A cold fog clings to the valley floor blocking out the sun. The valley had been thus was since the beginning of time, undisturbed by man. Slowly, out of the mist rises an eerie glow. Suddenly there is a neighing of a horse and a figure disengages itself from the long tendrils of fog. As the figure comes closer one can smell the sweat of the horse, the salt of cured leather and the bitter tang of rusting metal. The figure carries itself erectly yet seems no larger than a child. Certainly not larger than the immense 2-handed sword strapped across the horse.

My name is Alissande and this is my story.

Of my early life it can be said that I was in all ways typical for an Elven lass in my village. From the start I can identify nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. My parents were well respected leaders in our community, a community that with my lack of experience I did not recognize as being unique for its acceptance of people regardless of their race or beliefs until many years of traveling later. Myself? My priorities were hunting for flowers and flirting, of course I had chores such as the garden of herbs I tended, but they were not onerous and I had much free time to myself.

My parents, how I loved them, and they spoiled me considerably, a fact my older brother Ordrevel and sister Gamina never ceased to mention whenever they thought I was getting too obnoxious. But at length, as I sadly watched my brother and sister both leave to journey the world, searching for knowledge, I found myself less and less interested in the joys of my youth. My mother came to me one day and asked if I did not think it was time I started looking for a vocation.

Because of my relatively small size, I thought I must be a Spellweaver, I studied a couple years at my mothers side, but I could tell I was disappointing to her. She finally mentioned that perhaps I would be better off with a different instructor because, maybe my circle of magic was not the same as hers. Perhaps, but I found as I walked through camp each day that the young warriors always caught my eye. That was when I decided that a heroic warrior would be the perfect vocation.

I did not take to weapons any more easily than I had to magic. The first day they strapped my training armor on, I could not even walk, so I stood on the edge of the training field as hot tears ran down my face, fortunately hidden from the others by the visor of my helmet. The humiliation was too much for me. How could I be a great warrior if I could not even move in my armor? But this couldn’t be, I knew deep inside myself that I was a warrior. I was quick and agile, I knew all the strokes and counters with every weapon my tribe used, mentally I was the finest warrior my trainers had ever seen. And I was strong for my size, just not strong enough to move smoothly and gracefully in even the lightest armor available.

I knew my parents were greatly concerned for me, news of Ordrevel, which we received occasionally, informed us he was quickly becoming well known as a brilliant newcomer in his chosen field. My sister, had earned herself the title Lady, and was reputed to be equally adept in her own areas of study. Yet there I was, a failure as a Spellweaver, and too small to be an effective warrior.

Finally in a burst of frustration I searched out a friend, Silvara, and told her all my frustrations. Silvara was a Spellweaver quite a number of years ahead of me and had been working on some unique techniques in spell usage. She wondered aloud, why armor could not be enchanted to be lighter than it was. In a flash of insight I saw how I thought this might be done. Unfortunately after many attempts we could not make it work. So I made my way back home to cry myself to sleep again. The next morning, as I was preparing to head out to the training fields to practice my weapon skills, Silvara came bursting in and grabbed my arm. "We had the right idea, just the wrong execution" she cried out as she dragged me out the door. There in the yard was a full set of Admantium armor the best but heaviest available. As she started to strap me into it I protested, knowing that there was no possible way I could even carry this weight, let alone fight in it. But once I was completely encased in the armor, Silvara told me to try to walk, and to my amazement, it felt like I was wearing nothing but my cloth shift.

Silvara explained that though her spells could not make the armor lighter, she had suddenly woken up this morning with the idea that if she enchanted the armor so the wearer would be stronger, it should have the same effect. After a little testing she had enchanted the entire set of armor for me.

Now free to move, I quickly learned everything possible from the trainers in our community and, like my siblings, felt drawn into the world where new adventure and knowledge awaited me. And so at the age of 60 my mother presented me with my family amulet and my father, with a proud glimmer in his old warrior’s eye, presented me with his own 2 handed sword, properly enchanted by Silvara. And I made my way off to become the glorious Hero I had always dreamed of being.

Suffice it to say that my exuberance and dreams lasted almost all of the first day. But after a cold rain caught me far away from the nearest shelter, a sense of reality invaded my happiness. And I soon found that the glory of using a sword is rather infrequent compared to the work of keeping it clean and dry. I traveled the world, first learning that not everywhere I went was as friendly as my own little village, then when I had been traveling for a while I met him. A handsome young elf, not more than 80 and brash as could be, it was hate, it was love. The fight lasted a full day before he grew bored and disarmed me. If I could have I would have gladly buried my father’s sword in his chest.

I recognized him as being far my better with a sword, and hated him with every bit of envy in me, even while I knew I loved him more than my own life. And so we became partners. It was understood that when we returned to my village, we would ask my father for permission to marry. Meanwhile I learned every sword skill he would teach me. The time flew by, and it was a glorious time, I had learned and grown stronger, I was nearly my love’s equal. We had many adventures, finding lost treasures and routing foul beasts side by side. One day I felt a pulling towards home and my love would hear of nothing else, but that we start our journey back there to seal our lives together in a proper wedding. During my travels, I had wandered far from my home and it would be a journey of almost a year before I once again looked upon the town I grew up in. A moment in time that would change my life forever.

As I looked down from the hillside upon what had been a bustling busy village I saw nothing but very old charred ruins of buildings. Nothing moved in the desolation all was still as it had been for many years judging from the grasses growing through the ash. The tears dripped down my face. My love came up behind me and cradled me in his strong arms offering any consolation I required. I broke free and ran into the ruins, too irrational to accept the truth. I ran to where my parent’s home had been. But all I found was ashes and a few broken beams sticking out of the ground like a shattered skeleton. I looked around for bodies, hoping against hope that they had fled, though my heart knew the truth. And there I found signs of the Elven rite of passage. Someone had blessed my parent’s trip to the blessed isles. There was hope that someone from my family still survived. I vowed to find this person and learn what had happened, then I knelt and swore a great vow of vengance. I would find my town’s despoilers and when I did, I would destroy them. My love immediately knelt and swore with me, promising to support me in my purpose as long as he had breath in his body. Little did I guess then just what that would mean to me.

After many months of travel, we heard news of the devastation of another town in the area, a recent tragedy. Thinking that it might well be the same raiders who had destroyed my village, my love and I headed towards that town. When we arrived at the place where the town once stood more desolation and destruction greeted my eyes, surely the people responsible for this were the same ones responsible for the destruction of my own town. But nothing moved, the silence was as deep as the screaming of wounded during battle. But the battle was much fresher than the one at my home, the tracks of the raiders where still plentiful and being elven, they were plain and easy for us to follow. We rode slowly following the tracks, and yet we were still not prepared when we topped a rise and saw the horde in full battle with another small town. My love immediately drew his sword, nearly as fast as myself he threw himself into the destruction of our enemies. As we hacked and slashed killing the raiders in massive numbers it seemed for a moment that we would win through and defeat them, but then their greater numbers started to tell and eventually we were surrounded and fighting for our lives. The last I saw of my love he was surrounded by raiders, then just as I saw him swarmed under he seemed to explode in a blinding flash of light. And when I awoke, I was alone, in a forest unlike any I recognized.

I have been in The Realm for quite a while and have become fairly efficient at killing the beasts and deamons that frequent this land. Imagine my surprise when one day I was walking through town and my past walked up to me. I could not believe it, my older sister LadyGamina had found her way to this land as well, and more good news, she told me our older brother Ordrevel was also here with a clan of friends he had made during his travels.

So goes my story, Alissande, sister of Ordrevel and LadyGamina, member of the UD clan. I mourn my losses, but I live for my future… the destruction of all evil, wherever it lurks in this land, and any other I may yet travel to. For my parents, and my love. On my blade I so swear.