, sealing her escaping soul into her body, and drawing sliced flesh together under his hands. A faint smile as he whispered, "One last time…."

    One child had made it unhurt to the village, followed by another, bleeding and limping in. When the elves finally got what had happened out of them they rushed out of the glen ready to aid any others who may have lived. They found dead orcs, a fallen dead human, and Amith, breathing but still unconscious, her tunic sliced and a scar on her side. No one else had survived the short raid.

    She heard a sweet voice singing. Softly singing, and she knew it was her mother's voice. None other in the village carried a tune so well as her mother. She opened her eyes slowly and smiled, safe in the darkness of her families small hut. Her largest regret in life had been that her voice was not as lilting as her mother's. The singing stopped and she hopped to her feet to tell her mother to continue. Immediately she dropped to the floor clutching at her right side, and screaming in pain. Her mother was calling to her, her hands on her shoulders, but the memores had come with the pain and she ignored all as she screamed in rage and fear, the tears starting. Her father and some healers had rushed in someone had lifted her back into the bed. Her mother was over her whispering, "Amith, Amith, it is alright. You are safe now." But she wasn't safe, she wasn't, everything was wrong. Everything. Her side was on fire, and she reached over with her left hand and placed it on her right side, sobbing. There was a scar, a large one, extending from her front all the way around to the back. The healers were telling her father how the scar should fade, and her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking the young elf's hair back from her face, making small comforting noises. She curled up into a ball wrapped around her burning side, images of Ael'den in her head, pinned to the ground, the large orc standing over him, smiling at her. Her mother was still stroking her hair as she looked to her father and saw pity in his eyes, before passing out.

    There was a slight panic when she opened her eyes to a small darkened shack. It faded when she realized it was only the Gypsy Shack, and she was laying in one of the cots, a dim glow from the fireplace. She rolled over and to her feet, and began strapping on her armor. Before leaving she checked her gear, Greatsword on her back, along with her shield for now, her longsword strapped to her hip, bow unstrung and tucked sideways through her pack straps. Nodding to herself and no one else in particular, she opens the door and sets off for the south.