Naria

I'm lucky. Always have been. The moment I arrived in this world on the sixteenth day of the first month of year three-oh-one after Lanival (all numbers of great fortune, no less) my parents proclaimed me a good omen, their first and only child. Of course, a good omen to them simply meant that their businesses would reap greater profits that year. And they did. They always did.

I wasn't so much of a child for my family as I was a product of the Cloudspire fortune. Raised by business people, taught to buy and sell, I spent most of my childhood trailing after my father, his brother and their father as they oversaw their shipping companies. By my eighteenth summer, I had acquired a rather vast knowledge of the trader's world, a passion for the sea, and a quick, little, two-masted schooner boldly named, "Alaba Pozen," or Fortune's Daughter.

Sailing the seas brought me healthy profit and a reputation for being reliable and straightforward. Hard-nosed, certainly. Intimidating, on occasion. But always as honest and decent as a trader could afford to be. My port time activities built me a reputation of an entirely different sort. Courtesans, barkeeps, madams, gamblers, bards and fellow sailors up and down my trade routes enjoyed the fruits of my labors, so to speak. Life is for living, eh? The gods know I tried to live it for all it was worth.

For the next three and a half decades, I traveled under Kertigen's watchful eye, shipping anything and everything my ship could hold. Dried grains and foodstuffs, metals, and fabrics made up most of the cargo. Livestock and crafted goods showed up on occasion. But there were also times when I wished I didn't know so well what I was shipping. Some nights, the faint sound of voices talking, sometimes singing, sometimes crying, drifted up from the cargo hold. These, even copious amounts of whiskey and the creaking and clanging of the ship's rigging couldn't overpower.

All through this time, my ship lived up to her name. I never once suffered a loss or injury from which I could not recover. While fellow seafarers lost ships to storms, money to pirates, and limbs to sharks and other hazards, I managed to skirt by intact. That's the thing about luck, though. It's a curse in disguise. The more you have, the more you want to press it. And like all good things, it never lasts quite as long as you think it will.

How my cargo-master managed to sneak twelve slave shipments past me during the course of two years is something for which I shall never forgive myself. The man was an old acquaintance, we practically grew up together. His father worked for mine, so it seemed a natural friendship and partnership. My good fortune blinded me and instead of scrutinizing him like I did with the rest of my crew, I trusted him. My gods be damned poor judgement.

When the mistake was finally discovered and my clients and patrons started asking questions, my cargo-master pointed all nine of his grubby little fingers in my direction, a little too gleefully, I might add. If it's actually possible to have one's life upended, shaken about, and emptied into the Segoltha, then that is what must've happened at that point. My crew, my ship, and the goods on it were confiscated. I ran, but the privateers caught up to me and I was hauled away, beaten soundly, and jailed.

At that moment, luck chose to reintroduce herself into my life. I didn't die in that cell, though I wanted to. Rather, I was rescued. Concocting and carrying out a rescue plan that is much too long for this tale and better told by a proper bard, anyway, a ragtag band of thieves, old friends, and one very clever courtesan named Ana managed to sneak, bribe, and coldcock their way in (and our way out) of that prison.

I lay low for several years after that, healing my pride and my body. Inevitably, though, I ended up back on a ship. Once a sailor, always a sailor, eh? I spent three years working on an old partner's ship before I finally reestablished myself. This time, it was a three-masted barque with the words, "Chaga Sora Caid," painted on its bow. Child of Wisdom. It's an aspiration of sorts, I suppose, to hammer a little forethought into this Elven head of mine. I work toward that goal still. Still trading, still sailing. Still lucky.

Last Revised: 06/27/03