EZ_wyldmaus
09-28-00, 01:51 PM
(a roleplay history)
Some would say she was cruel, my mother, but only those who never knew her. My earliest memories are of her red hair shining in a sunny halo around deep green eyes that seemed sad in spite of their sparkle. She told me she used to laugh a lot, and spin, and devour life with great big bites. She said she wanted me to do the same, but tempered with the steadfastness and sensibility of my father. She only mentioned him that once, her eyes far away when she spoke of how he called her “scamp” for always hiding, and how one night he sheltered her from the rain on a hill in the Commonlands. She told of the strong set of his jaw and the scowl that undid her when he aimed it her way, and how he never quite understood her heart or her past, though he tried. She wept at her own weakness in running away from him, in never telling him of my existence. She was gone the day after she talked of him, and I never saw her again. I was 9 years old.
        She taught me a lot in those 9 years, it wasn’t like I was defenseless. And she left me well provided for, weapons and armor and years of advice and stories of the world. Besides, that was 5 years ago – I’ve made my own way in the world she left me to, and done a fair job at it. I’m very good at what she called “being dim” – where people just don’t notice me. And yes, purses get lighter when I enter a room, and it’s pretty senseless to lock a door against me – but she taught me those skills to help me. She knew people pretty well, she knew they’d sooner steal than give. I never got the whole story of her past, but she told me for as long as I could remember that a dark elf would be more likely to help me than a normal elf, but that the price was too high for either. She liked trolls, too, for some reason – I guess the “good” races in this world weren’t very good to her.
        Anyway, I’m getting older now, and getting better at what she taught. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy battle the way she seemed to, but I hold my own. It’s been hard getting used to people, I was raised far from anyone and cities make me itch. I still keep my eye out for the people she used to mention, but it’s been a long time, and who knows what they’ve moved on to? There was a bard she once mentioned, I heard him telling a tale in a tavern just a few days ago – not that anyone there knew of my presence, mind you. She called him her “pet bard” and said he always made her smile – but I chickened out at the last second and couldn’t talk to him. More prevalent in her stories was another rogue, a poet who called her a dragonling and taught her when no one else would. A halfling druid, a dark elf cleric, a human necromancer, several barbarian shamans, a troll shadowknight – names are irrelevant, I would know them when I saw them. Mostly I look for a half-elf with a scowl, to see if I got my dark hair and serious eyes from him, and perhaps to see if he will recognize the pale skin and mischievous grin as my mother’s.
I’d like to belong somewhere, I think. I’m fairly well traveled, but I haven’t found a place that speaks to me yet. I know my mother once dreamed of belonging, but her heart was too wyld, she couldn’t stay put. Her belonging was in the hearts of the people she loved, but she couldn’t rest easy in herself and remain near them to draw strength when she needed it. Listen to me, I act like I could if I had to. /shrug/ I doubt it. People are nicer than mother made them out to be, but she must have had a reason, I’m too suspicious to really let any of them become important. Well, there is a monk – but no, no sense making attachments, right? They only leave, or if they don’t who knows that I won’t? Like mother, when the heart won’t be still, just run...
--maus--
/ooc Roguess of the 14th circle, seeking companions for adventure. Currently in NK, planning trip to the Freeport area soon.
Some would say she was cruel, my mother, but only those who never knew her. My earliest memories are of her red hair shining in a sunny halo around deep green eyes that seemed sad in spite of their sparkle. She told me she used to laugh a lot, and spin, and devour life with great big bites. She said she wanted me to do the same, but tempered with the steadfastness and sensibility of my father. She only mentioned him that once, her eyes far away when she spoke of how he called her “scamp” for always hiding, and how one night he sheltered her from the rain on a hill in the Commonlands. She told of the strong set of his jaw and the scowl that undid her when he aimed it her way, and how he never quite understood her heart or her past, though he tried. She wept at her own weakness in running away from him, in never telling him of my existence. She was gone the day after she talked of him, and I never saw her again. I was 9 years old.
        She taught me a lot in those 9 years, it wasn’t like I was defenseless. And she left me well provided for, weapons and armor and years of advice and stories of the world. Besides, that was 5 years ago – I’ve made my own way in the world she left me to, and done a fair job at it. I’m very good at what she called “being dim” – where people just don’t notice me. And yes, purses get lighter when I enter a room, and it’s pretty senseless to lock a door against me – but she taught me those skills to help me. She knew people pretty well, she knew they’d sooner steal than give. I never got the whole story of her past, but she told me for as long as I could remember that a dark elf would be more likely to help me than a normal elf, but that the price was too high for either. She liked trolls, too, for some reason – I guess the “good” races in this world weren’t very good to her.
        Anyway, I’m getting older now, and getting better at what she taught. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy battle the way she seemed to, but I hold my own. It’s been hard getting used to people, I was raised far from anyone and cities make me itch. I still keep my eye out for the people she used to mention, but it’s been a long time, and who knows what they’ve moved on to? There was a bard she once mentioned, I heard him telling a tale in a tavern just a few days ago – not that anyone there knew of my presence, mind you. She called him her “pet bard” and said he always made her smile – but I chickened out at the last second and couldn’t talk to him. More prevalent in her stories was another rogue, a poet who called her a dragonling and taught her when no one else would. A halfling druid, a dark elf cleric, a human necromancer, several barbarian shamans, a troll shadowknight – names are irrelevant, I would know them when I saw them. Mostly I look for a half-elf with a scowl, to see if I got my dark hair and serious eyes from him, and perhaps to see if he will recognize the pale skin and mischievous grin as my mother’s.
I’d like to belong somewhere, I think. I’m fairly well traveled, but I haven’t found a place that speaks to me yet. I know my mother once dreamed of belonging, but her heart was too wyld, she couldn’t stay put. Her belonging was in the hearts of the people she loved, but she couldn’t rest easy in herself and remain near them to draw strength when she needed it. Listen to me, I act like I could if I had to. /shrug/ I doubt it. People are nicer than mother made them out to be, but she must have had a reason, I’m too suspicious to really let any of them become important. Well, there is a monk – but no, no sense making attachments, right? They only leave, or if they don’t who knows that I won’t? Like mother, when the heart won’t be still, just run...
--maus--
/ooc Roguess of the 14th circle, seeking companions for adventure. Currently in NK, planning trip to the Freeport area soon.