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"The Landing of the Feothans"

Long ago, before the Elven city was sealed away, there was a small family of Elven healers.

"The Landing of the Feothans"

Long ago, before the Elven city was sealed away, there was a small family of Elven healers. The mother of the lot was one of the greater healers of the city; she helped people from all over, no matter the race or reason. Her name was Ginovine Feothan. This healer had a husband, Pharom, and two sons named Alosrin and Itham respectively. Together they lived and would heal and help whenever they could. That was until the threat of the blight became too much for the city to handle. When word spread of the sealing, chaos ensued within the family. Alosrin, along with his first wife Merildia, wanted to leave the city before the barrier was constructed. The Grand Mother disagreed; she felt the need to stay in the city to attend her duties. The two argued day and night, week and week; until Alosrin took it upon himself to take his newly formed family out of that city. In one hand, he held his pregnant wife, in the other he wielded a sword. With few words of goodbye, he left the city, aware that he was abandoning safety for the price of freedom.

Months were spent wandering those desolate lands, taking shelter where it could be found. Months turned into years, and the blight seemed to worsen and weaken as they travelled the land. However, on a cruel winter night, disaster struck the small family. The family had decided to reside in a small travelling troupe, safe in numbers but scarce in resources. The daughter of the two, Mafiaor, was only ten years of age and barely able to understand the world and it’s happenings. It was in this troupe that the young Mafiaor gained a passion for fighting and surviving, but it didn’t last long. The mother had borne another child; this would have been a blessing and celebration in the safety of the city, but they were no longer in their home. The mother had birthed a baby boy after several harsh days of labor. But with new beginnings, something must close out; Merildia had slipped into the icy grip of death just as her son let out his first cry. The troupe was small, and had a very harsh rule about population: if there was no mother to take care of the child, to keep it safe and quiet, the child was not to come with them.

Faced with a decision a father should never have to make, Alosrin had to choose what was best for his and his daughter’s safety. With howling, icy winds against his back, the father of two marched through the night, the baby boy safe in his arms while his daughter was fast asleep. When the sun rose the next morning, there was a small, freshly dug grave next to his late wife’s own resting place. A small stone with a crudely hand carved message for both his son and his wife lay in between the two: ”Merildia and Samme: with the stars you rest.” There in front of the graves Alosrin sat for most of the morning, staring out at the fresh dirt in solemn content. Mafiaor was never told about what the father had done, not until after the two made their home in Aftermath.

Mafiaor, upon hearing about the grim deed the father committed, was not content to sit still in that city. What little respect she had left for her Father dissipated when he remarried to an elf that was younger than his own daughter. The new wife, Ysabelle, was a smalltime merchant; Mafiaor, much to her disliking, had agreed to help out the second wife with the merchant business. The Father managed to get a job as a wine maker’s apprentice, stating he never wanted to go back to healing, that he never could. For several years this arrangement went on and despite the tension, an understanding had become clear; they were all just trying to survive in an unforgiving world, just by different means. With the combined income, land was purchased, and so began the Feothan brewing company. The plot grew and grew, having a farm large enough to provide for the family and supply the business. Ysabelle provided the family with another child after many years, this time a little girl by the name of Elk. Mafiaor, by this time, had joined the guards, and helped protect the city. However, the Father and Mafiaor had grown farther apart than ever. After a nasty falling out years later, she packed up and left for Tsan, a distant city far from Aftermath. That was the last they heard from her until twenty years later, when a letter was shipped to the prospering family.

When she had arrived at Tsan, Mafiaor quickly became a mercenary, and a great one at that. Oftentimes she was hired as a bodyguard for a thin, sickly young Elf. His name was Ricon Wildroot, and he was the son of a small guild leader. At first they hated each other, but soon enough the two grew close. They got married and had a son by the name of Lars; and when the guild leader stepped down, Mafiaor took up the position as head of the small fighters guild. That was the last time the Feothan’s heard from the eldest sibling; a letter was sent back talking of the newest sibling, a boy called Elias, and was a request for Mafiaor to come back home. However, it was never replied to. For a quarter of a century, Mafiaor has been living happily in Tsan, while the Feothan family continues residence in Aftermath.

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