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It has taken so many years to write and keep my journals. I find I am in need to ponder upon the child. This book will be the only one, entrusted dearly to the Lord of the Library. The many boxes of daily journals would be too much for his kindness. I shall leave them for you in my home, should you ever seek it. You will find the cottage across the ferry in Skara Brae. Trek south and east through the Feluccian Township, keeping mildly south along the paths. You will come to pass several small gardens. Journey onward until you reach a mountain of hard stone. Follow this mountain along its west side, southward. You will come upon a small cottage; this is my home. I hope I will be awaiting you, my child. If I am not, may the walls of my simple home offer you comfort. Move through it as if it were your own.

This read contains only fragments of my life, and should this not come into your hands before my departure from this world, all that I am is yours.

Your great grandfather a Paladin guard for the city’s of Trinsic's Council. Your great grandmother died giving birth to my mother, Roselynn Annabelle. She lived to watch her father and the other men in their training. She oft spoke of being ushered into the library near the men’s training facility for studies, because she was not allowed to look on. Never did she fail to elude the librarian, and sneak out a side door, soughing the lawn to the back of the training hall, to peer in. When mother reached womanhood she was passed to a family in Cove to be wed. There she met her mate and awaited ceremony. They were permitted a courting duration to assure their compatibility.

Your grandfather, Philipe' August Decantor, son of a middle class family, living outside the town walls, his parent’s small merchants for the city proper. Father was taught to write and to read words. His parents believed he would always find work in this. He did, as a scribe in Cove. However it became increasingly popular for children to study. Therefore his time as a scribe and the wealth therefrom dwindled. My father had much time to spend with his daughter. We lived moderately in the city.

Mother took up mending garments for the wealthier ladies. She was able to craft entire garments by the time of her death. Father continued minimal work as a scribe, putting to parchment those words spoken by the Lords who never learned the art of the written word.

As a child I played as children do. Mother taught me to mend, but never to craft garments. She told me stories of the Paladin guards from the city. The wonderful and enthralling lives of the Paladin men escaped my mother’s lips, resting upon my ears. I had imagined throughout childhood that we would visit the city one day. I envisioned the Paladin men, with their swords and shining armor, telling tales of triumph.

Each day my father called me from my play. We would stroll through the orchards to the North Tower for my lessons. My father knew there was no great wealth in writing and the ability to read words, but he told me that to be able, would bring riches to me that could nay be purchased. I studied with him each day of my young life. Words taking on meanings− it was a game to learn – I took wonder in how so many words, set out in different order on parchment, could convey thoughts. Words taking on passion− It is enchanting to place words on parchment to form paragraphs, which form entire stories. The whole concept and ability to write excites me to this day.

Until age ten I learned mending, studied literature, and had lessons in writing. There were not times of travail, nor apprehension during that period of my life. Just before my eleventh year the Orc from the south western mountain ravaged the city. It was the night before my day of birth celebration. I sat that day atop the North Tower in the study. Father paced slowly to the front of the writing table, his hands clasped behind his back, softly wringing them as he spoke to me. His manner’s of teaching were to ask questions. We studied a book, one to a time, and pondered its lessons, morals, and adventures. He urged me to write my answers in a book. On this night we studied by lantern light, his sessions were lasting longer, and I adored it.

The screams came suddenly upon our ears and my father stopped his pacing. He motioned me beneath the table where I stayed for many moments, but he did not return. After some time I heard the grunts and snorts of what could only be the Orc. I had yet to see them. They moved quickly to grasp me. As I screamed and tried to move away, I was rendered unconscious.

The next years of my life – oh child of mine – were nothing less than shameful. I was forced to serve the Orc Clan . As I approached womanhood, I met their needs. There were several other girls from home who were also forced to stay on with the Clan. I do not know what became of each of them. Over the years I would wake, and another was gone. The Orc had brought much of the properties of my people to their fortress. In the rubble mound I scrounged books and continued to read as I could. There were times when the Orc would gather round as I read aloud to myself, such times were fleeting. In the next moment I could be thrown to the ground, my beloved book torn, and my body left limp.

I learned to obey, to pay respect to the males, and to know my place amongst them. There were no female Orc in this Clan. Perhaps that is why they kept us young human girls. The time of your birth I had passed my womanhood mark by three years. I had spent those nearly five years in their service. By the time I noticed my swollen belly I had never thought of a way to escape. Knowing I was with child gave me courage and I fled some time near the end of my pregnancy.

I had not pushed far upon the coast, but was feverishly trekking along when I heard them from behind. My body racked in pains of labor. I ran on into the edge of the forest, falling beneath a tree amongst prickling brush. The smell of my fluids led them to me and I cried out as you were born. My tears rained freely, unstoppable as you were taken from the ground between my legs.

Days passed. I lied there waiting to die. Surely, I thought, my fate was to be as my grandmother’s upon giving birth to a child. Surely the Clan thought the same for they left me to suffer beneath the tree. It was two nights that I lay and it came to me, that I would not perish . I cleansed in the sea, and followed it as far from the Orc as to the next city.

Wanderings . . . such as life was denying the time after you. I traveled. I took up sword as means to survive. I found myself roaming city to city, studying, reading, gathering advices. Blessed be, Lord, Astintinious, rest he. Blessed be, he fathered me through my adolescence, encouraging always my writings. I shan’t forget him.

There was not a place for me. I enjoyed travel, reading; to write, but called no place my home, save Cove. After some many moons, a place found me, and here it is I remain. There is a plan for each of us, a destination we must reach. Such is life never without trials, and such are peoples never without cause. When you understand me, then you will know my cause.

There is literacy within you, for you are my child. It is my hope that you were treated well by your fathers despite your mothers race. Live well child, and should your heart wonder to whom your mother was, may you find out. You are your fathers child, but half of you belongs to me.