Home > NaBloPoMo, Pathfinder > Character Backstory: Taryn Fether

Character Backstory: Taryn Fether

17 November 2011 Leave a comment Go to comments

My skin is very fair, my hair is blonde, but my eyes attract attention – they are violet. My father says I look just like my mother. I have a slight point to my ears, which I cover most of the time because everyone around here is human – Mom was an elf, I am half. I never knew my mother; she died bringing me into the world.

Many times, I have wondered how my life might have been different, had she lived. My father moved us from Absalom, where he was a guard and courtier, when I was only nine. We easily settled into life in Eastern Cheliax where my father accepted the post of constable for a farming settlement on the eastern shores of the River Keld.

Life was hard and good. We laughed, worked, danced and I grew. Life was very different from court in the big city; struggling, fighting, & the hosts of Chelish warriors readying for a war that never came. My father told me, “Life can be glorious and dangerous. You have to learn to take care of yourself.” He taught me how to fight. I would train and exercise alongside my father and this helped me harden my body into a weapon.

When I turned 14, my father called me into his room and opened the chest he kept at the foot of his bed. From it he took a bundle of violet silk that matched my eyes. He told me that this had belonged to my mother and now that I was a woman, it was time I had it. I had thought that the silk scarf was the most beautiful thing I had seen, until it parted to reveal the sword therein. I didn’t know how to use it then, but now I am quite good with my mother’s sword. You can tell it is of elvish make, it is lighter and the magic almost guides my hand. I am almost never without the violet scarf, which I usually wear tied around my waist, as a belt and sash.

The local healer taught me her art of alchemy and herbals. I learned how to brew restorative and healing teas, collect herbs to treat most ailments and make polstices for more injurious wounds. When she died, I took over for the village and surrounding countryside – I was 15. I do not think my father knew that the herbalist was a witch, and I learned her art in that, too.

My father’s words stay with me:

  • When you can no longer live proudly, die proudly.
  • That which is done out of duty is beyond right and wrong.
  • Those who cannot hear the music think those that dance insane.
  • Live dangerously, for what does not kill you, only makes you more powerful.
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Categories: NaBloPoMo, Pathfinder
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