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fellinaraTo be a Half-Elf in Faerun is to be half a person. My Elven people only see the Human and my Human people only see an Elf. My handsome, very Human father and my beautiful Moon-Elf mother chose exile for their love. If they had been thinking of anyone but themselves, they would given up their affair and each chosen a mate within their own race. But love can conquer all they said. So love was their choice. Then I was born and the honeymoon was over. They were young, in love, and thrilled to be parents. Never a thought to the kind of life I would have as a half-breed in Waterdeep, The City of Splendors. I know I sound bitter and hateful. I actually love both my parents. Society is what it is and I'm a pragmatic realist. I've heard that this trait comes from my maternal grandfather, whom I have never met. Yes, Shirnara's family shunned her and don't recognize me as family and I'm alright with that too. My mother was all the family I really needed. I barely remember my father. I get my black hair from him, I'm told. That, green eyes, and my fiery temper. I get my petite height (don't you dare call me short!) and pointed ears from my mother.
Raising a family in exile from a world who doesn't understand your love isn't the easiest task. We were poor and I was a baby. Conner, my dear father, took to adventuring to earn coin for us to eat and have clothes. Then one day, he never came home. The others of the party knocked on the door to our house outside of Waterdeep with my father's armor, his daggers, and his bow, and a tale of his bravery in battle. Not that Shirnara heard any of that. She just heard the words that translated to "He's never coming back" and "He rests with the Gods now". They gave her all of the coin they earned on that run and returned to their lives, leaving us to return to a now broken life. At only 4 years old, I didn't understand right away that papa wasn't coming home. Later in my childlike point of view, I resented Conner for it, but not any longer. Life has a way of changing one's point of view, offering forgiveness and acceptance in the strangest of ways at times.
By 6, my mother caught a lung disease and became weak. Some days she would be ok and would sew my clothes and cook for me. Other days she was so weak that she could not get out of bed and I learned how to cook for myself and her. I eventually became good with a needle but never with clothing. I can barely sew on a button though not for lack of trying. My mother did try to teach me.
By the time I was 8, she had passed away peacefully. I was gathering some carrots from our garden to put into a nice warm stew (it was winter) and she was napping. When the stew was done, I was bringing her a bowl in bed. I set the bowl down on the side table declaring it was the best stew ever (I was prone to putting in too much pepper). Mother didn't answer. It didn't take me long to figure out that her heart gave out in her sleep. I couldn't weep. I couldn't grieve. It wasn't her fault. I went into the kitchen and ate the best stew ever but it tasted like glue in my mouth. I barely recall the stew at all except for the tender young carrots I so carefully picked that afternoon. Funny what one remembers at times like that. I then packed up a few things that I could carry and left for the City of Splendors with the rose colored vision of one who has never been on her own before.
**ending her tale here for now as the post is getting long. I'll post about what happened to her in Waterdeep very soon. I'm on a bit of a roll now. Hahaha no pun intended.
Raising a family in exile from a world who doesn't understand your love isn't the easiest task. We were poor and I was a baby. Conner, my dear father, took to adventuring to earn coin for us to eat and have clothes. Then one day, he never came home. The others of the party knocked on the door to our house outside of Waterdeep with my father's armor, his daggers, and his bow, and a tale of his bravery in battle. Not that Shirnara heard any of that. She just heard the words that translated to "He's never coming back" and "He rests with the Gods now". They gave her all of the coin they earned on that run and returned to their lives, leaving us to return to a now broken life. At only 4 years old, I didn't understand right away that papa wasn't coming home. Later in my childlike point of view, I resented Conner for it, but not any longer. Life has a way of changing one's point of view, offering forgiveness and acceptance in the strangest of ways at times.
By 6, my mother caught a lung disease and became weak. Some days she would be ok and would sew my clothes and cook for me. Other days she was so weak that she could not get out of bed and I learned how to cook for myself and her. I eventually became good with a needle but never with clothing. I can barely sew on a button though not for lack of trying. My mother did try to teach me.
By the time I was 8, she had passed away peacefully. I was gathering some carrots from our garden to put into a nice warm stew (it was winter) and she was napping. When the stew was done, I was bringing her a bowl in bed. I set the bowl down on the side table declaring it was the best stew ever (I was prone to putting in too much pepper). Mother didn't answer. It didn't take me long to figure out that her heart gave out in her sleep. I couldn't weep. I couldn't grieve. It wasn't her fault. I went into the kitchen and ate the best stew ever but it tasted like glue in my mouth. I barely recall the stew at all except for the tender young carrots I so carefully picked that afternoon. Funny what one remembers at times like that. I then packed up a few things that I could carry and left for the City of Splendors with the rose colored vision of one who has never been on her own before.
**ending her tale here for now as the post is getting long. I'll post about what happened to her in Waterdeep very soon. I'm on a bit of a roll now. Hahaha no pun intended.
