Scribblings of Wanderer

[FridgeRaider]

Biography

A book, full of various notes and writings done at various places of quiet and seldom.

"My eyes lock, staring long and deep into the fiery dance of the embers of the fireplace in this seldom and quiet tavern room. My mind races through memories both distance and near, far and wide. I recall them all jumping from one thought to the other in various order or ideal. Yet always my mind turns to one particular. A homestead, sitting ageless and firm on a hillside surrounded by fields of wheat ready to be harvested. Several buildings stand on the yard. All made of stone and wood. The adults stand at the courtyard, the oldest sitting on a stool, resting their weary legs fatigued by the long day. All are smiling, laughing, talking to one another. All are still focused on the children, playing on the courtyard. Laughing and running. Trying to catch a leather ball and pass it to one another. All of them looking fairly the same, expect one with golden skin. He stands out clear, yet it seems to bother no one. Treated like one of the family. Although the memory is clear I feel this urge to write this down, perhaps the memory is fading and fading after all. Warning me that soon it will plunge into to oblivion and be forgotten forever. I doubt it. Perhaps I'm merely rambling in my rest and boredom, finding anything to keep my mind occupied and passing the time.

I miss them all, that I remember, I admit. My father, mother, brothers, their childern, the fieldhands, smiths, all of them. I remember their faces. Children from newborn baby to an elder ready to be taken by time and decay. Age finally taking all of them, taking them away. How ironic it is. A solem long age elf, lives with short-living humans. Forced to watch them slowly die, not by sword or other means but by slow process of time itself. Decaying while the fair one doesn't seem to whiter a year. Looking ever so full of life and years. His hair so fair and eyes full of life. One can only endure such a limited time. At some point the bar is full and time comes to take his leave with silent farewell. Choose a road of solitude. Ever so content to wander without another home again. Not taking note of the places seen, or much worth and note of times passed and spent here and there. I should have kept record of it. Long list of things to remember.
I used to count the years, look foward to it all year long when I could add one to the total number. It was celebrated grand like all other birthdays. Although I do not know if I was born that exact day, it still felt like that. Now it feels pointless, have been that way for terrible long count of time. So long that I have even forgotten the day it was suppose to be. All the guest that were there to remember it with me long since passed. I only wander if the elven man and woman wanted this for their child, so long ago. Whatever the condition they left me, this is unknown.

Yet now, in this room, I feel I could leave this all behind. Make it history and leave it there to be forgotten. Forge a new one with wisdom learned during the passed times. Perhaps stay in a one place awhile longer than usual. Although all too content of not repeating the same mistakes made. At least this time, I'd have a choice in a matter. Perhaps it was what happened today. I almost died, I was saved. A most odd question, in return of saving my life. There was only one answer , I knew it. Suddenly I was no longer Jared, the adandoned elf simply left in the woods in whatever conditions. I was Jheven, named after unborn baby that never got to see this curious world. Perhaps this was fate itself, giving me a new beginning. This time on my own terms on the Sword Coast.

...Look at me writing like a scholar poet, time to sharpen those blades. "Keep 'em sharp, they are suppose to cut" I recall one Tempurian uncle rambling at me before a whetstone long long ago."

[FridgeRaider]

"I've always dreaded this elven lineage of mine. It has brought nothing, but misery in my long life. I was able to avoid other elves, or just ignore them for the most part, before my arrival here in this part of the coast. For some reason there seems to be a fair number of them and I always seem to draw them for a reason. Or perhaps it is the other way around? Me drawing myself to them, I don't know. It is all, for most parts, alien to me, the language, culture, manners, gestures, standards. They assume me of one of them, I can't say I blame them. Their expression borders anywhere from sadness, anger, confusion, disappointment to ignorance when they speak their language to me and I return the unknown mumble of words with a denial, ignorance or just a common greeting. Some seem persistence, and still continue to speak it to me, as if doubting or completely not believing what I just said or didn't say. When they do accept the fact, after a moment of stare and silence they fast turn to their own kind. Sharing a conversation I do not understand and only offering me gazes and glances. It is annoying and troubling not to know what they say. All are not like this, but it is common. I do not care how they treat me, I suppose they do as they would any human, dwarf or other race. I must add the superiority some possess is unbelievable. Makes me doubt or leave from them most of times. It is the unknown talk that goes on behind my back that troubles me. Only thing I every make out of it is my name among some of the words, I think. Or maybe it just another word. I sought learning material in Candelkeep to no avail. Or it was possible, but costly and lenghty process of scribe. It seems only way is to acquire a teacher. Perhaps one of the elves, or a wizard, scholar? There seem to be no lack of them here..."