Tirah's Origin
In a humble one room forest cottage, hidden away from civilization, we begin our tale. A man named Eldon took for himself an elven wife, and together they began to scratch out a living far from the threats of Magamarth, his agents, and the outside world. Three years into their union, however, the mortal became gravely ill. Tinunis, seeking out a cure for her beloved, ventured into the city as a last resort. In a fishmonger's shed beside the docks, she learned of a local mage, who was fabled to have the ability to heal any ailment. She paid the proprietor for the information and headed further into town. Aware of the risks that come with this level of magic, she located Zomien, and pleaded her case before him. He gave her a tonic for her afflicted spouse, but when it came time for payment, he simply told her he knew where to find her, and that he would be back to collect, someday.
---
Seven years later, Eldon and his wife had managed to build and maintain a small self-sustaining homestead. They were not prosperous, but no one went hungry come winter. One Spring morning, while they were out tending to the animals, they were caught unawares as the winds shifted and the clouds blocked out the sun. A chill filled the air as a shadowy figure took shape before them. There stood the mage Tinunis had bargained with years ago for her husband's life. This was no mage, however. Zomien was, in fact, a powerful necromancer and agent of Magamarth, and he had come to procure his compensation. Without a word, he pointed at Tinunis, and, shaking with fear, she motioned to herself, as if to say, "Me? You want me?". The figure shook its head and motioned again, but this time the frightened child hiding behind her peeked out, her face buried in her mothers' robes. "No! She is all we have", Eldon wailed. His wife, between sobs, cried, "I cannot bear any more children. Please, anything else. Anything!". Before Tinunis could scoop the child up into her arms, both her precious daughter and the necromancer were gone, leaving behind whispers of "The deal is done" lingering on the air.
The necromancer took his new slave to an abandoned observatory near the coast, so he could continue his work away from prying eyes. The girl-child, who bore only the name Tirah, was forced to do all the menial chores required to make Zomien's life easier. She was fed just enough to keep her sustained and locked in a cold room in the tower at night, guarded by a huge grey wolf, lest she get any bright ideas about attempting to escape. If her tasks were not completed to his standards, Tirah would be tormented, as he would fill her mind with morbid and gruesome images of her parents being killed, flayed, or eaten alive by wild beasts. This happened so often, that she had no way of truly knowing if they were even living anymore. As the years went on, however, Zomien, still an unyielding and quick-tempered captor, began to use Tirah for magical tasks. Mostly as a test subject or an extra pair of hands where needed, but she willed her mind to hold onto whatever scraps of knowledge she could about his craft. Her only saving grace through all of this was an under-developed but accurate ability to perceive the fluctuations in Zomien's energy and predict when he was in a particularly rancorous mood.
In the autumn of Tirah's 24th year, Magamarth died, and his magic with him. The necromancer who held her captive, now free from his own bondage, fled with his cruel beast and left her in the observatory. He had emptied his stores and left no clues to his whereabouts or destination, but Tirah knew one thing. She needed to get out of there and find him. He was the only person on this Earth who knew where her family was, if they were still alive. Clinging to a shred of hope and an even smaller rope, she began her descent down the side of the stone tower. Once her feet touched ground, she looked to one side and saw open ocean, and to another, trees. Not knowing a thing about sailing, Tirah headed out into the uncertain forest, hoping to find civilization before her body and will gave out.
After two days of trudging aimlessly through dense vegetation, the now exhausted and hungry Tirah came upon a small trading community in the foothills. Outside the village gates she spied a group of small huddled urchins and offered them the only thing she had left to eat, a handful of berries. She continued on with a smile as they hastily devoured their treat. The hustle and bustle of this busy hub was foreign to her, but she figured it was as good a place as any to rest and maybe find a way to get something into her rumbling belly. She inquired in businesses and shelters alike, being turned away each time. It would seem as if no one likes penniless young women with no marketable skills. As the sun began to set, and the chill crept in, she slumped dejectedly onto the ground next to a goat pen and fell asleep. Muffled voices, screams, shuffling feet and peals of laughter woke her up several hours later. Bewildered, she caught sight of the full moon and the goats and remembered where she was. The nightmares were not new to her...not since she became a slave. Wait. There's that shuffling again... groans and whispers. She squirmed underneath a fence, and the sounds drew nearer. Hiding behind an animal trough, she witnessed two of the unkempt hungry orphans from the village gates struggling with a group of four men. They were taking turns beating the children, who had been caught listening in on their meeting. She didn't think. Before she even knew what was happening she found herself between the men and the children, screaming at them to stop. As blow after blow landed, she stood, resolute in her decision to protect them. The children managed to slink away and huddle under a nearby tree, as Tirah felt the sharp sting of a blade in her side. Again. Again. She crumpled to the ground, and the men backed up, satisfied that they had neutralized the would-be heroine. Her vision became cloudy, and voices seemed to echo in a chamber when a single raven landed beside her. Another. Then another. Before long there were more than a dozen ravens gathered around them. Terrified, one of the thugs cries out, "He's here. Why is he here?!" The group makes an about face and runs off clumsily, the ravens call out and we hear only the thuds of their bodies hitting the ground. The two urchins rush to Tirah's aid, clasping their waifish arms around her now crimson-stained waist. The ravens speak, "Run along little ones, you must get home and she is no longer meant for this world”. The ragged boys protest, and, unwilling to leave her to die plead with the ravens to save her. "What use do I have for a dying half elf?", they ask. The enormous black birds take flight all at once, blocking out all light from the moon and the stars. They form a tight spiral and slowly begin to meld into the shape of a man. Sensing only their fear, and in a brief moment of lucidity, Tirah shoved the young ones behind her and prepared to confront the unknown threat. He spoke. "Why do you protect these urchins? Most would look at them as a waste of valuable resources. Carbon, oxygen other finite materials that could be used for other purposes." Out of words and out of time, Tirah struggles to her feet and attempts to form a response. The entire scene seems to spin on an axis as she collapses and loses consciousness due to blood loss. The last thing she hears is, "Hmm. Perhaps you do have value."
Several days later, Tirah awakens in a sun-bathed room surrounded by small children. One of them grins at her while dressing her wounds. As the sunlight plays about her fiery locks, Tirah begins to question her reality. "Am I dead?". The little one shakes her head and hands over a small white package. Inside she finds a journal with a strange symbol on the cover. Peeling back the cover, a note falls out. It reads, "Tirah Bloodmoon, caretaker of the birds of information. Protect them. Train them. Keep secure the birds and any word they deliver. By accepting this journal, you agree to these terms and will work with your family to enrich the Black Library."
Family, she pondered what this meant. She closed the black book. Uncertain what her future held, but unafraid, she allowed herself to slip back into the first terror-free sleep she'd had in decades.
---
Seven years later, Eldon and his wife had managed to build and maintain a small self-sustaining homestead. They were not prosperous, but no one went hungry come winter. One Spring morning, while they were out tending to the animals, they were caught unawares as the winds shifted and the clouds blocked out the sun. A chill filled the air as a shadowy figure took shape before them. There stood the mage Tinunis had bargained with years ago for her husband's life. This was no mage, however. Zomien was, in fact, a powerful necromancer and agent of Magamarth, and he had come to procure his compensation. Without a word, he pointed at Tinunis, and, shaking with fear, she motioned to herself, as if to say, "Me? You want me?". The figure shook its head and motioned again, but this time the frightened child hiding behind her peeked out, her face buried in her mothers' robes. "No! She is all we have", Eldon wailed. His wife, between sobs, cried, "I cannot bear any more children. Please, anything else. Anything!". Before Tinunis could scoop the child up into her arms, both her precious daughter and the necromancer were gone, leaving behind whispers of "The deal is done" lingering on the air.
The necromancer took his new slave to an abandoned observatory near the coast, so he could continue his work away from prying eyes. The girl-child, who bore only the name Tirah, was forced to do all the menial chores required to make Zomien's life easier. She was fed just enough to keep her sustained and locked in a cold room in the tower at night, guarded by a huge grey wolf, lest she get any bright ideas about attempting to escape. If her tasks were not completed to his standards, Tirah would be tormented, as he would fill her mind with morbid and gruesome images of her parents being killed, flayed, or eaten alive by wild beasts. This happened so often, that she had no way of truly knowing if they were even living anymore. As the years went on, however, Zomien, still an unyielding and quick-tempered captor, began to use Tirah for magical tasks. Mostly as a test subject or an extra pair of hands where needed, but she willed her mind to hold onto whatever scraps of knowledge she could about his craft. Her only saving grace through all of this was an under-developed but accurate ability to perceive the fluctuations in Zomien's energy and predict when he was in a particularly rancorous mood.
In the autumn of Tirah's 24th year, Magamarth died, and his magic with him. The necromancer who held her captive, now free from his own bondage, fled with his cruel beast and left her in the observatory. He had emptied his stores and left no clues to his whereabouts or destination, but Tirah knew one thing. She needed to get out of there and find him. He was the only person on this Earth who knew where her family was, if they were still alive. Clinging to a shred of hope and an even smaller rope, she began her descent down the side of the stone tower. Once her feet touched ground, she looked to one side and saw open ocean, and to another, trees. Not knowing a thing about sailing, Tirah headed out into the uncertain forest, hoping to find civilization before her body and will gave out.
After two days of trudging aimlessly through dense vegetation, the now exhausted and hungry Tirah came upon a small trading community in the foothills. Outside the village gates she spied a group of small huddled urchins and offered them the only thing she had left to eat, a handful of berries. She continued on with a smile as they hastily devoured their treat. The hustle and bustle of this busy hub was foreign to her, but she figured it was as good a place as any to rest and maybe find a way to get something into her rumbling belly. She inquired in businesses and shelters alike, being turned away each time. It would seem as if no one likes penniless young women with no marketable skills. As the sun began to set, and the chill crept in, she slumped dejectedly onto the ground next to a goat pen and fell asleep. Muffled voices, screams, shuffling feet and peals of laughter woke her up several hours later. Bewildered, she caught sight of the full moon and the goats and remembered where she was. The nightmares were not new to her...not since she became a slave. Wait. There's that shuffling again... groans and whispers. She squirmed underneath a fence, and the sounds drew nearer. Hiding behind an animal trough, she witnessed two of the unkempt hungry orphans from the village gates struggling with a group of four men. They were taking turns beating the children, who had been caught listening in on their meeting. She didn't think. Before she even knew what was happening she found herself between the men and the children, screaming at them to stop. As blow after blow landed, she stood, resolute in her decision to protect them. The children managed to slink away and huddle under a nearby tree, as Tirah felt the sharp sting of a blade in her side. Again. Again. She crumpled to the ground, and the men backed up, satisfied that they had neutralized the would-be heroine. Her vision became cloudy, and voices seemed to echo in a chamber when a single raven landed beside her. Another. Then another. Before long there were more than a dozen ravens gathered around them. Terrified, one of the thugs cries out, "He's here. Why is he here?!" The group makes an about face and runs off clumsily, the ravens call out and we hear only the thuds of their bodies hitting the ground. The two urchins rush to Tirah's aid, clasping their waifish arms around her now crimson-stained waist. The ravens speak, "Run along little ones, you must get home and she is no longer meant for this world”. The ragged boys protest, and, unwilling to leave her to die plead with the ravens to save her. "What use do I have for a dying half elf?", they ask. The enormous black birds take flight all at once, blocking out all light from the moon and the stars. They form a tight spiral and slowly begin to meld into the shape of a man. Sensing only their fear, and in a brief moment of lucidity, Tirah shoved the young ones behind her and prepared to confront the unknown threat. He spoke. "Why do you protect these urchins? Most would look at them as a waste of valuable resources. Carbon, oxygen other finite materials that could be used for other purposes." Out of words and out of time, Tirah struggles to her feet and attempts to form a response. The entire scene seems to spin on an axis as she collapses and loses consciousness due to blood loss. The last thing she hears is, "Hmm. Perhaps you do have value."
Several days later, Tirah awakens in a sun-bathed room surrounded by small children. One of them grins at her while dressing her wounds. As the sunlight plays about her fiery locks, Tirah begins to question her reality. "Am I dead?". The little one shakes her head and hands over a small white package. Inside she finds a journal with a strange symbol on the cover. Peeling back the cover, a note falls out. It reads, "Tirah Bloodmoon, caretaker of the birds of information. Protect them. Train them. Keep secure the birds and any word they deliver. By accepting this journal, you agree to these terms and will work with your family to enrich the Black Library."
Family, she pondered what this meant. She closed the black book. Uncertain what her future held, but unafraid, she allowed herself to slip back into the first terror-free sleep she'd had in decades.