To whomever is reading this, the fact that this has come into your possession denotes the following situations. Either I am dead and will thus raise no protest in you delving into my activities and personal life, you are my master and this has been presented to you by me or someone else as a chronicle of my missions amongst other things, or by some odd twist of fate I have freely given this to you. Nothing written here is by any means an embellishment or fantasy, it is merely an account of my life and activities since I was introduced to the Raven Mythic.
I shall begin with a brief background into my life. Contrary to what others may have speculated about my past, my earliest memories were of a courtesan house in Freeport. I never did know who my parents were, but from childhood to adulthood I spent my days under the tutelage of a tier'dal woman whom I was ordered to refer to as "Mistress." She was the closest thing to a parent to me, and for the longest time the only real authority I knew. She never ever gave her name to me or the others under her ward, but nonetheless was a strict teacher when it came to social graces and etiquette. How to entertain, speak, read, dance, all the things needed to catch the eye and the mind of the upper classes of Freeport, these were the things ingrained in me and others like me from childhood. Interaction with those who weren't clients was strictly forbidden. Though out of principal or pragmatism none of us girls were ever "displayed" until we were of a proper age, Mistress would regulate us to harsh menial labor around the house until she deemed us fit for work. I suppose this was to humble the girls or make "working" seem like a dream in comparison. Surprisingly this would come in very handy once I entered the Raven Mythic. I had my first client at seventeen, an arrogant son of a nobleman whose ego was easily stroked. It was easy to never get attached to anyone as most of the people who came to us were of an unsavory flavor. I never did expect to experience any real affection for anyone beyond my so called sisters of the house. Thats why my situation is somewhat of a surprise.
Diaries, logs, and personal notes.
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In my short time in this life I've determined one thing. Fate likes to throw things at you. Big, heavy, blunt things that leave bruises. Much like the training I had to endure when I found myself in my new position. I can remember the injuries, the soreness, the pain endured and the lessons taught. In five months I experienced five hundred years of warfare condensed. I remember the voice, how it sounded both calm and scary at the same time. The smell of the room. The table in the corner with all the weapons laid out. And me, a short hundred pound ayr'dal girl who could barely lift a sword, let alone the metal monstrosity of a blade in my hands. He stood there with a wooden stick and told me to charge. Moments later I felt the ground kick me in the back while I was admiring the chandalier above. Everything was burned into my memory from that day on. I remember the arrangement of weapons on the table. A crossbow, a two handed bastard sword, a broadsword, a rapier, a short mace, a dagger, then finally a simple leather glove. He told me the first lesson would involved ranged weapons, the last one involved the hand itself. The room we used, there were concentric circles on the ground. Apprentices stayed in the outer circles, true masters only used the one in the center for combat. So much to learn for the unlikeliest of students. What was a mortal wound versus a superficial one. How to use ones surroundings to ones advantage. All for purposes beyond my understanding. Why did he chose me? Why did he fix those eyes on me in a way that I could not refuse? Why did I allow myself to go through with it? Maybe it was guilt. Maybe I needed a purpose. Something to go on living for. Maybe I just needed someone to tell me what to do, as I've been doing all my life. Maybe I just need to stop dwelling on it.